On a slightly rainy Saturday afternoon, I hopped on the train with my godson to head into New York City. Of all the things we could do for his birthday—an arcade, a movie, or going for pizza—we decided on a magic show: Mario the Maker Magician 2.0.
We got to the theater early, where the resident teaching artists were leading crafts and teaching magic tricks. As the theater doors opened, we found our seats in the front mezzanine, which gave us a clear view of the stage, the crowd below, as well as the seats across from us. My godson asked why we didn’t get seats closer, and I assured him, “Trust me, buddy…. These are the best seats in the house.” Half the fun of watching Mario is watching the crowd watch Mario.
Before the show started, Mario took the time to come up to the mezzanine and even higher to the third-level balcony to shake hands: “I might not be able to run all the way up here during the show, but thank you for coming, from my heart.” He genuinely wanted to make sure we knew how much he appreciated it. There was a curious electricity that started to move through the crowd. The punk rock covers of children’s animated movie soundtracks playing in the background set the tone for what we were about to experience: a slightly chaotic journey through wonder.
Mario’s knack for launching off the front edge of the stage as he soars into the crowd like a 5-year-old who’s had a little too much sugar never gets old. He started the show with a sucker “look but don’t see” routine with his red shoelace, pretending to make the shoelace disappear, clumsily switching it from hand to hand as the kids scream, “No, the other hand!” Finally it actually disappeared, changed colors, and flew through the audience like a ghost, all while the kids were howling with guesses of how he did it, before it reappeared tied back on his shoe. At this point he jokingly remarked, “Right now, all the adults are thinking, ‘Oh, I guess he’s not just for the kids.’”
And he was right.