Foxy night at the Royal

Press, 11 April 1977, Page 4

Foxy night at the Royal

By STAN DARLING No matter how old the Joke someone will laugh: no matter how clurnsv the magician, someone will he in awe. The jokes were senile with age at the Theatre Roval last evening, but the magicians weren't all that clumsy. Evervone knew they were being conned, but no-one seemed slighted by the sleight of hand. The oart of the theatre they didn’t have in the palm of their hands, they had up their sleeves. The organ clayer at the start played the right kind of music — he zipna-dee-dcodahed fit to rival Brer Rabbit pulling the snooker on the fox and bear in his

slightly underhanded way. And “Somewhere My Love.”, I hide my cooing dove. One of these days, a magician’s doves are going to cut loose and peck the living daylights out of him for keeping them cooped in dark places. Scarves of manv colours were pulled and flung constantly’ — enough to choke a whale. One magician visibly put so many things in one pocket it was a wonder he didn’t walk lopsided. The introductory band started out in evening dress and ended up in drag. They were called the Wonderful Weird (and Wulgar) Wombles from Wooiongong — and they were the big hit of the evening. i

How do they do that? That’s the question you keep asking in a magic show. How do they make that stage curtain go up and down? How does the compere get his suit changed so often between acts, and where does he find such tasteless gear? Where do they dredge up all those old jokes? Have you heard the one about wearing a coat lined with carbon paper so you’ll make a good impression? So had a lot of people there. They heard it again. The compere said it was nice to be important, but more important to be nice. A little moral lesson for the kiddies. The magicians were nice.