The being January I just had to go something in the Sydney Festival... but what? Pickings were unusually slim this year. I plumped for this and Mick Turner on Thursday. I can only hope I get more for my other $40 (including booking fee) in a couple of days than I did tonight.
In brief, solo performer Rob Drummond, sporting a Scottish or possibly Geordie accent, gives us something of a potted history of this trick mixed in with some mind reading and sundry second-rank trickery. He sure is a great reader of body language, assuming they weren't all plants. In contrast his history is at odds with Wikipedia, and this being an era of Government-by-Wikipedia, I expect he's been deported by now. A major part of the show involved audience participation, which was mostly in the form of a lady who was out with her partner, up (err, down) on stage. Unfortunately the interaction led to much tedious and boring interjection from know-everythings; in that sense it was perfect for the Festival. The central moral quandry was whether he should reveal the mystery of the levitating side-table. (The lady's partner was in fact a magician himself and quite allergic to this spilling of tradecraft.)
As for the climax: the test shot failed to shatter the plate and so it was clear that the bullets were blanks. Colour me surprised. I hope he sacked his roadie.
The massive Christian Boltanski installation still crowds the foyer. The house was packed, and the line snaked all the way back to the bar.