Blog: The Magic Circle
This week my time as an apprentice at The Magic Circle came to an end. Instead, I walked through the doors of the most prestigious magic club in the world as Andrew Keates M.M.C (for muggle folk, M.M.C means Member of the Magic Circle) and I can now enjoy all the rights and privileges that come with being a full member of this extraordinary society.
Ashtrays and Bananas
It all started with a banana. One Christmas, a man I called ‘Uncle Ron’, a big Eastender with a love of magic and bird-watching, handed me a banana and before I could peel it, I had to utter this word ‘Abracadabra’. It was such a silly word, but I obliged. The banana cut itself into sections as I pulled the skin from top to bottom. Next he took some ash from an ashtray and rubbed it on top of my hand until it disappeared. He told me to open my hand and the ash had somehow passed through into my palm. I don’t remember much about Uncle Ron. But I remember this encounter. These experiences may have been messy, but they were magic.
I can vividly recall accompanying my mother to a local market where we stumbled upon a magic stall. A towering magician, kneeled beside the wide-eyed boy I used to be (and still am at heart), and thrilled me by making a stack of 10p coins vanish under a brass container, then leap through thin air, and reappear in another container. On another occasion, he took a deck of cards, had me utter a familiar magical incantation, and before my very eyes, every card turned blank. It was impossible. I had watched his every move. The allure of these magical happenings consumed me. But it wasn't about uncovering the secrets; I yearned to share the wonder, delight, and joy I had discovered with my friends. Perhaps because I’ve always felt a little sad and always looked for the thing which made me feel otherwise. Magic was a means to shock-away the tough stuff and for me, it’s never been about the trick, but rather the sensations and emotion you can evoke in others; especially if that emotion is joy.
Over the years, Paul Daniels' magic set became a perennial item on my Christmas wish list, and my remarkable mother, almost magically, summoned a real-life magician to our humble council house (for the magicians reading this, it was none other than Ron Gilbert M.I.M.C with Gold Star) for my birthday. What I would give all the years later to meet him in the Magic Circle club room and thank him for how impactful his birthday card trick was to that little boy and all of his tiny, noisy friends.
In the 1990s extraordinary magicians would regularly be on television, including having their very own shows and taking spots at the Royal Variety Performance, where I’d sit close to the TV so I could hit record on our VCR (younger readers, Google it) when a magician, variety or musical theatre performer would appear. My mind opened to the impossibilities that were capable in this impossible world at exactly the same time as I saw David Copperfield fly for the first time. And as I grew older, instead of taking a set of dynamic coins into the classroom, I’d take a copy of The Royal Road to Card Magic to bed.
Time to Grow Up
But as the years rolled on, I underwent the overwhelming transformation from child to teenager. Magic, once enchanting, began to lose its lustre. Rather than craving the secrets of magicians, I was compelled to grapple with my own concealed truth that I was a gay man. Society made me trade in my fascination with Hugard for the works of Wilde. Nick Einhorn's 'Practical Encyclopedia of Magic' seemed frivolous after reading the plays of Martin Sherman, William M. Hoffman, and Larry Kramer. Ambitious card routines paled in significance as I confronted the spectre of AIDS, Section 28, and the impending deluge of homophobic bullying, attacks, and the overwhelming burden of shame that festers in all LGBTQ+ people during our genesis. No longer do we play, but try to survive. I've often joked about why I abandoned magic during my teenage years, saying, 'I was gay, loved science fiction and theatre; I didn't need another reason to be beaten up in the playground.'
