A couple of years ago, Steve Martin, working with the twisted folks at CountingDown.com, created this short web film called Morto the Magician. Imagine, if you will, a stage magician for whom everything goes wrong. (This not for the squeamish.)

Since this has been “out there” for a couple of years, you’ve probably already seen it. But maybe, like me, it’s been long enough that you need a reminder: Morto the Magician.

(It’s only my irrational fear of karmic retribution that prevents me from drawing any parallels between this film and one of the acts I recently saw perform. )

One of the consistent and consistently troubling aspects of mystery entertainment is that so many performers don’t take the considerable time and effort required to create an act that is their own. There’s no denying that it sometimes takes years putting together a really good act, and more years on top of that to fine tune it. I realize it’s far easier to simply channel the personality of a performer who is already enjoying a relatively high level of attention and success — Blaine Clones come immediately to mind — but that does no good to anyone, really.

It’s not good for the original performer. He’s traded his blood, sweat and tears to craft an act that resonates in some meaningful way with his audiences. It’s not fair for someone else to pull the same stunt McDonald’s has often been accused of: staking out the competition’s territory after they’ve spent their time and money identifying a good location, then moving in next door. It looks awfully unprofessional, doesn’t it?

It’s not good for audiences, either. Here we hold in the palm of our hands the knowledge and the power to turn upside down the solid beliefs of our audience members, and some, instead, choose to take that opportunity and spurn it away by cloning an existing act. Audiences necessarily expect a special experience from practitioners of something as exquisitely special like magic and mentalism. I think it’s criminal to treat audiences so disrespectfully by giving them less than they are due.

It’s not good for the art of magic and mentalism for many of the same reasons it’s not good for audiences (which makes abundant sense as there would be no performing art of magic and mentalism were it not for audiences.) No other performing art is like mystery entertainment. No other performing art. Even outstanding part-time professionals know not to treat it like a part-time lover.

Also, it’s ultimately not good for the performer. For some silly reason, Deddy Corbuzier comes to mind yet again. (He’s our poster child for how not to behave.) In a recent thread on The Magic Cafe, Corbuzier claims he will turn in his Max Maven Clone act. (Maybe he’s trading it in for a kabuki theater style. Sorry, Jeff, I know that’s not funny. Well, not very funny, anyway.) But for some bizarre reason, he wants to make that change concurrent with getting married. It frightens me to consider the subconcious thought processes that put those two monumental events in accord with one another.

When he does change, though, he’s going to be nearly at square one building an act. Sure, he can continue to do essentially the same tricks and trade on his name, but audience expectations will be for one act that — we hope — will no longer exist. It’s like playing some cosmic game of Monopoly and he’s dealing himself the big “Go to Jail” card. “Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Go. To. Jail. Intellectual property misappropriating bastard.” (It may not actually say that; I just made that up.) He gets to start over and all the time and effort he spent building a name using someone else’s act — no doubt considerable on all accounts — evaporates into thin air.

What if he’d spent all that time building his own act instead of cloning Max’s act? Where would he be right now?

Here’s a better question (i.e. one not so rhetorical): What are you spending your time doing? Are you working at being like someone, or are you creating someone? There’s lots to ne said for dressing up your imaginary friend and sending him out to entertain the masses, you know.

Bob Cassidy is not Dr. Bob, although they may look alike. Dr. Crow may be related to both of them, but he sure doesn’t act like it. Dr. Bob can perform in a manner (and in venues) Bob Cassidy may not wish to. Dr. Crow, on the other hand…well, I’m not sure what to say about him. Never let it be said that split personalities have no place in this world.

Let’s play a game of “what if.”

What if you could create any character you wanted, and endow him — maybe I shouldn’t use the word “endow”, so let’s instead say imbue him –with whatever powers, history and abilities you wished. Some people may call that a convenient excuse for abberant behavior, but I suggest to you a better word might be context. Within context nearly any behavior is appropriate. (Why do you think pseudo-schizophrenics can have so much fun?)

Not that you actually have to follow through, but you may find it an interesting exercise to take out a blank piece of paper and a pen and design someone you are not now. Study him. Let him do things you’d never dream of doing. Wonder how he might dress if given the opportunity to pick out his own socks. (Not that he’d necessarily wear socks, of course.)

Let him choose tricks from the vast, almost endless canvass of magic trickdom. Let him choose those tricks that fit him. But most importantly, wonder how he might routine them in ways maybe you wouldn’t. (I mean in ways you wouldn’t in a million years routine them. After all, you have a reputation to uphold; he doesn’t.)

Once you’ve done that, close your eyes and picture what it might be like to watch him perform before an audience.

You might come to like someone like that.