Derek DelGaudio made me believe in magic
'In & Of Itself' will make your jaw drop and heart break.
As nerdy as my interests have been over the years, magic has never been something I’ve had much of an interest in.
Don’t get me wrong: I appreciate a good act. A skillfully played card trick or masterful illusion are wonderful things to behold, particularly in person. I had the opportunity to see Penn & Teller in concert back in my college days, and it was an astounding performance. But I think my ingrained skepticism has too often gotten in the way of my willingness to be fooled, and so magic is just something I haven’t sought out much.
So I wasn’t exactly waiting with bated breath for Derek DelGaudio’s In & Of Itself to hit Hulu last weekend. I’d certainly heard of the show, which ran for more than 550 performances off Broadway — but what I’d heard always carried the same message, “I can’t explain what it is; you have to be in the room.” Not really an endorsement that got me anticipating a filmed version.
But when the 90-minute filmed performance of In & Of Itself hit Hulu last weekend, I was surprised to see several critics call it a must-see experience and one of the most profound things they’d watched in recent memory. Intrigued, I sat down Sunday night to see it for myself — and now it’s my turn to tell you to see this as soon as you can, preferably with knowing as little as possible about it in advance (my thoughts will be spoiler-free).
To be honest, though, I don’t know that there’s a way to spoil In & Of Itself; it really is something that has to be seen to be understood. It’s an experience that is not only jaw-dropping but often deeply emotional. What DelGaudio does, under the directorship of Frank Oz, is create something that isn’t just a magic special, nor simply a one-man show. It’s an interactive experience between DelGaudio and his audience that results in some of the most astonishing reactions I’ve ever seen — and perhaps its greatest trick is the way it transcends the intimacy of those stage performances to work just as well at home.
The show’s setup is simple. DelGaudio is on stage in a small theater; there are six dioramas behind him that contain a variety of props he uses as he tells a series of monologues, which he punctuates with an illusion or trick. You get the standard gasps and applause; what you don’t expect are the tears.
Yes, DelGaudio’s illusions are phenomenal. There are card-shuffling tricks that are astounding because of his speed and precision. And there are the items that disappear or take on a different form. But what elevates them is not simply the performer’s skill but the way he almost offhandedly pulls them off. Most stage magicians seem eager to astound and amaze, pushing their enthusiasm a little too far for my tastes. The matter-of-fact way DelGaudio ends his stories with tricks lends them a harder punch; the casual wonder always works.
But DelGaudio is also a skilled writer and monologist, and the stories he tells, all wrapped up in themes of the identities we choose for ourselves and ones bestowed upon us, often have an emotional weight that you don’t see in traditional magic shows. Sometimes, it’s a fable, like when DelGaudio delivers a twist on the old story of the blind men and the elephant. Other times, he bares his own soul as he talks about the ways his career has caused him to walk a tightrope between entertainment and chicanery. There’s a show-stopping recollection about the moment he became aware of his mother’s sexual identity and his reaction to it. Some of these stories are deeper than others, but DelGaudio delivers them with such conviction that they unsettle viewers from their analytical perch and set them up to be dazed.
There are two moments in particular that everyone who’s seen In & Of Itself leaves talking about, and they’re the high points of the film. Both involve audience participation, and I’ll just refer to them as the “letter act” and the “I am act”. In both instances, the performer pulls off a feat that left me with my jaw on the floor, scratching my head not only as to the mechanics of it but also deeply moved by the audiences’ reaction. Both acts (I hesitate to call them tricks) deliver an emotional gut punch to their unexpecting participants, a revelation or insight that often has them gasping in astonishment or bursting into tears (Oz filmed this over several performances and keenly edits in numerous reaction shots to sell the impact).
For days after viewing In & Of Itself, I thought back to those two moments. I’m sure there is an explanation to their mechanics, quite possibly a fairly obvious one. But the trick for viewers isn’t the illusion; rather, it’s seeing a genuine emotional reaction take place before your eyes. The tears are real and they are contagious; DelGaudio combines performance and illusion to examine our desire to be seen as we are, and to consider how we are seen by others. That I sat in silence for several minutes as the credits rolled is something I never expected from a filmed magic act. In & Of Itself is cracker-jack entertainment and spectacular magic, but it also sneaks in an almost existential catharsis as it asks us to consider the stories that identify us and how those factors still can’t make us truly knowable.
