Magic (play)

Magic: A Fantastic Comedy In a Prelude and Three Acts
First edition cover
Written by	G. K. Chesterton
Characters	The Duke Doctor Grimthorpe The Reverend Cyril Smith Morris Carleon Hastings, The Duke's Secretary The Stranger Patricia Carleon
Date premiered	7 November 1913 (1913-11-07)
Place premiered	The Little Theatre
Original language	English
Genre	Comedy
Setting	England

Magic: A Fantastic Comedy In a Prelude and Three Acts is a 1913 comedy play by the English writer G. K. Chesterton. The plot centers on a conjurer, a young woman who believes he is really magic, and her brother who must rationalise everything. When the conjurer begins to do tricks that the brother cannot explain, he begins to go insane and the other characters – a wealthy duke, a family doctor, and a local priest – attempt to convince the conjurer to divulge how the tricks were done in the hopes of curing him of his madness.

The play was written after George Bernard Shaw repeatedly pestered Chesterton to write a play over the course of several years, believing that Chesterton's style would be successful on stage. Produced by Kenelm Foss, the play premiered at the Little Theatre in London on 7 November and received positive reviews from audiences; Chesterton was reportedly nearly mobbed in the lobby of the theatre by an adulatory audience following the show's first performance. Critical reviews were similarly positive, with praise for the play centering around Chesterton's choice to use colour instead of music for dramatic effect and his ability to create an atmosphere evoking evil that permeated throughout the play.

The play was successful and was found in print by the end of the year, though Chesterton himself saw little of the profits. The play saw over a hundred performances in the United Kingdom and the United States. Despite this success, it is considered to be Chesterton's "one and only play", due to the lack of drama in his other published stage works; only one of his other plays was ever staged during his lifetime.

G. K. Chesterton (left) and George Bernard Shaw were fierce intellectual rivals, but also good friends.

G. K. Chesterton was an English author and philosopher who shared a long and intimate friendship with the Irish writer and playwright George Bernard Shaw; the two were intellectual rivals who differed on many topics, perhaps best known through their series of public debates.^[1][2] Several times over the course of their friendship, Shaw attempted to get Chesterton to write a play as well.^[3] In 1908, he wrote a humorous letter to Chesterton, which reads in part:

I shall deliberately destroy your credit as an essayist, as a journalist, as a critic, as a Liberal, as everything that offers your laziness as a refuge, until starvation and shame drive you to serious dramatic parturition. I shall repeat my public challenge to you; vaunt my superiority; insult your corpulence; torture Belloc; if necessary, call on you and steal your wife's affections by intellectual and athletic displays, until you contribute something to British drama.^[4][5]

Shaw even gave several suggestions as to topic and theme, but Chesterton did not adapt any of them.^[6] In 1909, for example, Shaw suggested a play called The Dialogue of the Devil and St. Augustine in which Augustine of Canterbury arrives in modern-day England and discusses contemporary life with characters based on politicians and writers of the day.^[7] Shaw went so far as to offer Chesterton £100 (equivalent to £13,167 in 2023) if he could produce a workable version of the plot as a play within three months. If Chesterton could do so, Shaw would retain the stage rights, but Chesterton would keep the copyright, the writing credits would not include any sign of input from Shaw, and Chesterton could buy back the stage rights back for £250 (equivalent to £32,917 in 2023) whenever he wanted.^[8]

In 1912, Shaw wrote Androcles and the Lion "to insult and taunt and stimulate" Chesterton and asked Chesterton's wife, Frances, to pretend she loved it to get Chesterton to produce a stage play.^[6] Following Shaw's play, Desmond MacCarthy singled out Chesterton in hopes that he would write a similar play.^[9] Hilaire Belloc also believed that Chesterton would be successful on the stage; both he and F. Anstey proffered an outline for a play based on Belloc's The Emerald of Catherine the Great for Chesterton to dramatise, but it never materialised.^[10]

It is ultimately unknown what prompted Chesterton to write the play. Ada Chesterton, his sister-in-law, reported that, although the concept for Magic had been in the works for several months, Chesterton had been asked by a young unemployed man to write a play so that he could offer to stage it and gain steady employment from the theatre's management, which prompted Chesterton to begin writing the play down. She also noted that Chesterton had thoroughly enjoyed writing the play.^[11]

