We’re friends right? I mean, in a few weeks this site will hit its first anniversary and during this past year I think we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well. So I think it is time I finally reveal just how crazy my family is.
Now I’ve already mentioned my schizophrenic grandfather in an earlier review. Not that I would know (I never met him) but evidently he was a very nice man who merely thought he owned Detroit, was convinced his family was trying to kill him, which resulted in him quite the short temper and thus he decided to sleep with a shotgun under his bed. Pretty standard really. But make no mistake, he is hardly an outlier in our family.
Take for instance my older sister Kristen. While many of her exploits are unfit for print, she did have a very unique imaginary friend as a child, a Miss Karate Potty. Kristen and Karate Potty did all sorts of things together, in which they became the dearest of friends, culminating in Kristen being named Maid of Honor for the wedding of Miss Karate Potty to a Mr Judo Poop-o. The entire ceremony occurred in the backseat of our station wagon during our annual Christmas trip to Ohio. And have I mentioned that she tape recorded the entire ceremony for posterity?
Moving on to my mother, a woman who talks to herself. Not just the occasional odd phrase or statement, but entire conversations. While this was an odd quirk when she was younger, as she’s grown older the volume of these conversations have grown exponentially louder. What was once nearly imperceptible mumbling has now almost reached a normal speaking volume, As yet another cruel twist of fate it seems this unfortunate trait has been passed on to me, although I don’t talk to myself. No, according to Anna I grunt at myself when I am thinking, thus, I am unable to keep anything from her is she is within earshot.
Then of course, we have my father, whom I could name off a veritable laundry list of peccadilloes that are almost, but not quite certifiable. The granddaddy of them all though is the tale of his pinky finger, or lack there of as the case may be.
You see my little sister was a bit of an accident. While my family was never poor we also were certainly not well off. So the thought of having yet another mouth to feed was a bit of a strain on my parents, initially anyways. This would account for my father’s mind being elsewhere when using his table saw to cut a piece of wood for me, which also resulted in his pinky being displaced from his hand.
Now my father was rushed to the hospital where his doctor informed him that the finger couldn’t be salvaged, at which point in time my father, coked out on morphine, offered up this rather astute suggestion, “So are you going to give it to McDonald’s then?” But the real magic of this story happened my father returned home. Upon inspecting his table saw he discovered a small chunk of his finger was still on the saw blade. He of course did what any Gamble would do, he saved it.
Oh but I’m not finished. Over the years the “finger””has reached legendary status within our family. Now safely taped up inside a cabinet in his workshop, any Gamble home tour is not complete the grand reveal of the “finger”. It has even become a bit of a rite of passage for those who have attempted to court his daughters. You see, you aren’t officially part of the family until your eyes have rested upon his decaying nubbin.
For those of you who think I have forgotten my little sister Meghan, I am happy to report that I have not. But while she is a sweet and lovely girl who tends to worry more then necessary, she is otherwise sickeningly normal. Thus, our little Maggot is excluded from this particular narrative, though I’m quite sure I’ll work her in at some point in a later review. So I think it is safe to say I have experience dealing with people who may or may not quite be unhinged, and have a one or two loose screws that could benefit from a bit of maintenance. Which segues nicely into a little film directed by Richard Attenborough called Magic.
Corky Withers (Anthony Hopkins) is magician that is about to make it big. He’s toured the country and been a huge hit on the Johnny Carson show and his agent (Burgess Meredith) has just informed him that he is being offered his own television special, pending a psychological test. The problem is, Corky secretly suffers from multiple personality disorder, and he is slowly losing control as his “partner” Fats begins to take over, and Fats has plans to make sure no one ever finds out just who is in control.
Magic, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. One! Anthony Hopkins is fantastic as the deranged Corky Withers who is struggling to remain his fragile grip on his sanity. Hmm … that may be it. Which is a slight problem and one that was at times incredibly frustrating to watch.
The biggest problem with Magic is it is simply far too long. At over an hour and forty five minutes in length it is a some what short film by today’s bloated running times, but it isn’t the length of the film as it is the amount of time wasting that happens for the entire first act. While the opening scene is fantastic, in which Corky tells his mentor Merlin (E.J. André) that he has wildly succeeded during his first solo appearance as a magician while what truly happened is juxtaposed alongside Corky’s narrative.
But from there the film stagnates as it attempts to show how Corky responds to his initial setback, and then quickly fast forwards to his burgeoning success. This jerky plot delivery fails in immersing the viewer in the story and confuses them instead. It doesn’t help matters any when Corky takes off for the Catskills to find his childhood crush Peggy (Ann-Margret), a twist that is scarcely explained and left for the viewer to figure out on their own. But even this doesn’t occur until a half hour into the film, and comes so far out of left field that you can only assume that the film is setup as its own sort of magic trick, that the first half is meant to be misdirection for the final act, only the setup for the film is simply so awkward that rather then enhance the experience and thrill the audience, it merely frustrates them instead.
If only the misguided storytelling was the only flaw. The chemistry between Hopkins and Margret is painfully awkward, culminating is a truly necrotic love scene that is almost laughably bad as they press their faces together and shake their heads in a manner that defies belief, it might as well have been two male fish battling for supremacy then two long lost lovers finally feeding their secret passions. To be fair to Margret, she’s awful in almost every scene she appears. Flush with dialogue befitting the 50′s and frolicking around as if she’s off to see the Wizard of Oz, she gives a performance that dares one to ask just what Corky sees in her besides her mammary glands? That isn’t to say Corky is a heck of a catch either, as he demonstrates during a scene where he attempts to read Peggy’s mind. Clearly unhinged, and looking more then slightly like Steve Buscemi, Corky and his magic tricks (Ed note: Illusions, Dad!) and his foul mouthed dummy Fats teamed with Peggy make for an incredibly unrealistic threesome that could only exist in the movies.
But thankfully there are some saving graces to Magic besides Hopkins outstanding performance. Outside of Margret all the actors do a good job and are well cast, especially Meredith and Ed Lauter as Peggy’s husband Duke. And once the film gets passed the poor story telling and the slimy fish sex and gets down to Corky losing control Magic really becomes a treat to watch, with the final 20 minutes culminating in an outstanding ending to an otherwise mediocre film. Magic has it flaws to be sure, but it is smart enough to place them in the middle of the film where they are the easiest to dismiss. With that great opening and a whopper of an ending, Magic just might be able to pull the wool over your eyes, and that isn’t a bad thing.