Many more years would pass. I’d attend drama school, fall in love for the first time, and fall out of it, lose family members to death, co-run a theatre and started to direct plays and musicals professionally. Magic was a fleeting memory of the past, but it wasn’t dead. It was dormant - waking occasionally. I went to a lot of showbiz parties - too many in fact. And often there was a magician. Perhaps one of the most profound encounters was when I was at the closing night party of Jez Butterworth’s Jerusalem at Soho House. As Sonia Friedman was beamed in via Skype because she was working on a new show called The Book of Mormon and Mark Rylance was sitting in a corner reading a dictionary. I only had my eyes fixed on Fay Presto, who made cards appear in my cigarette packet and using only her touch; was able to take a piece of thread and repair it with the tips of her fingers. I watched her every move all night. I’m fortunate to have Fay in my life now. She could never remember meeting me all those years ago, yet it was encounters with Fay and others who would fan the embers of magic alive just enough to get me where I am today.
A Vanishing Act
Decades passed and Covid-19 manipulated us all to vanish into the dark. I lived in isolation due to being at high risk thanks to being HIV+. It was during this time I finally recognised unhealthy patterns in my behaviour, forcing me to confront my addictions and disassociate from many friends and the substances which kept us together and we relied on to manage pain and anxiety formed from the past. I tried all sorts of things to occupy those long days. I bought a Back to The Future Delorean model kit (which I never finished), I made every recipe from Max Halley’s Sandwich Book, my brain burned and blistered listening to hour after hour of LBC and I seemed to only take to social media to rage or parrot speak what others were saying for validation. I re-read all of Shakespeare’s sonnets, tried (and failed) making comedy Instagram videos and I cannot express the exhaustion I felt attending another fucking Zoom quiz in between masturbation and praying for a Sainsbury’s delivery. What a time.
One day, a music producer friend of mine, Daron Robinson, introduced me to an app called Clubhouse. It's a social media platform which uses voice chat rooms rather than typing where people with similar interests can engage in real-time conversations and connect. As I explored the app, it scanned my contacts and showed me rooms where people I knew were participating. That's when I saw my friend, the immensely talented Simon Lipkin, in a room titled 'Magician's Chatting 🪄 🎩 🐇.' There were plenty of other rooms related to my interests, such as LGBTQ+ issues, acting, and politics, but in that moment, I needed magic. I think the world did.
I joined the room, initially lurking at the bottom of the screen, absorbing the discussions. The first voice I recall hearing belonged to illusionist Richard Young. Richard, with his sharp wit and mischievous humour, had a knack for finding levity even in the darkest moments. Amidst the laughter, I found solace and healing. Eventually, I mustered the courage to speak to him and the other magicians in the room, though they knew little about me. Their questions probed my magical expertise, and I felt somewhat out of my depth, as my knowledge of magic was limited to my teenage years when the internet was not readily available. To compensate for my lack of magical prowess, I frequently tried to impress, inadvertently making myself appear more awkward than enchanting. In those early days I must have been as endearing as a magician who could only pull a rabid rabbit out of a hat. Instead, I became a relentless questioner, soaking up knowledge night after night. I didn’t need to impress these people. I had to learn from them. I realise now I was so nervous, not just because of their talents, but because I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be friends with those who would have loved my birthday party, dynamic coins and Copperfield’s flight if we had known each other growing up.
This group of magicians became a sanctuary for me. Instead of being an “Award Winning Theatre Director," I could simply be a “Magic Hobbyist”, or better, “Andrew’. Many Clubhousers played crucial roles in guiding me along this royal road. Henri White and Lee Hathaway connected with me not only over magic but also our shared experiences as gay men. Katherine Rhodes recommended countless books for me to study and we bonded over our love of classic TV shows. Actor and magician Paul Roffman offered unwavering support and even sent me a box of magic to encourage my practice during low moments. Michael J. Fitch, known for his childlike enthusiasm, entertained me, I have a particular memory of laughing until my sides hurt as he did impressions of Zippy from Rainbow and passionately encouraged me to pursue membership to The Magic Circle. And Luke Oseland, shared his ideas and asked for my advice for a show called Drunk Magic, which would later find success at the Edinburgh Fringe. There are countless others who provided comfort , distraction and inspiration during those lonely times—Harry De Cruz, Marc Kerstein, Neb MacIver, Rodney James Piper, John Archer, Dylan Love, Jake Allen, Edward Hilsum, Timothy Carver, Andy Nyman, and Preston Nyman, to name a few. This room of voices brought together some of the world's finest magicians, bonding over gossip, tricks, and performances. Despite our diverse backgrounds, we were all kids at heart, seeking magic as a refuge from our isolation. We all knew what it was to be lonely.
