Paul Daniels: Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
Live Review

Over a lifetime on stage, Paul Daniels has built up the sort of fame the young bucks of Edinburgh can only dream of. But this is a modest presentation – simple pared-back tricks with a bit of banter in between, all very slick and professional, but with no whistles and bells to contrast with the big-budget shiny-floor magic shows now making a primetime comeback.

Hair Today Gone Tomorrow is so old-fashioned, there’s even a cheesy ‘ta-da’ fanfare on the sound desk, employed without irony at every conjuring payoff – and even a trick with a rabbit in a hat, although this ends on such a charmingly sweet visual gag any set-up would be worth it.

But at 73, Daniels is still as dextrous as ever, pulling off impressive sleight of hand with fast-moving cups and balls, or the concealment of an audience member’s £10 note in the most unlikely of places. For the most part the unflashiness of the tricks works in Daniels’ favour, too, as we concentrate on the skill not the showmanship. The only exception is the rope trick, conducted in a ‘magic box’ which might be clever, but is so unspectacular the audience really needs to be goaded into showing any signs of being impressed.

Talking of which, Daniels’ crowd work produces some great moments – but not always. You almost feel embarrassed for him when one punter reveals they are from Pennsylvania, prompting a few bars of Pennsylvania 6-500, or when he puts on a dreadful Welsh accent to mimic the guy from Swansea. And he occasionally comes across as condescending – especially to the chap who mentioned ‘chop cups’, a technical term that might have suggested they knew how Daniels was about to do the next trick.

But the way he gently ribs the volunteers he drags up on stage is masterful, making them feel stupid without rubbing it in, and he even deploys quite a harsh put-down on a five-year-old with tongue firmly enough in cheek to get away with it. There’s also a nice comeback to that famous Mrs Merton question when, following a brief appearance from the underused but ever-lovely Debbie McGhee, he deadpans: ‘I only married her for her money…’

With inevitable predictability, you’ll like this. Not a lot. But enough.