And can we talk for just a second about Frank Oz? His direction is deceptively simple. It’s unobtrusive, but the fact that it works at all is a testament to his skill. Card tricks and emotional catharsis experienced in a small theater should not translate to the screen, and yet In & Of Itself is never less than riveting and lands every emotional punch. Oz knows when to linger on DelGaudio, when to cut to the audience, and when a home movie or animated illustration is the best way to hold viewer interest. Oz also directed the stage show, and I have a hunch that he’s a big reason for why this worked so well for so long.
And it makes sense; Oz has been involved in his own kind of magic over the decades. I’m a huge Jim Henson fan and a few years back I read Brian Jay Jones’ fantastic biography of the man. One thing that was made clear was how vital Oz’s participation and chemistry with Henson were in giving their creations a life of their own. Even now, years removed from my first encounters with them, my mind still doesn’t classify Fozzie Bear, Miss Piggy, Grover, Bert or Yoda as puppets; they are characters, performers in their own right. Oz’s work with the Muppets took a format that is so blatantly and openly fabricated — felt puppets — and made them come alive with their own personalities, flaws and insecurities. If that’s not magic, I don’t know what is, and I’d wager that he helped the show develop the human touch that is key to it working.
And it’s great to see him deliver a late-career knockout like this because it’s a reminder that in addition to his work in the Muppet and Star Wars universes, Oz has long been one of our great directors, particularly in comedy. The Dark Crystal, Little Shop of Horrors, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, What About Bob?, In & Out, Bowfinger. That’s such a fine filmography that I’ll forgive him a Stepford Wives remake or The Score (I also recommend his 2017 documentary, Muppet Guys Talking).
So, if you’re looking for good weekend viewing, I highly recommend Derek DelGaudio’s In & Of Itself. You’ll be shocked and amazed. Just be sure to bring the tissue.
The Digest
Where you can find me online this week
We’re Watching Here podcast: It’s the second episode of 2021, but Perry and I are still finalizing our 2020 thoughts (and will likely be doing that into February as well). This week, we talk about three films fronted by acclaimed actresses: Promising Young Woman, starring Carey Mulligan; Pieces of a Woman with Vanessa Kirby; and Let Them All Talk, featuring an ensemble that includes Meryl Streep, Candice Bergen and Dianne Wiest. Two of these films, Perry and I both loved. One of them, we’re a bit split on. But the conversation over all of them was a ton of fun. Listen and subscribe on iTunes and Spotify.
Chrisicisms
The pop culture I’m encountering this week.
The Greatest Showman: I’ve seen this film several times, but I don’t think I’ve written much on it before. Last weekend, I was home watching Cece and we decided to do a daddy/daughter movie night; this was her pick. And I still think this is one weird movie. I heard someone describe it as “the worst movie I ever liked,” and I think that’s fair. Honestly, from a critical perspective, it’s not good. It’s a 3-hour epic jammed awkwardly into just over 90 minutes, with so much plot (Patrick Willems has a great video essay on this). None of it makes much emotional sense, conflicts are resolved in the space of a scene, and the entire film feels like the highlight reel of a much longer, possibly better, film. And yet, every one of the musical sequences just pops. The cinematography is colorful, the songs are energetic and infectious, and the cast is charming. Hugh Jackman and Zac Efron just bring it (poor Michelle Williams is left stranded with the worst song in the film). Watching it, I’m well aware it’s a bad movie, but in the moment it is so much fun that I don’t care. I do hope Jackman’s allowed to make a truly great musical one day; he has it in him. Streaming on Disney+.
