Balls to (Derren) Brown

Tricks are all very fine, and we admire the work that goes into them.

The Banking industry, for example. One can hardly fail to doff one's metaphorical hat to a business that operates profitably through a boom and then - when the going gets tough - persuades the government to bail it out without apparently conceding in return even a modicum of increased regulation. As bystanders, one cannot help but chuckle appreciatively as the illusionist hands back the bewildered prime minister's watch and handkerchief while unobtrusively tucking his wallet into a back pocket.

(It is only when one remembers whose money was in the wallet that the jokes wears thin.)

Yet when the illusionist turns to the audience and proceeds to "explain" the trick, by reference to the marmoset that, by frequent applications of disappearing ink, he has made invisible before training it in the art of the cutpurse, the audience begins to murmur amongst itself with something less than appreciation. Sure, we want to be deceived. But we don't want to be treated like fools.

Sordel has always enjoyed Derren Brown's act. Hypnotism has always been a part of it, but less of a part than it might first appear, and trying to disentangle a good illusion is always good fun. Sometimes you can "get" a part of it.

Even, however, before Brown explained his latest stunt (apparently forecasting the lottery numbers) it seemed a trifle underwhelming. The numbers were written in felt-tip on a row of ping-pong balls that were apparently visible at all times, but which were only turned to face the camera after the actual result was announced live on B.B.C. 1.

On his explanation show, Brown claimed that there were only three ways he could have done the trick: fake a lottery ticket, rig the machines or genuinely predict the result. Faking the ticket in this case meant that the writing had to be applied to the balls after the result was given; not impossible, I suppose, and Brown certainly misdirected the audience from exploring that option. Not interesting, though.

For most of the hour Brown "explained" how he genuinely predicted the result by averaging the predictions of a special group of people that he had trained for the purpose. This was, of course, complete and utter bollocks.

Brown then, in the last five minutes, outlined another way of doing the trick that involved substituting a heavier set of balls in the Camelot machines. He made a big point of saying that obviously had he done the trick that way he could not admit it, but I also happen to think that the second explanation was bollocks too.

Sordel is not too good at working out how a trick is done, but it seems to me that the only way it could be done was for Brown to know the result in time to write down the numbers before his own programme started. If the lottery result is usually broadcast with a short delay, then he only required the slightest collusion from Camelot to make the stunt work. If it is not usually broadcast with a delay, he needed a little more collusion, but since Brown's stunt was a massive free advert for the National Lottery, it's not difficult to see Camelot's motivation.

The problem is this: the explanation of that trick is never going to be very interesting, and creating a false explanation does nothing to make it more so.

Should the bankers ever do an explanation show, though, I'd watch it. They seem to win the lottery every week.