Photo: Jesse Dylan

Calling Ricky Jay a stage magician is like calling John Lurie a jazz musician; it’s not inaccurate, really, but it doesn’t begin to capture the range and singularity of Jay’s activities. An autodidactic scholar of the history of conjuring, sideshows, and con artistry, Jay has written several books on subjects ranging from armless calligraphers to self-crucifying performers while amassing an impressive collection of arcane tomes and memorabilia. In addition to acting in virtually all of David Mamet’s films, he’s served as a consultant (with his outfit Deceptive Practices) to numerous stage and screen projects, figuring out how to make Angels in America’s Prior Walter disappear and designing a wheelchair for Gary Sinise in Forrest Gump. And he is most likely the only Belknap Visitor in the Humanities at Princeton University to penetrate the skin of a watermelon with a playing card.

Directed by Mamet, Jay’s new stage show A Rogue’s Gallery plays a limited engagement next week at the Royal George Theatre, December 1-6. I recently had the pleasure of talking to him, on the phone from his L.A. home, about the project.

A Rogue’s Gallery presents entirely new work?

There’s nothing in it I’ve done in Chicago before. Almost all of it is brand new; there are a couple of pieces I’ve tried out before.

And what is it about?

That’s tough: It’s a hard show to describe. There will be a blend of visual imagery, and people in the audience will select from the images shown in what I think is an interesting way. It’s much less of a book show than I’ve done before, more improvisatory. And the performance process means it’ll be different from night to night. There will also be a little bit of film. It’s an opportunity for me to speak about a variety of things and have the audience included.

What things will you be speaking about?

The things that I’ve managed to collect over the years, odd show business facts for me to talk about. I’ll present something—I realize I’m talking around the show more than talking about it.

It’ll have an element of magic and sleight-of-hand, right?

Absolutely, more than any other element. It’s a serious performance, although it’s also a comedic performance. We’ll discuss these items, and you know, the stories are performances too. It’s not just me talking about the bar mitzvah I went to last week.

How do the pieces of the performance take shape?

They start from all kinds of things: It could be a film, it could be walking down the street and seeing someone walking in an odd way. But they’re mostly generated from objects I’ve collected. I’m realizing as we’re talking that it’s better to be specific rather than general, but it’s tricky: if I tell you the specifics about one piece, and then someone comes and that night we do that piece, it’ll be less effective for them, but on the other hand, if I don’t tell you anything, it’s not very effective for you. Okay. Here’s one image. There was a character who sold charcoal in the 17th century. I wasn’t going to tell you his name, but since you ask his name is Thomas Britton.  Now why would this interest me? There’s a mezzotint with these beautiful areas of gray, a chiaroscuro of the guy in a hat. He was a 17th century polymath. He sold charcoal for a living, but he got interested in music, starting having concerts at his house. Some people say that Handel performed there. And the audience mixed the classes, which was very unusual for the time. And since he was a polymath, he then became well-versed in chemistry, and that became the focus of these evenings at his house.

But that’s not why I’m interested in him. One day Britton was walking down the street and he saw someone coming the other way. And they passed silently, but then Britton heard the words “Prepare to meet your maker.” He couldn’t see where they had come from. It turns out that this other man was a ventriloquist. And Britton went home and died; he was literally scared to death by this. So far as I know, he is the only man to have died from ventriloquism.

You’re something of a polymath yourself.

Now if I’d done better in school, maybe I’d have a field and a degree. But yes, I am interested in many different things. I work on a blend of the con, rogue’s gallery, remarkable characters: a whole range of unusual entertainers. I’m very lucky, because my work is also my hobby. I get to incorporate things that I’ve read about, things I’ve seen performed. Just being able to stand on a stage and speak and have people listen to it is wonderful. But I’m not looking to lecture to people; I want to entertain them.

Are there things you’ve seen performed, tricks or illusions, that you envy or that still make you wonder how they’re done?

There are certainly things I’ve seen that are terrific. Michael Weber, my partner in Deceptive Practices, did an effect. He took a piece of charcoal, held it in his hand, and when he opened his hand it was a diamond. I wouldn’t say I envy it: It’s just lovely, makes your heart soar. It was a wonderful thing to be fooled by.

Specifics really are better than generalities, aren’t they?  Certainly in your line of work and in mine.

In Mark Singer’s profile of you in the New Yorker, he wrote that your aim is “to reignite our collective sense of wonder.” Does that seem like a fair description?

Well, I doubt very much that I would have written that myself, but I’m pleased that Mark did. He had the luxury of following me around for two years—I think that was one of the last New Yorker profiles in that kind of style—and really did characterize what I was trying to do. And I don’t think it’s changed much. The fact that I’m able to work in this world of things I genuinely like, it’s the greatest pleasure of my life. The business of show business may not always be supportive of it. But I get to take images that I like and blend them into a crazy show that I hope audiences will enjoy as much as I do.