I ate his liver with some wood chips and a nice chianti

Unless I’m crunching on nachos, I don’t normally make noises while watching films. No yelps, rare gasps. I couldn’t even tell you what my actual scream sounded like, which I suppose is a good thing although it seems, as a horror fan, somewhat sad.

Upon watching the trailer for Magic, I realized something. As I released loud “ew. ew. ew. agh. eiahhhhhh”s  at seeing a closeup of a smiling ventriloquist’s dummy taunt the audience--or just me!--with a nonsenical poem, it dawned on me that the last time I made such noises involved plastic jaws dropping and moaning in David Schmoeller’s Tourist Trap.


Big shocker: Dolls scare me.

But you know what? Watch this:

And convince me your pants are clean.

Quick Plot:

A young Anthony Hopkins plays Cork, a struggling magician in need of a gimmick. Enter Fats, his foul-mouthed wooden doppleganger and genuine crowd pleaser. A few sold-out NYC shows and a warm fuzzy agent Ben "Gangrene" (played by the most comforting actor in cinema history, Burgess Meredith) later, Cork and Fats get an NBC pilot deal. Fame, fortune, and funny voices all in one!

Naturally, there’s a catch. Before signing the Standard Rich And Famous Contract, Cork is supposed to take a medical test. He refuses on the grounds of his ‘principles,’ which we can infer may have something to do with his strange and extremely fraternal relationship with the wooden man quipping on his knee.

Cork flees the big bad city and returns to his childhood home in search of Peggy Ann Snow (Ann Margret!), the girl that got away. Now married to an outdoorsy husband who travels a lot, Peggy is quickly charmed by Cork’s newfound confidence and outspoken puppet companion. They make sweet swelling-soundtrack worthy love while ominous harmonica cues capture a possibly jealous Fats unamused by his friend’s diversion.

Is Fats a Chucky-esque killer with New Yawk charm, or a mere scapegoat for the unstable mind of the unstable accented Cork? The answer is fairly obvious and not really part of a twist, but the way director RIchard Attenborough (yes, the amber cane wielding John Hammond from Jurassic Park) plays with the pair’s relationship is always intriguing. Hopkins is a marvel, particularly when speaking in the insanely terrifying cackle of a large-headed doll. Mostly though, Magic is more disturbing than jumpy.

Yes, every single closeup of that wooden monster made me wince. I mean, look at the thing:

Ick ew ick aghhhh. 


But putting aside personal fears-

Jeez!

Let’s focus on the strange sadness of Cork’s fragile mind. While we never get much of a backstory, it’s clear that Fats isn’t the best influence on our shy magician. Sure, he wears matching sweater sets--

(which would be adorable if it wasn’t disgustingly terrifying)

but like the cool guy in any tale, Fats has the power to turn his weaker-willed friend into something fearsome. Nobody knows this better than Gangrene who, in the film’s most arresting scene, challenges Cork to go five minutes without being interrupted by Fats. It’s the most uncomfortable segment I’ve seen in some time.

Credit also goes to novelist/screenwriter William Goldman for crafting such a neat and haunting dynamic. Couple that with the careful notes played by Hopkins--note the little things, like how his voice slowly starts to resemble Fats as his madness becomes more apparent--and the fine direction by Attenborough and you have an unnerving and tragic tale.

High Points

Ann Margaret’s presence is solid (and her breasts are quite fabulous), Hopkins is super as Cork and all the more impressive as twisted voice of Fats (odd that the actor can do an American accent in dummy form but not human), but it’s Meredith who truly makes Magic something truly, well, magical. Part of it may be my personal attachment to the actor, who made me cry in everything from Rocky to an animated version of Puff the Magic Dragon I got for free at Wendy’s, but the actor’s work as the sharp, but compassionate agent brings out the true tragedy of Cork’s state of mind

Mild Spoiler:

Although the body count is minimal, the two major kills are incredibly frightening. The camera shots of Fats swinging his surprisingly heavy body towards the camera and later, holding a tiny switchblade in his tiny non-opposable fingers is enough to give a hardened doll-watcher like me nightmares

Low Points

I suppose I could quibble with the fuzzy explanation of Fats' birth and Cork's lonely childhood. While we can infer from a very '70s flashback that Cork's dad was less than impressed by his son's whittling, I wanted a little more history of just how something as terrifying as Fats could come to be 

Lessons Learned

The definition of cute=Ronald Regan, at least according to dummies

Having a limey dad (who oddly enough, enjoys American football) and growing up in the Catskills will cause you to speak with a distinctively British accent unless, of course, you’re throwing your voice


NYC cab drivers are crappy secret keepers

Lessons From the Holy Book of Hollywood Agents

Never forget that an actor killed Lincoln

No man must ever touch a Rolls but a Rolls man

Rent/Bury/Buy

While Magic is more akin to Psycho than Child’s Play, I still find myself twitching nervously every time I see this:

The film is worth a careful watch for a whole lot of reasons, from its surprising pedigree to sad themes and absolutely positively undeniably creepy villain. The DVD has several features, the best of which is a 30 minute short that details the history of ventriloquism (always evil) and the making of Magic, including neat tidbits about how even Hannibal Lector was terrified of the dummy designed to bear a slight resemblance to his own mug. Fats himself gets the last lines, and while his self-aware attitude is funny in the latter Chucky style, he remains, in every moment of his existence, the kind of thing that makes me go agh. 

and stop it!

Excuse me while I go tend to my nightmares.