Magic for Humans is a popular Netflix show that combines magic tricks with comedy and human interactions. Hosted by magician Justin Willman, the show focuses on performing magic tricks for people on the streets, in various social situations. The premise of the show is to highlight the wonder and astonishment that magic can bring to everyday life. The show often starts with a brief introduction by Willman, setting the stage for the upcoming magic tricks. He then proceeds to perform mind-boggling illusions in front of a live audience or unsuspecting individuals, who are not aware that they are part of a magic act. What sets Magic for Humans apart from traditional magic shows is its emphasis on the human element.
As I stirred the mixture together with my own finger, I realized that this concoction was the red "lipstick" she wore every day. I was impressed by her creativity, her magic. But I also felt tricked.
We might believe that the seat of speech without considering ventriloquists and flatulists has no need for the assistance of hand gestures when it comes to expressing emotions and sensations. 38 with fingers spread, to wave one s hand in front of one s mouth as if to fan it A way of indicating that a dish is too hot or too spicy and is burning one s mouth.
What sets Magic for Humans apart from traditional magic shows is its emphasis on the human element. Willman engages with his participants, asking them personal questions, and often uses their responses to create a personalized magic experience. The interactions between Willman and the participants are genuine, which adds a touch of authenticity to the tricks.
Touching lips with the witch
By Katie Bennett
Illustration by Vera Blossom
Gwen swept through the hall of our middle school in a long black cape. She'd flipped up its hood, and the way it framed her pale face made her skin glow royally. She was both Queen and King, stomping commandingly in her knee-high combat boots. She didn't look at any of us, but straight ahead, shoulders set. She wore red lipstick like a woman.
Everyone cleared a path. Boys covered their mouths to muffle their laughing (at least the more polite ones did). I remember pressing my shoulder blades into the wall to get away from her. But my neck jutted out to take a closer look.
The day before she had simply been "Gwen," the large girl in faded Gap jeans and a pale pink T-shirt. Even though she towered over us, we barely noticed her. Her skin blended into the ceiling. Now she was "Gwendolynne," as I'd soon learn through poetry club. The name reminded me of medieval women in long velvet dresses who wore crowns made of bramble. Beautiful women, faces lit by a hearth. But also deeply sad women, dying in childbirth or locked in a tower. History that, if touched, would prick my finger, like Sleeping Beauty. Gwendolynne, a living fairytale in Mullica Hill, New Jersey.
I was 11, a newly-minted middle-schooler. I wore boys’ jeans that my dad bought me in packs of three from Costco and eggplant-colored turtlenecks from L.L. Bean. Yet I wanted to be pretty, like Lizzie McGuire or Liv Tyler. I just didn't know how. I sometimes wore my mom's silver hoop earrings and gold scrunchie. I sometimes applied sparkly pink lip gloss from CVS, even though a minute later I'd accidentally lick my lips and eat the bitter, strawberry-flavored goo. I noticed the older girls, the seventh and eighth graders, in their tight camis, cream-colored like their skin, with a built-in bra that created a shelf out of their small breasts. I noticed the way boys leaned toward them, almost to the point of falling.
Gwendolynne, an eighth grader, was not one of those girls. She wrote in her velvet purple diary while leaning against her metal locker. Her face was stoic, set, yet it would crack open with light as she laughed with her group of girlfriends. Those times I’d smile, too, but then I'd catch myself and hurry down the hallway.
Poetry club met after lunch on Fridays. The teacher who led it wore a gold hoop earring and had colorful Grateful Dead bear tattoos on his forearm, below the sleeve of his rolled-up plaid shirt. We called him "Teacher Chris" (it was a Quaker school, and we addressed all of our teachers by their first names). Teacher Chris let us sit on the tables and listen to our CD players and chat. But we worked, too, because we wanted to, heads bent over our spiral Mead notebooks. For inspiration we’d peek out the window at the nearby Quaker cemetery. We’d watch the leaves fall wetly onto the gravestones.
My friends and I sat at our own table, Gwendolynne and her friends at another. But after a few months the groups melded together, because despite our slight age difference, we were all the same in important ways. Our bodies were larger and more curved than the girls in the tan camis. We were more turned toward each other than toward boys. And we carried diaries rather than purses.
Maybe I asked Gwendolynne about her cape, but one day she told me about her religion, Wicca. "People think it's scary but it's really about nature and plants and stuff." She said Wiccans proudly referred to themselves as "witches," but they didn't ride broomsticks or put curses on people.
Up close I noticed she had little hairs, almost see-through, on her cheeks, and a dot of lipstick on her tooth. Her necklace, a large pointy pentagram, dangled ominously from a black string.
I was more interested in listening to her than I was the pastor of my church, an old man droning on about men named Matthew and Paul and Job. I wanted to sit under the trees at night like Gwendolynne said she did. I wanted to light candles and tell them my dreams.
Her poems were the best in our school. My favorite of hers was "Sonnet #9,832," which opened with the lines: I did not hear the cry of soaring birds/ And yet I felt their presence in my heart. I imagined a little blue bird nestled safely in the pink tissue of her heart. I imagined it singing a private song for her. And this bird is why she didn't crack when boys made fart noises as she walked past, and hardly flinched the time a second grader screamed from fear while looking at her.
I was beginning to gain a reputation as a real poet myself, after Teacher Chris read my poem inspired by The Outsiders at assembly. Gold chips off quickly/ Soon it will all be chipped off and the adult will be fully/ Exposed. After he read that, Gwendolynne was even nicer to me.