Freaks and Geeks: Five years ago, in anticipation of my daughter’s impending arrival, we had a garage sale to clear out some of the clutter in our house. One of the things I have long regretted was selling my Freaks and Geeks DVD boxed set, which I parted ways with because, hey, it was on Netflix. Not long after, it disappeared from the streamer, a lesson in why you should always hang onto your physical media. But this week, every episode became available on Hulu, with the original music intact (rights issues had tangled it up before). And so, I’ve had the pleasure of returning to William McKinley High School (located in a Michigan town loosely based on Clinton Township, where creator Paul Feig grew up). This ‘80s-set drama/comedy is possibly the greatest television show about teenagers, capturing every awkward, hellish moment of high school life. If you haven’t seen it in years, it holds up spectacularly well. And if you haven’t seen it at all, I envy you for getting to experience it for the first time. While it was ignored by audiences and ultimately dumped by NBC after one season, it’s ground zero for cinematic comedy in the 2000s. It was created and written by Paul Feig and Judd Apatow, who would of course go on to direct some of the funniest films of the decade. And the cast is bonkers, just a who’s-who of actors who would go on to bigger things. Linda Cardellini, James Franco, Seth Rogen, Martin Starr, John Francis Daley, Jason Segel, Busy Phillips. Plus fantastic supporting roles for adults like Becky Ann Baker, Joe Flaherty and Tom Wilson. Every episode is great, and despite being capped at one season, the final episode still feels like a worthy finale. I’m so glad this is back on a streamer; now it’s time to give the same treatment to Undeclared. Steaming on Hulu.
The 40-Year-Old Virgin: Speaking of Apatow, I went back and revisited his hit 2005 comedy, which also feels like ground zero for 2000s cinematic comedy, the breakthrough for Steve Carrell, Seth Rogen and, arguably, Paul Rudd (who’d been around but rarely used this well). The film still hits, a very funny mixture of crassness and sweetness. Like most Apatow films, it’s an appreciation of traditional relationships and coming of age wrapped in something raunchy and ribald. Its central romance is sweet, the characters feel real and it’s a funny commentary on our sex-obsessed culture. But where it works best is as a celebration of male friendship, as the revelation of Andy’s dilemma allows for him to build camaraderie with his coworkers. And that chest-waxing scene is an all-timer. Available to rent on most platforms.
The Kid Stays in the Picture: A Notorious Life by Robert Evans: After watching The Godfather over the Christmas break, I had several people recommend Robert Evans’ memoir. Evans was the head of Paramount when films like The Godfather and Chinatown were made, and he was instrumental in the creation of films that changed Hollywood history. And he’s certainly lived quite a life, with many stories he’s eager to tell. The problem? Evans had a mind for cinema but no voice for prose. The writing is a mess of clichés and jumbled timelines, often bogged down by the writer’s casual misogyny and homophobia. I wish there was more about the production of great films and less about the executive negotiations and backdoor hand-wringing, but that’s just not the position Evans was in. When it’s focused on the business of the movies, it’s most interesting. But it meanders into Evans’ multiple marriages and legal and financial woes with a lot of moaning but very little insight or perspective. I’ve heard the documentary made from this is quite good; I might have to check it out. But the book was a disappointment.
Building a Storybrand: Clarify Your Message so Customers Will Listen by Donald Miller: Even though I write for a living, I’m not a huge fan of books about writing. I’m even less interested in books about marketing; that’s what I do 40 hours a week, why would I let it bleed into my leisure time? But I was also interested to hear what Miller, whose Blue Like Jazz was a staple of my twenties, has been up to. This is a fairly straightforward book about using storytelling principles to help your business capture customer interest. Anyone who’s been in marketing for a bit will likely find it basic, but sometimes a return to the basics is important. Miller writes about how his company (Storybrand) has helped companies improve their marketing by realizing that people are basically searching not for a product but a story. Therefore, realize that the customer is a hero looking for transformation; companies are guides who help them on their way. It’s a simple but interesting concept, and I’m sure I’ll put some lessons to use. But it’s pretty by the book (and really a way to drum up business for Storybrand consultations and workshops). One thing I do wish is that Miller’s funny personality and deep thoughts from Blue Like Jazz or A Million Miles in a Thousand Years were more on display here. I get that memoir writing is a different animal than business writing, but the corporate tone and deadpan demeanor feel out of place when you’re trying to get people excited about taking their customers on a life-changing journey (I’ll also ding him points for the positive portrayal of Dave Ramsey’s business).
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