As day after day of the pandemic marched on, so did my reading and reconnecting with magic. My once pristine copies of the Tarbell Course in Magic started to become dog-eared and notes began being scribbled in the margins. My magic library grew to such an extent I had to buy a second bookcase and nearly every cabinet in my flat hid a magic book, prop or trick.
A New Normal
When the world began to reopen, I didn't rush to reconnect with actors, fellow directors, or producers. Instead, I sought out the voices that had sustained me through the pandemic. The first person to offer unwavering encouragement, honesty, and eccentricity was Henri White. He showed me many effects and techniques with his bag full of cards - and gifted me one of his decks so I could practice on the train home. We would spend hours on the phone discussing magic, our struggles, ideas, and our love for theatre. I don’t know how many hours we’ve spent together on the rooftop of a Soho House as the cool kids sipped cocktails and we flung cards left, right and centre. When Paul Roffman and I met in the real world. There wasn’t a millisecond of awkwardness. There was a profound sense we knew each other, like two friends who had met hundreds of times already. And his encouragement is something I treasure. There’s just too many other encounters to mention! The first time I partied with Lee Hathaway on his house boat with Lee Warren, sitting with Simon Lipkin for the first time talking about magic and not musical theatre, the first hug I had with John Archer, the parties with Laura London and the endless attendance to the Evening of Wonders run by Martin Rees and Sylar, which became a night with an audience made up entirely of magicians. And of course, Wonderville; a West End show created in the West End by my usual producing partners and friends Piers Cottee-Jones, Jamie Chapman-Dixon, Mitchell Reeve, John Webb Carter and Stephen McGill, and how proud I was to see so many magicians shine, both on stage, in particular Richard Young, Harry De Cruz and Edward Hilsum, and in the audience seeing magic restored at the Palace Theatre, Shaftesbury Avenue.
The Director Auditions
Many of these magicians encouraged me to apply for membership in The Magic Circle. At the time, I was directing Secret Cinema's 'Ghostbusters: The Gates of Gozer,' one of the largest productions I had ever directed. I even devised a special magical experience as part of that show, which remains one of my proudest achievements. It was then I formed a friendship with former Magic Circle President, Scott Penrose, who created some exquisite magic props for the production and has become my go-to prop maker for all things magical. In fact, I am currently working on a show, and Scott's craftsmanship and friendship will be indispensable in that endeavour. After extensive study, practice, magic consulting, and the unwavering support of every magician I've mentioned, and many more, I made the decision to apply for apprenticeship at The Magic Circle. To even secure an interview, two TMC members must provide referrals. My first referral came from Henri White, and my second came from my friend, Stephen Fry. We frequently exchange magical inspirations via Whatsapp, such as David Berglas, Jean Hugard, and S.W. Erdnase.
I spent an exhaustive afternoon crafting a routine for my interview. Rather than merely performing a few effects, I wove a narrative about what a director does when assembling a show. I introduced myself while holding a wand, which amusingly wreaked havoc with my lighting every time I gestured. I illustrated that a director's role is to bring order to chaos, symbolised by a deck of cards. I demonstrated this by shuffling a deck multiple way, casting the show by miraculously finding all the aces through seemingly impossible cuts, rehearsing the piece and finding the order of things by impossibly returning the deck back into new deck order and then sweeping the whole deck into an audience in an auditorium, then taking a joker card and transforming it mid-air into the Queen of Hearts. While I have never been a great card magician, it was the storytelling that mattered to me most. Luke Oseland spent the entire afternoon and evening assisting me, displaying a level of patience akin to that of a saint, even though there were moments when I caught him with his head in his hands as I strove for perfection. It had to be right!
