The Most Truthful Illusion: When Cinema Feels Magical

Analogies are so useful, especially when it comes to describing what cinema is all about. Some people like to think of the filmmaking process as being similar to cooking meals, in terms of mixing different ingredients into a singular, satisfying dish for a paying customer. Others like to use the concept of building a house, with a good script serving as the stable foundation upon which all the decorations of filmmaking can be placed. One analogy that I particularly enjoy is thinking of a film as being like a symphony, in which all the musical contributions of disparate instruments coalesce into a harmonious wave of powerful emotions. But out of all these analogies, perhaps my favorite is the notion that watching a truly great movie can feel much like witnessing an astonishing magic trick, a seamless illusion that leaves you in a state of genuine amazement, making you wonder that specific question that raises your curiosity and fuels your imagination: “How the hell did they do that?”

In retrospect, it feels practically inevitable that cinema would be so closely tied with magic, as during the 1890s (the earliest years of cinema being introduced to the world), it was quite common for magicians to become film directors. The legendary French filmmaker Georges Méliès, known for his iconic silent films like A Trip to the Moon (1902) and The Impossible Voyage (1904), was famously an illusionist who delighted in leaving audiences dumbfounded at what they were seeing, as it was the kind of innovative entertainment that crowds would simply never forget. The one and only Harry Houdini, arguably the most famous magician of all time, produced and starred in various silent film serials, such as The Master Mystery (1918) and The Grim Game (1919), that showcased his signature escape acts in spectacular fashion. Even the work of the Lumière brothers, who saw themselves more as inventors rather than artists, still managed to shock audiences with moving images that felt like pure sorcery. Whether they saw Workers Leaving the Lumière Factory (1895) or the infamous Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat Station (1896), audiences were seeing their world through an entirely new lens, one that fundamentally shattered the limits of what was once thought impossible.

But with all this talk of visual spectacle, here are some questions that merit consideration: What exactly is so magical about a good story? Where is the illusion behind a powerful narrative? Why is it that a cinematic tale can provoke the same kind of rapturous applause as an awe-inspiring trick?

To answer those particular questions, there is perhaps no other film that is as befitting, as eloquent, or as resonant as Christopher Nolan's The Prestige (2006). It should be noted that it took three blog posts for me to inevitably reference a Nolan film, which I would argue is an extraordinary feat of restraint on my part, as I am known for being a bit of a devoted fanatic of Nolan’s work. So, at the risk of sounding comically biased, let me explain why I think that The Prestige is an excellent example of cinematic storytelling operating like pure magic. I will also ensure to not spoil the movie’s secrets for anyone who hasn’t seen it, although it should come as no surprise that I highly urge the uninitiated to watch this brilliant film as soon as possible. Trust me, you won’t regret it, and you certainly won’t forget it.

The Prestige is pointedly set in the last years of Victorian London (primarily during the 1890s), and it centers on the spiteful rivalry between two obsessive magicians, Robert Angier (played by Hugh Jackman) and Alfred Borden (played by Christian Bale). We watch as they attempt to one-up each other with each of their respective tricks, and we see the severe consequences that their feud brings upon their personal lives. Like all Nolan films, this is an intricate tale full of twists and turns, told through multiple timelines and unreliable narrators. But what is so remarkable about this film is that no matter how many times you watch it, and no matter how much you learn about its making, the film itself always feels like a magic trick by the time it ends. It’s only then that you realize how many hints and clues were right there for you to catch, but you were too distracted by all the other aspects of filmmaking to even notice. Even the most attentive of viewers, the ones who can anticipate all kinds of shocking reveals, often find themselves spellbound by the ingenious tricks that this film plays on its audience.

And what is even more remarkable is that The Prestige is thematically all about the satisfaction of giving people that magical experience, the kind that leaves them talking about it endlessly for days to come. The magicians in the film do irreparable harm to their lives (more so than anyone should for their vocation, quite honestly), but they only do so for the sake of offering others an escape from their daily lives. That boundless drive to entertain people, to make them wonder, to show them something they’ve never seen before, all of that speaks to the very essence of cinema at its finest.

An interesting debate is whether films can ever be considered purely truthful or if they are always inherently deceitful to some extent. After all, most films choose to tell fictional stories that are technically not real, full of characters that don’t exist, and set in worlds that we cannot visit. Even documentaries telling factual stories are purposely edited and presented in a highly specific manner, all in the service of expressing the themes and ideas that the filmmakers are interested in. In other words, films are never exactly quite like reality, and thus some people feel overtly manipulated by this illusory quality of cinema, as if a film were a lie that is disingenuously trying to get a reaction out of people. A cheap trick for the sake of earning some money in return.

The way I see it, however, is that the truth of cinema is found precisely in the emotions that it evokes from its audience. Whatever the film may be, if it made you laugh, if it made you cry, if it scared you, if it comforted you, if it meant the world to you, all of those emotions and more are undeniably real. Your distinct gut reaction to watching a great film, its significant impact on the rest of your life, its capacity to inspire others to create similarly affecting art, what is all that if not a genuine testament to the power of film?

So yeah, I will gladly keep on watching these fictional stories full of made-up people for the rest of my life, because the spectrum of emotions that they provide is an invaluable gift to billions of people around this world. Cinema can be an open window to our collective past, a distorted mirror of our developing present, and a vivid dream of our uncertain future. To quote Nicole Kidman, the queen of AMC Theaters herself, “that’s magic.”