Hocus focus: Copperfield's success no grand illusion

The premise of uber-magician David Copperfield's production, ''An Intimate Evening of Grand Illusion," is imagining one's self in ''a perfect place." Frankly, The Opera House was a pretty perfect place to be last night, especially when a green Lincoln convertible magically appeared where thin air had been moments earlier.

Copperfield is known for elaborate, concept-heavy stunts like having the Statue of Liberty ''disappear" for a live audience. But the intimacy promised in the title of his latest show is certainly evident, and not just because his costume is an unbuttoned blue shirt over a T-shirt. For nearly every spectacular vignette, he calls random members of the audience onstage to act as witnesses or apparatus inspectors.

And yes, these were clearly random folks. When he needs someone, he flings a Frisbee out into the 2,600-seat hall. Some who caught the disc last night appeared to have second thoughts about taking part, including one young woman who was reluctant to participate in hocus-pocus involving a writhing black African scorpion.

With roaming video technicians beaming close-ups onto large and small-screen televisions, it's nearly impossible to figure out how he manages to migrate from one side of a steel plate to another, or how he gets Webster the Duck from one box to another.

And it's not as if he relies on distractions to fool the audience. The stage is stripped bare, with a few scattered lights and stripped-down steel platforms.

But each illusion, no matter how lengthy the set-up, is entirely satisfying, if bizarre. Among the more peculiar illusions is one involving a comely young woman beckoned onstage to be immaculately impregnated. (Yes, we see the ultrasound.)

One suspects the real magic of these feats for Copperfield is in thinking them up and figuring out how to make them happen. A biographical film sequence during the performance, prompted by Copperfield's achievement as a Guinness World Record holder, notes that each illusion takes about two years to complete. Copperfield remains down-to-earth, an affably cheeky host who concludes his own film homage by cracking, ''Eleven world records; 12 bad haircuts."