Except you don’t. See me. See anything.
Magic on screen is an oxymoron because in terms of what you can do with it, film is magical anyway, so how to boggle minds using a system that is itself a shape shifter feels as tough as lion hide.
Ah, you say, that’s what illusionists do, baffle you with impossibilities until logic collapses in a heap of amazement. Or amusement. Or custard.
Four illusionists put on ginormous public shows in which banks are robbed and money thrown about. A FBI agent who constantly gets things wrong and a French blonde from Interpol who is sexy enough to be forgiven attempt to track them down. Morgan Freeman appears as an ex-illusionist who specialises in exposing other illusionists and Michael Caine puts in an appearance as a dodgy millionaire who specialises in insurance scams.
Somewhere under the rainbow a simple story of revenge and trickery exists. This is not it. Big money, star names and the temptation to make that leap into action overkill has encouraged the scriptwriters to fall into deep water where good ideas drown.
Nonsense is not a rabbit in a hat. It’s standing there at the end on stage demanding answers.
There are none, says the clown. Who’s fooling who?