By: Carrie DonovanSometimes it’s necessary to judge the proverbial book by its cover – especially if you’re in the mind-reading business.
While mentalist and illusionist Wayne Hoffman failed to satisfy those audience members expecting to see a top-hatted, tail-coated, bunny-wielding magician with an affinity for sawing people in half during his Tate Theater performance on Monday night, he definitely made up for his lack of flair with a trick that no one could have predicted: blatant honesty.
Though some of the hour-long show was dedicated to exploring the more cliché staples of the illusion industry, such as linking three separate rings into a single chain and transforming simple phrases into really bad puns, Hoffman wholly captivated the crowd during a 30-minute segment of seemingly inexplicable and prop-free mental trickery.
He catapulted a paper airplane into the crowd to let fate select his first volunteer, and for the sake of time and possible participant injury randomly called on other eager hand-raisers for the rest of the show. He guessed childhood pet names, home desktop backgrounds and one girl’s phone number with a speed that would imply that he is either a distant relative of J.K. Rowling’s Voldemort or exceptionally upfront about his stalking habits.
During the game of guess and reveal, at which point some members of the audience became overwhelmed with conflicting urges to either stay and marvel at the impossibility of Hoffman’s feats or to bolt out the theater doors before he decided to start unveiling Social Security numbers and ATM codes, the illusionist explained the art behind his magic.
“I just break it down,” Hoffman said. “I’m going to look at the way someone acts, the way they sit, the way they dress.” He outlined the process using an audience member’s memory of his first car, saying that the amount of gel in his hair was a large factor in assuming that he owned a Honda and not a pick-up truck.
According to Hoffman, the simplest way to get inside a stranger’s mind is by taking an initial impression and creating a pool of probability, using supplementary body language and other immediate clues to narrow down his options further.
As mystery propelled the first half of the show, the eventual glimpse into the phenomenal talent required to deduce so much information from seemingly insignificant cues was almost more impressive than the secrecy that thrills the audience in the first place.
And while it may be heartbreaking to discover that you give off a “my first hamster was named after a Spice Girl” vibe, getting a first-hand glimpse into the many intricacies behind the illusion is well worth a bit of embarrassment.
While mentalist and illusionist Wayne Hoffman failed to satisfy those audience members expecting to see a top-hatted, tail-coated, bunny-wielding magician with an affinity for sawing people in half during his Tate Theater performance on Monday night, he definitely made up for his lack of flair with a trick that no one could have predicted: blatant honesty.
Though some of the hour-long show was dedicated to exploring the more cliché staples of the illusion industry, such as linking three separate rings into a single chain and transforming simple phrases into really bad puns, Hoffman wholly captivated the crowd during a 30-minute segment of seemingly inexplicable and prop-free mental trickery.
He catapulted a paper airplane into the crowd to let fate select his first volunteer, and for the sake of time and possible participant injury randomly called on other eager hand-raisers for the rest of the show. He guessed childhood pet names, home desktop backgrounds and one girl’s phone number with a speed that would imply that he is either a distant relative of J.K. Rowling’s Voldemort or exceptionally upfront about his stalking habits.
During the game of guess and reveal, at which point some members of the audience became overwhelmed with conflicting urges to either stay and marvel at the impossibility of Hoffman’s feats or to bolt out the theater doors before he decided to start unveiling Social Security numbers and ATM codes, the illusionist explained the art behind his magic.
“I just break it down,” Hoffman said. “I’m going to look at the way someone acts, the way they sit, the way they dress.” He outlined the process using an audience member’s memory of his first car, saying that the amount of gel in his hair was a large factor in assuming that he owned a Honda and not a pick-up truck.
According to Hoffman, the simplest way to get inside a stranger’s mind is by taking an initial impression and creating a pool of probability, using supplementary body language and other immediate clues to narrow down his options further.
As mystery propelled the first half of the show, the eventual glimpse into the phenomenal talent required to deduce so much information from seemingly insignificant cues was almost more impressive than the secrecy that thrills the audience in the first place.
And while it may be heartbreaking to discover that you give off a “my first hamster was named after a Spice Girl” vibe, getting a first-hand glimpse into the many intricacies behind the illusion is well worth a bit of embarrassment.
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