BEACON #22:

Audience Participation

{briefanrede},

In the art of magic, there is a remarkable bad habit that stubbornly persists. You bring a spectator on stage and do whatever you want with them. They have to hold objects, pick cards, answer questions, and occasionally even perform some silly movements. If they feel uncomfortable, it either goes unnoticed or—even worse—is consciously ignored. After all, it’s all just fun. And above all, entertainment. Really?

A person buys a ticket for a magic show. They want to spend an entertaining evening, perhaps marvel, laugh, and leave everyday life behind for a while. They pay for this. In theatre, there is an unwritten rule: everyone has the right to remain a spectator. In interactive theatre forms, however, audience participation is explicitly part of the concept. Those who attend such an event ideally know what they’re getting into. But at a regular magic show, we can hardly assume this willingness.

The problem often starts with the selection of spectators. “You look so trustworthy—please come up to the front! You’ll get a huge round of applause for it.” That sounds harmless at first. But what happens if the person addressed doesn’t want to? Some performers accept this immediately. Others try to persuade them or turn their refusal into a joke. “Oh, come on, it won’t be that bad!” Now the spectator has to justify themselves in front of everyone for not wanting to participate. What started as an invitation has turned into social pressure.

An invitation must also be allowed to be declined. Without comment and without justification. A no is a no, even in magic.

Even those who initially participate willingly may suddenly feel uncomfortable during a trick. Perhaps the situation becomes too personal. Or maybe they don’t understand what is expected of them. A good performer should notice this and allow the spectator to return to their seat.

“Please don’t call me up to the front!” I’ve heard that sentence often enough over the course of my career. Some people have experienced firsthand how they were made to look ridiculous in front of others during a magic show. Others have seen it happen. Those who have had such experiences may prefer to sit in the back row at the next magic performance—or skip it altogether. That’s a pretty sad reflection on our art.

At weddings or birthday parties, I’m occasionally asked in advance whether I’ll involve the audience in my performance. Most of the time, I answer: “Not really. If at all, then the bride and groom or the birthday person.” I’ve had very good experiences with this approach. If the couple is up for it, a trick can be prepared that’s dedicated to them. The participation arises from the occasion, and the other guests can relax and enjoy the show.

Many magic tricks only work through the involvement of a spectator. They can bring a performance to life, create closeness, and lend credibility to what’s happening. That’s why we should ask ourselves why we need a spectator. Are their decisions important to the trick? Do they experience something that couldn’t be conveyed without their participation? Or do we just need them as a human prop stand?

A spectator stands on stage for minutes, holding an envelope without being allowed to do anything else. Eventually, they’re asked if they’ve really held the envelope the whole time. Of course they have. What else were they supposed to do with it? For the performer, their presence may be technically necessary. For the spectator, it might just be boring. And for the rest of the audience, too.

I find it particularly problematic when the performer demonstrates their superiority at the expense of the spectator. The spectator is supposed to solve an apparently simple task but fails. They’re supposed to guess something and, of course, get it wrong. They’re deliberately misled so the magician can later stand there as the winner. The audience laughs. But what are they laughing at? The situation—or the person who was humiliated?

In my opinion, a spectator who agrees to participate in a performance should leave feeling better than when they started. They should feel like they were part of an extraordinary experience. A spontaneous exchange can be wonderful if both sides enjoy it. But if only the performer and the rest of the audience are laughing while the participating spectator looks awkwardly at the floor, something has gone wrong. And it’s not the spectator’s fault.

In magic, we constantly talk about misdirection, timing, presentation, and psychology. We analyze the smallest movements, eye directions, and linguistic nuances. Yet when it comes to dealing with the spectators—for whom we perform our tricks—surprisingly many rely on their (often deceptive) gut feeling.

Audience participation deserves just as much attention as the technical execution of a trick. That’s why we should ask ourselves three questions when preparing: Is the participation really necessary? Does the spectator have an interesting and meaningful task? And what can we do to ensure the spectators return to their seats feeling good?

If we don’t have compelling answers to these questions, we should reconsider the performance. Anyone who steps onto our stage in front of others is placing their trust in us—and we shouldn’t take that lightly.

A show can still succeed even if not all audience members participate. Sometimes, it’s perfectly enough for them to simply be amazed.

Until next time,

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