Last autumn, mind-reader Marc Salem mesmerised audiences at the Hampstead Theatre. Now he is back in a bigger venue, but the intimate, bewitching effect is not diminished. This bald, bearded American appears to climb inside people's heads and pluck out their thoughts about everything from holidays they have had to moods they have been in. "Coincidence? I think not," proposes this playful hybrid of hustler and scholar, as he executes another extraordinary feat.
Things start tamely. Salem limbers up with some matching number tricks, selecting random audience suggestions with a catapult and a paper missile.
So far, so mathematical. But things become weird when he asks questions before pulling correct predictions of the answers from his wallet. And curiouser and curiouser, when he guesses the words people have plucked from a row of paperbacks.
Now that he's hit his stride, anything goes, from speeding up watches to stopping his pulse at will. There is a teasing clue to part of his technique when Salem, slipping into lecture mode, talks about non-verbal communication.
But this is undercut by the coup de théâtre when a blindfold clearly renders him unable to read body language. He then identifies a series of objects, from Bob Dylan tickets to an ornamental penguin. Though why a fan was carrying a penguin should be between him and his psychoanalyst.
The patter could be fresher. The over-ripe oneliners sound ominously like Jackie Mason's cast-offs. Maybe Salem's secret is that you are too busy cringing to notice any sleight of hand. But not only is this unlikely to be his method, it is a minor grievance in a major spectacle. Whether it is magic, mirrors or mass hypnotism, it is still mind-boggling. For the second time in a year London audiences should prepare to be amazed. Coincidence? I think not.
Mind Games
