The Key to Jerxian Magic

I will start this post with my standard refrain that I don’t like the term “Jerxian.” But I also realize that there’s not a better term at the moment to describe a style of magic that’s not really espoused in a lot of other places other than a blog called The Jerx.

If I had started blogging to discuss my ideas or philosophy regarding magic, then I would have come up with a label for the framework that didn’t reference me or this site. But that wasn’t my intention when I started this site.

Some people like my more humorous presentations (although most of what I do in real life isn’t necessarily intended to be “funny”), some people like my ideas about performing socially rather than in a theatrical manner, some people like the concept of immersive magic, or long-form tricks. And when they write me, they’ll use “Jerxian” to apply to all those different aspects.

I don’t consider any of those things to be my exclusive domain, of course. And it’s probably only some combination of those elements that is unique to me.

And thematically, I believe in having the broadest possible type of repertoire. Short tricks, long tricks, visual tricks, cerebral tricks, funny tricks, serious tricks, scary tricks, romantic tricks, tricks presented in an almost scientific manner, tricks presented in a fantastical manner, tricks that happen because of me, tricks that happen despite me, and tricks that I supposedly have no clue why they’re happening.

But there is one thing that is more or less universal to the magic I show people.

And that is this:

Seek congruency over believability.

I’ve talked about this in a lot of ways since the start of the site. But never so succinctly.

For example, just a couple of weeks into the start of the site I wrote:

If you want people to think what you're doing is real, you're a sociopath. Seriously, I think that's a pathetic mental disorder and I feel bad for you and worse for the people you perform for. And it's a poisonous attitude that has held back magic for centuries. If coming off as "real" is a priority for you, then what you're saying is, "I want to dupe dumb people and look ridiculous to smart people."

My goal is never to have them believe. My goal is to have them intrigued and enraptured and swept up in the moment, despite knowing it's not real. 

I think the audience who gravitated towards my site understood the first paragraph easily enough. Of course those weird incels who want people to think they have actual supernatural powers or even just superior skills of perception and psychological manipulation are fucking dingbats. And of course they reflect poorly on magic.

But that second paragraph is important to me too. How do you get people “intrigued and enraptured” in magic if you’re not going for believability?

You do this through congruency. You make the experience of the effect congruent so that people can get lost in it.

If you’re making coins travel between your hands, and trying to present this as something interesting and impossible, then making a bunch of corny jokes and accompanying it with a story about birds migrating or something is incongruent.

That’s not the way you would show someone something that was really interesting and impossible. You wouldn’t add in jokes or a story

That type of presentation might entertain people in the moment… but will it “intrigue and enrapture” them? In my experience, no.

The humorous element or the jokes should be intrinsic to whatever it is you’re showing them. If it’s not, I don’t think you should add those elements in.

If you can’t think of a context that makes sense for why you’re making the coins move between your hands, you don’t have to concoct some garbage about Star Trek and your hands being little transporters.

Instead, you can give a sort of “meta-presentation” about wanting to show them a trick. “There’s this classic technique in magic. But I think it may be more of an urban legend than a real thing. It’s supposed to make it look like small objects can go from hand to hand invisibly. I’ve been practicing it, but I can’t tell from my perspective if it’s legit. Will you take a look and let me know if it really looks like that?”

That’s a simple presentation, but it has the power to actually make people wonder what’s really going on. Can you (the magician) really not perceive this? It’s just sleight-of-hand, right? Or is there possibly something more to it?

If that sounds duller to you than the version with the Star Trek analogy and the hacky jokes, I think you have to ask yourself if you actually like magic, and if you think coins going from hand to hand is magical. Because what does it suggest if you think something is improved with a lame premise and bad jokes?

If you want to do funny tricks, the best thing to do is to take absurd premises very seriously.

“My dog can read my mind and it’s just… I don’t know… It’s really getting on my nerves. I mean, it bugs me that he can do it and it’s clear he thinks he’s so much better than me. Beyond that, it’s also just damn frustrating that no one believes me. But I can prove it. I’ll show you….”

That’s absurdist, and potentially funny (the more serious you take it, the better chance it has of being funny) but it’s still congruent with the situation where your dog can read minds. This is so much stronger than...

“My dog can read minds. That’s right… he can do… the imPAWSible!”

It’s not only a shitty joke, but it’s not something you would say in the “reality” of you having a mind-reading dog. So you’re undercutting the premise you’re trying to establish.

Forced humor is just one type of incongruency that undermines casual magic. Un-contextualized processes, props that look like they came from the magic store, props that are supposed to look normal but don’t, saying things with your tongue in your cheek, tricks that are easily searched online, unexaminable props, memorized patter—these are all things that are incongruent with whatever your premise is. They might not prevent you from fooling someone. But they’ll prevent people from getting wrapped up in the premise.

When someone makes a horror-comedy film set in the 1970s, they don’t want to have a bunch of continuity errors, bad CGI, boom-mics dangling into the shots, extras staring at the camera, choppy editing, zippers showing on the back of the monster’s costume, and modern cars in the shots. They eliminate these things not because they’re trying to convince people they’re making a documentary, but because these incongruencies take an audience out of the movie. The people making the movie don’t say, “Ah, it’s not a serious movie. No one really believes there’s a wise-crackin’ werewolf terrorizing Idaho, so what difference does it make?” No. They do what they can to pull you in despite that.

Eliminating incongruencies in your magic is not about being “believable.” It’s about giving people the best version of the trick. Not one where they constantly have to forgive the holes in the story you’re telling. But one where this unbelievable experience almost begins to feel real despite how impossible or fantastical they know it to be. If there is a Jerxian style of magic, this is the key to it.