Okay, the language mavens will tell you that the title of this article is grammatically incorrect. I think imprecise grammar is just one of those things that I have been reduced to committing after years of suffering from show interruptions.
Interruptions, scene stealers, distractions—whatever you call them, I hate them.
I’m sure many Filipino magicians understand how distracting it is being interrupted—rudely, subtly, or nonchalantly—while in the middle of the show.
Magic is difficult to perform. The last thing the performer wants is somebody who—out of the blue, unscripted, uncalled for—enters the scene and makes a commotion that takes the audience’s attention from the performance.
Oh, I can list right now two pages of distractions—if you allow me to do so without distractions.
But since I’m less than lucid today (you guessed it, I’m still incensed at being interrupted in a recent show), let me just tell you about my pet disruption.
It usually happens when somebody decides to take a group picture of the mommies and daddies in the audience. He arranges them at their table (chairs scrape amid a symphony of giggles), coaxes them to smile, and say loudly, “One, two, three!”
Then not satisfied with a single shot, he declares, “Let’s take one more shot.” He proceeds to rearrange the group (chairs scrape again amid a symphony of giggles), coaxes them again to smile and loudly counts to three. It gives me the creeps watching this deja vu plays out again and again from one table to another.
When I was still young and a neophyte in the business, I used to fold up, crumble and self-destruct when subjected to such distractions.
Not anymore. Over the years I have thickened the skin of my face to make elephants jealous. I have also shock-proofed my pride. I don’t get rattled anymore, even if a grandmother smothers the birthday boy with hugs and kisses in the middle of my Houdini Milk Can escape.
What I can’t get over with after all these years is my inner rage. I seethe every time somebody tries to wrestle the limelight from me in the middle of a Hippity Hop Rabbit sequence. I also secretly gnash my teeth so hard my dentist threatens to pull them out without anesthesia.
I can handle distractions now, but I still find it hard not to entertain violent thoughts against these mindless, tactless boors. I have this urge to put their heads in the Head Chopper—which is an exercise in futility, because my Head Chopper is gimmicked.