The Barrymore Theatre is medium-sized, a kind of small American-style Tivoli, built at the beginning of the last century and very close to the heart of Times Square's frantic screens. On one of these screens, the one on the corner of W47th Street where the theater is located, the advertisement for El Mago Pop's new show intermittently appears. You know: a mischievous child's face, a professional actor's gesture, and an "I'm here" in his eyes as undisguisable as it is understandable: he will make it clear himself, throughout the show, that it has cost him a lot to get here.
He has already taken care of this since some passengers traveled from Barcelona with Level, a company that bears the magician's name and face on the tail of the aircraft and even on the headrests of each seat. Antonio Díaz has decided not only to spend a lot of money on promotion, given the unique nature of the moment, but also to make his adventure a milestone to be shared by all his spectators. Nothing is impossible thus becomes a phrase that not only refers to illusionism: it refers, above all, to the story of Antonio Díaz.
El Mago Pop's best act is a wordless classic, and it has to do with a shoe that appears and disappears from his foot while he distracts us by throwing cards that appeared out of nowhere or making a little ball dance between his fingers at supersonic speed. This act, performed to the rhythm of French chanson (very well chosen for the dynamics on stage), is the one that shows the most essential, most prodigious, and most humble Antonio Díaz at the same time. Simplicity is what makes it poetic and surprising, and what makes you feel more idiotic as a spectator: but how can the shoe have disappeared again?
In fact, this is perhaps the most delicate contrast: simplicity and Broadway don't mix much. If El Mago Pop has accessed this theater, so inaccessible to most (accompanied and directed by the great Mag Lari), it is precisely because his show is a show. It is big, excessive, exaggerated, thrilling, luminous, hyperbolic, because Broadway is also like that and because he already intuited, from his Teatro Victoria, that Paral·lel should try to be as excessive as Broadway. Nothing strange, then. The shoe for romantics: Antonio Díaz's show will not lack flames, large platforms, hanging boxes, video screens, circular display cases, teleportations, telepathies, confetti, blinding spotlights, and helicopters.
Upon entering, a small box of sweets for each spectator (with a surprise effect towards the end of the show). Upon leaving, long discussions about the tricks that can be attempted to guess in each act (with relative success). Surely the most successful, at a show level, is not a helicopter but the inexplicable speed with which he exchanges his presence for that of a collaborator dressed in red. Antonio Díaz's English is a very fluid, very rehearsed, very Hispanic but at the same time quite impeccable English from Badia del Vallès. He offers us an obligatory "bona nit" and speaks very quickly, so much so that it even causes distress.
Mag Lari watches the première show from the stalls, apparently relaxed, understandably hysterical. The intention is, from the very first moment, not only to leave the spectator breathless but, beyond that, not to give them time to catch their breath. The action is extremely thrilling, hyperactive. Speaking of breath, however, a piece of advice: the phrase in the video where it says that the magician left Stephen Hawking speechless, if it's not a joke (and then it should be emphasized), should be removed for being indelicate.
The intention is, from the very first moment, not only to leave the spectator breathless but, beyond that, not to give them time to catch their breathIn the "buts" section, only one other: I have doubts about the plot thread by which Antonio Díaz's adventure should be the center of the show. Evidently, they already discussed it, and decided that this constant explanation about the magician's humble origins, about Barcelona, about his childhood, about his dreams and the ability to make them come true is not only a touching story, but also incorporates a clear message about what magic is and about the capacity we all have to overcome ourselves (having illusions works). I understand it. And I subscribe to it. However, it becomes excessive.At some point before the middle of the show, we get the feeling that Antonio Díaz matters more than the magic.I don't think this is a risk that this great illusionist can afford: the line between a dreamer and awannabeit can be too thin.
The feat is great. The result is almost perfect. The footprint on Broadway is remarkable, as much or more than the purchase of an entire theater in Missouri. El Mago Pop makes the leap, as our best artists did, and explores to see how he can grow even more. For that alone, admiration and recognition must be complete: beyond whether this will have an impact on his dream of transforming the Paral·lel, which I am sure it will, it is clear that the adventure of this showman is an example of ambition and the realization of one's own dreams, very healthy for a large number of people. In his discipline, he is proving to be one of the best (or the best). That alone should make us happy, or envious. The message is clear, and it is much more understandable through actions (which speak for themselves) than through explanations. El Mago Pop no longer has to tell us anything. He just has to keep amazing.