Once the walls of the ghetto came down, Jews began to
face a similar range of career opportunities to non-Jews. Even with the burdens
of anti-Semitic quota systems the Jewish people have made an impact in the
physics, medicine, government, literature, the visual arts and magic.
Magic, you say? Well, there was Harry Houdini, born
Erich Weiss, a rabbi’s son but . . . .
Yes, there was Houdini, but he was only the most
prominent of many Jewish practitioners of the mysteries of prestidigitation.
Consider the new documentary playing at one of the
sidebars in this year’s New York Film Festival, “Deceptive Practice: The
Mysteries and Mentors of Ricky Jay,” directed by Molly Bernstein and Alan
Edelstein. Jay, who was born Ricky Potash, was first inducted into the world of
magic by his grandfather, Max Katz, an immigrant from the Austro-Hungarian
Empire. Katz played an important role in shaping his grandson’s by-now
legendary performing skills and introduced him to a generation of geniuses of
card manipulation, billiard ball sleight-of-hand and other dazzling, if arcane,
skills.
“The way to learn [magic] is personally,” Jay says
early in the film. It’s an insight that is repeated frequently and illustrated
both by footage of the masters with whom Jay studied and the words and artistry
of Jay himself. At one point he likens the process of transmitting such
knowledge to the relationship between a rebbe
and his hasidim, and given the oddly
quotidian nature of the tools of his trade – coins, handkerchiefs, a deck of
ordinary playing cards – one cannot help but think of the hasid who said he wanted to learn how the rebbe tied his shoes.
More than that, the magicians skills are passed
generationally, l’dor-va-dor, although
in Jay’s case, a generation was skipped. He left home at 17 because, as he says
tersely, “My parent’s didn’t ‘get’ me.” Still, he admits, they did one good
thing for him; at his bar mitzvah the entertainment was the great magician Al
Flosso, the “Coney Island Fakir.” It is, he says rather darkly, the only nice
memory I have of them.
“Deceptive Practice,” on the other hand, is filled
with better-than-nice memories. There is a great deal of the sheer fun of
watching him grow up from little Ricky Potash, a 7-year-old performer of
surprising poise (although his grown-up self dismisses the tricks as poor), to
a shoulder-length-haired hippie in a three-piece suit working the daytime talk
shows with gusto, to the wry elder statesman of today. Jay’s memories of Flosso
and other mentors like Dai Vernon and Charlie Miller, Cardini, Slydini and his
grandpa Max are warm, charming and instructive. The glimpses we get of his
relationship with his own younger colleagues are no less satisfying. It’s safe
to say that for the foreseeable future the fate of the magic arts are in safe –
frequently Jewish – hands. And “Deceptive Practice” is one of the only films
I’ve seen this year that I wish had gone on much longer.
Meanwhile, back at the Israeli lemonade stand, the Israel Film Center at the JCC in Manhattan is in the midst of its first film festival, and the array of films on display highlights the dazzling variety coming out of the Jewish State. There is a full slate of programs, including a selection of recent short films, all over town this evening. The closing night screening of Fill the Void is a particular must, although the film will be playing at Film Forum later this year. I'd still check it out; it's a densely worked piece that will reward repeated viewings. In addition, the festival includes two bonus screenings tomorrow night at the Cinema Village. By Summer's End is a first feature from Noa Aharoni, who was an assistant on Saint Clara (which is beginning to look like an important meeting ground for a lot of current Israeli filmmakers). The World Is Funny is the lastest film from Shemi Zarhin, director of Aviva, My Love, a personal favorite of mine. You can buy tickets for any or all of these goodies here.
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