Ricky Jay is not your run-of-the-mill matinee idol. The hair is going and he's more than a little thick around the middle. The puffiness about the eyes suggests a man who stays up later than is good for him. But don't be swayed by the haggard insurance-salesman look. The guy's selling something onstage, something very sexy.
It's wonder that he's peddling, and his absolute mastery of his assignment makes him irresistible in "Ricky Jay and His 52 Assistants," his wizardly one-man show. Jay's milieu is sleight-of-hand, what he also calls "card artistry," and though he fools you again and again and again, he never makes a fool of you. That's one of his gifts: He allows an audience to believe it's being let in on the joke when in fact it's being kept completely clueless. Over the course of the performance, Jay imparts reams of information about what he does. Darned if you will be any less mystified about how he does it.
Has he got a deal for you: At Ricky Jay's entertaining show, the fun is no illusion.
(Studio Theatre)
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They say there's a sucker born every minute. This genial raconteur makes you happy to claim your birthright. His show -- directed by his friend David Mamet -- has taken up residence at Studio Theatre through May 22. Those in the market for an evening of tickling surprise are advised to pick up the phone sooner rather than later. Though nothing even remotely prurient is involved here, Studio's Web site says children younger than 17 will not be admitted. Maybe it's that Jay simply doesn't want his efforts to be misconstrued as a birthday-party magic act.
Which this most certainly is not. Bathed in erudition and wit, "Ricky Jay and His 52 Assistants" teaches respect for the hallowed art of now-you-see-it-now-you-don't. Among the illusions Jay creates is that we're all friends, that we're at, maybe, a dinner party, the dessert plates have been cleared and he's been coaxed into a presentation. His stories beget other stories. Who knew that acquiring the ability to deal from the center of the deck undetected was akin to unearthing the Rosetta stone? Or that the rudimentary trick of the cups and disappearing balls was developed independently in Europe and in China? Or that the quintessential street hustle, three-card monte, has a long pedigree?
All the history Jay recounts may be true. Still, as his entire theatrical raison revolves around misdirection, how do we know that this professional trickster isn't gaming us? We don't, but what the heck? (A 19th-century conjurer he mentions, Bartolomeo Bosco, does indeed turn up in a spot check performed with the help of Google.) Jay regales us from the intimate stage of Studio's new Metheny Theatre, and the discourse and demonstration are dressed in the wardrobe of scholarly authority. The set by Kevin Rigdon is a book-filled study -- it could even pass for a private reading room of the Library of Congress. Of course, the real goal here is not to edify but to astonish, and Jay accomplishes this with a few basic props. His style is the antithesis of that of David Copperfield, whose illusions incorporate more working parts than a Boeing 757. As the title implies, a deck of cards is all Jay requires for some marvelous bits of legerdemain.
He informs us that he will explain some basics in the "techniques of deception": card control, false dealing, card stacking. He insists the cards are not marked. He says he has a good memory and "a pretty good idea what happens when the cards are shuffled." Then he shuffles the deck, cuts to aces at will, deals himself perfect hands of gin, turns queens of hearts into threes of clubs, plays blackjack and poker with a couple of audience members, arranging for them to draw unbeatable cards -- and then beating them with even better ones. You tell me how he does it.
Once or twice, it must be stated, there's a teeny-weeny flub. I think. In the cups-and-balls segment, what appears to be a mistiming of half a millisecond or so allows you to see him slip the little balls under one of the cups. Well, not see the balls, exactly, but the perceptible flourish of his fingers suggests a strategic placement has occurred. Could my own eyes be playing tricks on me? Yeah. Does it matter? Of course not. By this point in the proceedings, Jay's thoughtful narrative and nimble fingers have broken down any resistance you may be harboring.
One caveat: The show is not for those unfortunate people who go through life with their arms folded across their chests, vowing never to be amazed. For everyone else, it's a particular pleasure, the company of a man who's got a whole world in his hands.
Ricky Jay and His 52 Assistants, written and performed by Ricky Jay. Directed by David Mamet. Set, Kevin Rigdon; lighting, Jules Fisher. Approximately 1 hour 45 minutes. Through May 22 at Studio Theatre, 1501 14th St. NW. Call 202-332-3300 or visit www.studiotheatre.org.