My interview was held very late in the evening. Bob Pound appreciated the routine and delved into in-depth questions about the magicians I admired. He probed what I aspired to be within the magic community. “I’d like to be just a little bit cheaper than Andy Nyman”, I quipped. We shared a laugh, but I followed up by saying that while it was a jest, there was some truth to it. I don't believe I'll ever become a masterful performer. I haven't devoted my life to being a performer. However, I have dedicated my life to directing, and I genuinely hope that my theatrical experience can further the art of magic, as Andy and some others has consistently demonstrated in their work.
My apprenticeship was granted and two dear friends, Katherine Rhodes and Scott Penrose, gave me an enthralling tour of The Magic Circle's grand headquarters. I must have asked questions about every single object in the museum, leaving no chop cup unturned. Every inch of that colossal building houses some of the most extraordinary and historically significant objects in the world of magic. I made a promise to them, one that still holds true today, including to our new President, Marvin Berglas: If there's anything I can do to contribute to this club, whether it's developing shows, collaborating with magicians, or providing artistic advice, please allow me to give more to the club than I take from it.
My two, kind, wise friends were aware of my peculiar affection for a magical prop known as 'The Educated Duck.' It's essentially a wooden duck on a stand with a card holder, cleverly designed to select a card from a deck. I had always wanted one, and at the conclusion of my tour, they presented me with my very own. She’s called, Mabel, who now graces a shelf in my living room. I’ve used her for many different tricks and revelations. How could anyone not love a card picking duck called Mabel? Especially when she's a gift from two figures in magic who shared their passions in one of the greatest buildings in the world on a day I will never forget. From that day on I attended The Magic Circle religiously as an apprentice, engaging with magicians, asking questions, attending lectures, and borrowing books from their remarkable library.
Pick a Card
Months later, my whole life was turned upside down. Some truly horrendous events happened to me. One over the course of a weekend, another which lasted over several months, and another event fairly recently. I’m not ready to talk about these experiences publicly - yet. The director in me wants to share what I have learned, but the victim in me must sit and learn the lessons first. They are deeply personal experiences, which have frankly changed me as a man. And most of my activities since have been about changing my life so I am never in a position to be hurt as I was. But know the idea of believing in magic was suffocated. Frankly, the idea of living was a struggle some days. For a long time, I couldn’t get out of bed, so a deck of cards might as well have been an anvil. I abandoned my pursuit of magic and instead focused on recovery from trauma and addiction. I am still in recovery and may be for the rest of my life. But I’m no longer doing it alone.
A few months ago Katherine Rhodes called to check on me. I had stopped participating in Clubhouse discussions, my spell-books were gathering dust (I even considered selling them) and the tips of my magic wands began to rust. Magic had lost its place in my home. Katherine, who happened to be the Vice President of The Magic Circle at the time, asked me about my availability in a few months. I was uncertain as my life had become a day-to-day struggle, with no clear plans for each day, let alone in a few months time. She asked if I would perform at the WellChild Awards at the Hurlingham Club. When I enquired about the reason for her request, she replied, "It will give you a reason to pick up your magic again, even if it's just for an hour each week; see how it makes you feel.”. I had to pause after writing that sentence. What a beautiful challenge to set a member who had lost their way. I now realise that I had stopped practicing magic because I felt undeserving of joy or anything else that brought me happiness. I believed I deserved all the pain and suffering that had befallen me, and that included unwittingly punishing myself by neglecting my passions and the people who wanted me in their lives.
