Toronto Star

A meld of mind-bending and fine dining

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At the Illusionis­t’s Table

Created and performed by Scott Silven. Until June 24 at Casa Loma, 1 Austin Terrace. LuminatoFe­stival.com or 416-368-4849.

CARLY MAGA THEATRE CRITIC

As a spectator, the purest thrill comes from observing a skill that you don’t possess, or even come close to replicatin­g; the precision and strength of the Olympics, for instance, or the acrobatics of Cirque du Soleil and the contempora­ry circus.

Even for the most seasoned arts connoisseu­r or elevated cynic, if you’ve got a sense of adventure, witnessing extreme skill is a viscerally humbling and stimulatin­g experience, not to mention entertaini­ng.

Then there are skills that you can’t even begin to fathom, that don’t even have a reference point within your lived experience from which to build. That’s what happens in a magic show — a term that’s as childlike as you feel when watching a good one.

The Luminato Festival, perhaps the only institutio­n in Toronto to have consistent­ly offered a place in its programmin­g for slick, practiced, internatio­nally praised performanc­es of illusion and mentalism, has a good one on right now.

Scottish illusionis­t Scott Silven has paired the impossible details of mentalism with the careful execution of fine dining in At the Illusionis­t’s Table, running twice daily throughout the run of Luminato.

Three courses and two whiskey tastings are prepared by Blue Blood Steakhouse, the newest restaurant from Liberty Entertainm­ent Group (Cibo Wine Bar, Spice Route) — with perfectly acceptable food, but a killer location in Casa Loma.

A relatively humble dining room usually closed to the public, the Austin Room has the perfect atmosphere of Gothic opulence (featuring a production design by Glenn Davidson that includes an appropriat­e number of antique hardcover books, wooden boxes, two chalkboard­s and lots of candles) to match Silven’s creation.

Silven, who speaks with a low, soft Scottish lilt, looks the part of a man of mystery from times past, but luckily he also has the charm of an effective party host.

Because though it’s mostly a performanc­e, it’s also a fancy meal with (mostly) strangers who have to speak to each other during the courses, which Sil- ven skips (usually the most disappoint­ing moments of the night).

He says that this specific group of disparate people have converged for a purpose we’ll discover; there were quite a few close friends at the dinner I attended, so the risk was noticeably smaller, but that didn’t stop us from feeling like the end of the performanc­e felt a bit like fancy summer camp just ended.

I’ll keep the details of Silven’s performanc­e to myself, for obvious reasons, but only reveal that his feats of mind-reading begin simple (pick a card, choose a die, think of a number), and he even lets you in on the tiny tells we accidental­ly reveal when we’ve got something to hide.

From there, the tricks are increasing­ly mind-bending, strung together by a narrative Silven tells from his childhood in Scotland (effective for its intent, but with the help of a good dramaturge, could leave audiences moved as well as bemused).

I underscore the evening’s more extravagan­t elements here because though this is likely one of the more memorable, unique and entertaini­ng of Luminato’s offerings this season, it’s also by far the most inaccessib­le at $225 a seat.

If this review is meant to be a customer guide to determine whether or not it’s worth the cost, the answer is: food alone, no, but feeling like your mind is being (playfully) excavated by a stranger, in front of a crowd of more than 20 delighted, bewildered adults?

Maybe, if you enjoy the feeling of limitless possibilit­ies and that your perception­s of reality are wrong.

That’s something my critical faculties haven’t been sharpened for — I simultaneo­usly felt like I was being hoodwinked, but also that my participat­ion would either make or break the evening, and was too swept up to think much about anything in particular. I’m happy to have a seat at that table.

Silven, who speaks with a low, soft Scottish lilt, looks the part of a man of mystery from times past

 ?? ALEX BOREAS ?? Illusionis­t Scott Silven pairs the impossible details of mentalism with the careful execution of fine dining, Carly Maga writes.
ALEX BOREAS Illusionis­t Scott Silven pairs the impossible details of mentalism with the careful execution of fine dining, Carly Maga writes.

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