One day she invited me over to her house, and I accepted eagerly, honored to be picked. But afterwards, I walked through the hallway and came across Alexa and Charlie. I somehow knew they'd been dating for about a week (even though we didn't talk) and that it was serious. Alexa wore a ribbed white tank top known as a "wife beater," and her jeans were so low-slung that I could see a strip of her bare skin stretching all the way around her midriff, like a peach-colored belt. Charlie shoved her against the water fountain as they made out. My chest ached and my skin itched. Suddenly it was clear to me that I wanted my own heated moment, that I wanted to be ravished and bewitched. And that I would need to show my stomach, or my shoulders through the straps of a tan cami. I’d need to be one of “those” girls.
I yanked at the collar of my turtleneck, ran my hands through my hair, and applied more strawberry lip gloss. I thought of Gwendolynne's invitation, regretfully.
When my mom pulled up in front of Gwendolynne's house, I was disappointed to see that it was a normal development house like mine. I expected a witch to live somewhere old and dark, with a rusted weathervane on the pointed roof and gargoyles leering above the entrances. Her house had tan siding and a tricycle tipped on its side in the grassy front yard.
Inside, Gwendolynne's young twin siblings were screaming and clinging to her mother's hip. Her mother looked just like her, but was wearing a pantsuit post-work and no makeup. And she was larger than Gwendolynne in every way, her long blond hair hanging almost to her butt, her feet making the ground rumble with each step. I thought, anxiously, So this is the woman she will become.
Gwendolynne had prepared an activity. On the kitchen counter sat a jar of Vaseline, a packet of Kool-Aid, two small bowls, and two tiny plastic containers with screw-off lids. She said we were going to make lipstick. With her bare finger she scooped a wad of Vaseline into my bowl, then sprinkled half the Kool-Aid packet on top of it.
As I stirred the mixture together with my own finger, I realized that this concoction was the red "lipstick" she wore every day. I was impressed by her creativity, her magic. But I also felt tricked.
Gwendolynne graduated 8th grade and went on to a Catholic high school. I pictured her in a uniform, her skirt hanging dutifully to her knees, her starched white shirt buttoned to her chin. It made me unbearably sad. I thought of the last lines of "Sonnet #9,832": I stood in awe and sadly watched them leave / And now I only wish they'd taken me.
The next year Teacher Chris said he'd heard from Gwendolynne, and that she was still writing "darn good" poems. I felt the old twinge of jealousy, of healthy competition. I wrote in my diary every night. I wrote ten poems a day, poems about slipping down a tube, plastic jewelry, and hoping for a peaceful end to the war in Iraq.
In high school I wore thick black eyeliner and Doc Martens. I stomped through the halls, thinking of Gwendolynne in her own boots. I told myself I didn’t care if a prep school boy picked me, but I was still crushed when I wasn’t asked to prom.
I prayed for my own blue bird. I thought of Gwendolynne, murmuring to herself by her locker, “like a crazy person.” But I'd always wanted to know what she was saying.
Katie Bennett is a writer and musician from West Philly. She’s a mentor for PEN America’s Prison and Justice Writing Program and she writes a monthly newsletter about personal ghosts, feminist lit, and creative process. You can follow her on Instagram @katiepbennett.
The magic tricks in Magic for Humans range from card tricks and mentalism to larger scale illusions. Some of the tricks seem impossible, leaving the audience and participants genuinely amazed. Willman's comedic style helps to keep the atmosphere light-hearted and entertaining. Aside from the magic tricks, Magic for Humans also touches on different aspects of human nature and psychology. Willman explores themes such as love, fear, perception, and belief, weaving them into his tricks and engaging the audience in thought-provoking discussions. This gives the show a deeper layer, making it more than just a series of magic tricks. Magic for Humans has been praised for its creativity, humor, and ability to captivate a wide audience. The show appeals to magic enthusiasts, as well as those who simply enjoy being entertained by a good show. The combination of magic and human connection makes it relatable and enjoyable for viewers from all walks of life. In conclusion, Magic for Humans is a unique and entertaining show that combines magic tricks with comedy and human interactions. Through engaging with the audience and participants, Justin Willman creates a personalized magic experience that leaves viewers amazed and entertained. The show's ability to explore human nature and psychology adds depth to the performances, making it a must-watch for magic enthusiasts and general audiences alike..
Reviews for "Magic as Therapy: Using Illusion to Heal and Inspire"
1. Jessica - 2/5 stars - I was really disappointed by "Magic for Humans Cast". The tricks seemed so obvious and the whole show felt staged. The host, Justin Willman, tried too hard to be funny and it came off as cheesy. I was expecting to be amazed by the magic, but instead, I found myself rolling my eyes. Overall, it felt like a poor attempt at recreating the magic of the original "Magic for Humans" series. I wouldn't recommend watching it.
2. Mark - 1/5 stars - "Magic for Humans Cast" was a complete waste of time. The tricks were incredibly predictable, and the reactions from the audience seemed incredibly fake. The production value was also lacking, making it feel more like a cheap YouTube video than a professional show. I had high hopes for this series, but it failed to deliver any real magic or entertainment. I couldn't even make it through the first episode. Save yourself the disappointment and give this one a pass.
3. Sarah - 2/5 stars - I was really excited for "Magic for Humans Cast", but I was left feeling underwhelmed. The tricks were okay, but there was nothing particularly groundbreaking or innovative about them. It felt like I had seen them all before. Additionally, the humor felt forced and the interactions with the audience felt awkward. I had high expectations based on the original series, but this spin-off fell short. I wouldn't recommend it, especially if you're expecting something as captivating as the original "Magic for Humans".