I began practicing magic every few days, not by choice, but by necessity. And once I considered how it would make others feel, rather than myself, it released an innocent enthusiasm I had lost. Being who I am, I couldn't settle for an off-the-shelf trick. Instead, I crafted a routine centred around the children and caregivers of seriously ill children who would be attending the WellChild Awards. I wanted to create an experience that would transport the audience back to childhood. I had a spectator draw their favourite childhood toy, only to reveal that I had drawn the same item. I asked them to think of someone deserving of an award, delving into their attributes and revealing their name through mind-reading and information I could never have known. I requested someone recall a specific time which just ‘felt right as it came to their mind’, but despite my best efforts, I failed to guess it correctly each time too. Later, I produced a list of 50 children from 50 different hospitals, each with a unique ailment. As they selected a number between 1 & 50, they'd see the child they had selected and read out loud, "Andrew Keates was born at Heatherwood Hospital, Ascot, and is performing for you tonight, thanks to the extraordinary care from people like you. He was born at..." As a few tears or cheers were let out by my audiences, I would ask them about that time they mentioned earlier on, and they’d reach into my waistcoat pocket, take out a very old pocket-watch and see that named time right down to the minute. There were a few other tricks, but this narrative formed the heart of the routine.
When I reflect on that night, I don't think about the opulent club or the celebrity guests in attendance. Instead, I think of the children and their parents, coping with unimaginable pain and suffering. For a few precious moments, I made them believe in magic, and witnessing their strength and courage rekindled my belief in this craft and myself as well. This life is so very tough sometimes, but it’s how we take responsibility for our behaviour which defines us.
Katherine hadn't revealed much that evening. She didn't mention that the Duke of Sussex would be present, or how nearly every table would host a celebrity, including Emma and Matt Willis, Tom Felton, Sophie Ellis Bextor, Dick and Dom, Gabby Rosalyn, Janet Ellis and many others. She also didn't mention that I was secretly being examined for membership to The Magic Circle.
One of Them
Later that month, Katherine and I went to see the London Gay Men’s Chorus together. It was the first week of my commitment to sobriety and while others downed champagne, I happily sipped on a neglected bottle of Appletize. Katherine’s phone rang and she left me in a room of warbling homosexuals (not a new experience). When she reappeared, she had a look in her eyes made up of the ingredients of pride and love. She knew what she was going to say would bring such happiness to someone still wrestling with a lot of pain, especially as a while before I had been in hospital thanks to some heart complications. She looked me in the eyes and said, “I would just like to say Andrew Keates M.M.C - welcome to The Magic Circle”. My eyes filled with tears and all I could say was, “Really?, Really? No! How?”. I hugged her. I felt wanted. And I felt valued. She explained she had spent most of the WellChild Awards night watching me at every single table I was performing at, taken feedback from audience members and the organisation itself and submitted examination reports on the night after she got home to the Magic Circle Council, who unanimously agreed I should be a full member based upon my previous work, knowledge, abilities and examination results. Perhaps some might think of The Magic Circle as a bit of an old fashioned society (I mean it is, it was founded in 1905), but I believe it possesses an exceptional capacity for kindness, support, and belief when it comes to supporting their own. And it was official. I was one of their own.
That evening, Katherine and I found a table and talked about magic into the night. Later two handsome young queens sat with us. They asked us what we do. “We’re magicians from The Magic Circle” - I beamed! They asked us to show them a trick and the two of us had them squealing as we read their minds, produced thought-of cards and I even revealed a song one of them was only thinking of in their minds. The song was ‘Levitating’ by Duo Lipa. And that night I felt I was levitating too.
The Secret
I don't aspire to become a great performing magician, although on some occasions I can’t resist. But I do want to be responsible for creating magic – whether that means assisting actors with magical effects in their performances or collaborating with magicians to infuse truth and acting into this ancient, precious artform. And every Monday night I hope to walk through those great blue doors on Stephenson Way not only as a member of the world's greatest magic club, but to support magicians as they have demonstrated to me time and time again.
It’s funny how our club has a circle at its core. Because the circle might be symbolic of our unity as club. But it’s also evokes my own personal meaning, which is we nearly always circle back to the things we love from childhood.
The Magic Circle's motto is ‘indocilis privata loqui’, which roughly translates to, ‘don’t reveal the secrets’’ But this story is not about magical secrets; it's about the truth. We all need magic in our lives, but sometimes only a magician can help us find it.
By Andrew Keates M.M.C
