Blowing the whistle on the trickster’s psychic smorgasbord

Investigator: the late James Randi

Over the past few weeks this august newspaper has conjured accounts of the first Australian tour by master magicians Penn and Teller. This has reminded me of an earlier visit by a mutual friend, James Randi, who was influential in their lives and mine.

The Canadian-American, who died in 2020 at the age of 92, was the sceptics’ sceptic, the greatest debunker of “psychics” and their purported phenomena since Harry Houdini (some of whose dangerous escapology stunts Randi replicated). I’ve described him as a debunker but he disliked the term, preferring “investigator”. Most notably he investigated Uri Geller, blowing the whistle on the trickster’s psychic smorgasbord, including spoon-bending. Uri sued Randi for libel, without success.

Penn and Teller. Picture: Alex Coppel

For decades Randi offered a $US1 million prize to anyone who could demonstrate under scientific scrutiny any so-called paranormal ability, from simple telepathy to water divining. Many tried, including some in Australia. The deal was simple: agree that Randi’s proposed test was fair and reasonable. Many were tested; everyone failed.

While I brought Randi to Australia in his later years, his first host was Dick Smith – and that visit led to us establishing the Australian Skeptics, a commendable organisation with great events and a fine magazine.

Visit one, day one. Half a dozen TV reporters and camera crews are crowded into Smith’s office filming a variety of Randi’s escalatingly mind-bending tricks. Randi notices me about to light a cigarette, says “filthy habit”, takes it and drops it on Dick’s desk. He then announces he will move it around using mind power – psychokinesis – and starts by inspecting the clothing of the film crew. A woollen jumper, a leather jacket.

Finding an item to his liking, he rubs it furiously and approaches the cigarette. Cameras jostle for a close-up, one even going under the desk. Randi’s fingers oscillate and the Marlboro begins to move, rolling this way and that. Randi never stops talking, urging these professional observers to concentrate. And they do – mainly on the space between fag and fingertips.

“How did I do that?” he asks. “Static electricity from rubbing my jumper,” replies a cameraman. “Magnets,” says another. But the consensus favours Geller-style mental powers. “No,” says Randi. “While you were focusing on the gap between my fingers and Phillip’s cigarette, I simply blew it.” A puff here, a puff there was all it took.

Stunned silence. Collective embarrassment. Then laughter. We’d been victims of misdirection, the oldest trick in the magician’s trade. We were looking where it wasn’t happening. Misdirection is not only basic to all forms of magic – from table-top tricks to full-blown illusions (remember when David Copperfield “disappeared” the Statue of Liberty on live TV?) but constantly employed by politicians. Look over here! And while you do, they do something nasty over there. Watch press conferences closely and you’ll see truth disappear, facts vanish. Correction: you won’t see it. That’s the point.

Bob Dylan sang about blowin’ in the wind and we’re warned about having “sand blown in your eyes”. But it’s James Randi’s brand of blowing that should be your first concern.

His stage name was The Amazing Randi, which sounded more appropriate for a porn star. The most amazing thing about the bloke was that he showed us how to look – how to not just decipher magic but protect ourselves from the conmen, grifters and televangelists who thrive on separating fools from their money. Or their vote. My advice? Blow back.