One of my all time favorite tricks to perform, both socially and in strolling situations, is The Fingerprint Card Trick, exactly as written in The Vernon Chronicles, Vol. 1.
The Fingerprint Card Trick is one of those tricks that contain almost all the elements that make up a great entertaining card trick: drama, conflict, suspense, surprise, and an intriguing premise.
This trick also contains a kind of inherent comedy that is difficult to find anywhere else. The magician apparently fails to find the card, the spectator grows increasingly certain that something has gone wrong, and then the whole situation is resolved by the unexpected climax.
The Fingerprint Card Trick is strong enough without any added gags. However, Vernon gave life to this trick that would have felt far more believable at the time (The fingerprint presentation may sound slightly non-sensical today, but in the late 1930s and early 1940s, fingerprint identification was still relatively new in the public imagination. During the war years, fingerprinting became increasingly more familiar to ordinary people. Servicemen were fingerprinted, as were many civilians working in wartime industries, and civilian fingerprinting programmed were actively encouraged by the Government).
Seen in that context, it is not difficult to imagine where Vernon drew the idea for his presentation.
Nowadays, whenever I get the chance to perform this trick, and once I’ve established myself as someone who is into sleight of hand card magic, I usually begin with a premise along these lines:
“I once read that you can tell which card a person has previously handle because they unconsciously leave little marks on it, or a slight bend due to the way they hold the card, or a bit of grease from their fingers, things like that. I’ve been trying to test this out using this deck of card, would you like to see it?” (You can even pre-bend the corners of a couple of cards and casually suggest that those marks were left by previous spectators).
But the point being, The Fingerprint Card Trick by its nature, is a “sucker” trick, in that, circumstances are created in which your audience is led to believe that: (i) the trick has been screwed up in a way that it cannot be brought to a successful conclusion; and (ii) the performer is unaware of the problem; yet, (iii) the trick is resolved in a satisfactory way; indicating that (iv) the performer was conning the audience all along. (This last element may not be strictly necessary).
Handled gracefully and artistically, I think this structure can be tremendously entertaining. The important thing is that the spectator never becomes the punchline. The attitude has to remain playful and non-confrontational. Penn & Teller are particularly good at this as they work hard to NOT make the spectators feel stupid or insulted.
It is also worth noting that The Fingerprint Card Trick belongs to the broader family of tricks now commonly associated with the Dunbury Delusion plot, the lineage that runs through the Partagas Sell, Charlie Miller’s Dunbury Delusion, and the many variations that followed.
The plot has attracted an enormous number of methods and structural variations over the years, with Ed Marlo contributing extensively to its development. Jon Racherbaumer’s book Dunbury Delusions is particularly useful for seeing just how far magicians (or just Ed Marlo) have taken the idea.
That’s why when Tony Chang from one of his early podcast on Vanishing inc, mentioned that Gabi Pareras had a version of Dunbury Delusion, I listened.
Especially when I learned that Gabi’s handling required nothing but a single “Glide”.
The version can be seen in the following video, curtesy of Cosas de Gabi Pareras Youtube channel.
As can be seen in the video, the difference between Gabi’s construction and the traditional sucker ending is quite apparent.
In the classic structure, the magician appears to fail, only to reveal that the failure itself was part of the journey. The effect can still be enormously strong, but the source of the deception is never really in doubt: the magician engineered the entire apparent failure.
However, instead of retaining the classic “sucker” ending, Gabi asks the spectator to entertain the possibility that the trick failed simply because they did not believe. Then, at the very moment that the spectator decide to believe in magic, the selected card, which the spectator had every reason to think was among the tabled three cards, is no longer there. At the same time, the deck is already in their hands. The only thing left to do is count again.
This is a remarkably strong moment.
To make the matter worst (?) for the spectator, the magician does not stop to underline what has just happened. The tabled cards are shown only to remind the spectator of the number they must count to. The disappearance of the selected card is allowed to pass without comment. The spectator is left along to experience the impossibility for themselves.
For this brief moment, the presentation offers a far more interesting explanation than “the magician fooled me”.
Maybe it worked because I believed it would.
Of course, nobody is required to hold that belief. The point is that the construction leaves room for the thought to exist in spectator’s mind.
Is Gabi’s handling the definitive version of the plot?
Maybe not. Magic rarely works that way. Every version stands on the shoulders of something that came before it.
But this one gets remarkably close to what I want my spectator to experience.
Would I abandon Vernon’s version? or any other versions that I prefer? (I sometimes perform Whack Your Phone by Andi Gladwin or the packet version of The Fingertip Card Trick from David Solomon).
Not at all.
I believe that context matters.
There are spectators I can sense from ten feet away who have absolutely no interest in “believing in magic,” or situations where the environment simply does not allow me to create that kind of experience for them. In such case, Vernon’s construction remains almost perfect to me.
But there are other moments, perhaps more intimate ones, with fewer people, when the goal is not simply to fool someone, but to create something a little more personal. In those moments, Gabi’s approach provides a much richer experience for the spectator.
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