Magic

Based on William Goldman’s novel, Magic follows a fledgling magician (Anthony Hopkins’ Corky) as he incorporates a ventriloquist dummy named Fats into his act and subsequently becomes a huge star – with problems ensuing after Fats starts playing an aggressively dominant role in Corky’s life. It’s an irresistible setup that is, at the outset, employed to exceedingly promising effect by Richard Attenborough, as the filmmaker, working from Goldman’s novel, does an excellent job of establishing the ingratiating protagonist and his less-than-healthy dynamic with his dummy – with the engaging atmosphere heightened by Hopkins’ persistently (and pervasively) enthralling work as both the sympathetic Corky and the progressively sinister Fats. There’s little doubt, then, that Magic‘s vice-like hold on the viewer is diminished considerably as it moves into a less successful, excessively deliberate midsection, as the emphasis is predominantly placed on Corky’s low-key exploits within a remote Catskills compound and his tentative relationship with an old high school classmate (Ann-Margret’s Peggy) – with the hit-and-miss bent vibe alleviated by the solid performances and a smattering of overtly compelling interludes. (The latter is certainly represented most keenly by a fantastic sequence wherein Corky’s agent, Burgess Meredith’s Ben Greene, asks him to keep Fats quiet for just five minutes.) By the time the far-from-spellbinding third act rolls around, Magic has cemented its place as a decent-enough adaptation that does, generally speaking, feel as though it should be much, much better.

**1/2 out of ****