Following a trial production four days earlier in Eastbourne, Magic premiered at the Little Theatre in London on 7 November 1913, produced by Kenelm Foss.^[12] The play was written with the Little Theatre in mind, which – before its destruction – contained a relatively small stage and only 477 seats; Chesterton narrowed the scope of the play, keeping the setting of the three main acts in one location, the Duke's drawing room, though the prelude takes place elsewhere.^[13] Franklin Dyall was the first actor the play the Conjurer; he had been recommended by Frances Noel, sister of Conrad Noel.^[14] Fred Lewis and Grace Croft both were first to play the Duke and Patricia, respectively.^[15]

During a misty twilight, a man with a cloak and pointed hood obfuscating his face watches a woman, Patricia Carleon, approach ditzily in the forest, half singing unintelligibly. When she notices him, she asks who he is and he responds by drawing a map on the ground with his staff and speaking in riddles. He says that he speaks the language of the fairies and that he is a fairy but has taken on the form of a man in order to speak with a woman. As the prelude fades, Patricia notices that he is getting taller.

In the Duke's drawing room with large windows, a house can be seen in the distance with a red lamp. Hastings enters the room and greets Reverend Cyril Smith. He tells Smith that the Duke cannot see him yet because he is with his doctor, but will be with him shortly. Hastings exits and the doctor, Grimthorpe, enters reading a paper. Smith and Grimthorpe exchange niceties and share a good-natured chat about alcohol and their respective disagreement on whether there should be a local public house. The doctor mentions that there will be conjurations in the afternoon, but Hastings enters the room before Smith can find out what that means. Hastings hands Smith and Grimthorpe each a £50 cheque and both realise that the subject lines support the public house and the league against the public house, respectively. When Hastings leaves, Grimthorpe grumbles about how the Duke's incessant need to please everyone ends up pleasing nobody.

Despite the two men's disagreement, Grimthorpe discusses the Duke's family. Grimthorpe tells Smith that the Duke is now the ward of his niece, who came from Ireland a few months ago, and his nephew, who is returning from the United States this evening. Grimthorpe reveals that he was the Duke's brother's physician in Ireland and knows the two children well and that they claim to have seen fairies. He says that it is natural to see fairies in Ireland, but he does not like that she is seeing them in England and that the niece often goes out in the evening, especially when it is misty or rainy, in what she calls the "Celtic twilight" and often talks about meeting "an elf or wizard or something". When the Duke found out about these meetings, he hired a conjurer. Grimthorpe says that the nephew is much more rational so it seems that either the girl should go back to Ireland and keep her fairy talk there or be sent to live with her brother in the United States. Instead, he complains, the Duke hired a conjurer because it is the only thing that makes no sense; even people who believe in the supernatural believe the conjurer to be a huckster, but the Duke believes that it will play for the believer's supernatural beliefs and will play for the sceptic's intellectualism.

The Duke then enters with Hastings. The Duke rambles about how his nephew Morris is coming back from America and has been successful working in "petrol, or something". Smith becomes puzzled as the Duke appears to jump from one thought to the next aimlessly. Grimthorpe assures him quietly that this is just the character of the Duke. He continues to prattle until the four hear an American accent call out for help with his baggage. Morris enters and he and the Duke shake hands and exchange pleasantries. He asks after his sister and Grimthorpe mentions she is walking the grounds.

The Duke rambles again, this time about Patricia's time outside, what she sees, and so on. Upon hearing that she has been seeing a man, Morris becomes angry, criticising English morals and the Duke for letting his sister wander alone in the woods at night. A voice enters from the garden that no one recognises; Morris immediately recognises it as his sister. Patricia enters the room and the siblings have a short conversation about what Patricia calls "Fairyland". She describes it as "either nowhere or it's wherever you are" and has only two inhabitants, "oneself and one's shadow", but she cannot determine whether she is the shadow or the man is. The man, she says, has no name and she does not know what he looks like. She says that he is a wizard who tells the truth and speaks "the language of the elves". Morris is incredulous and becomes frustrated with his sister, but Grimthorpe calms him.

The red lamp in the other house is blotted out and Patricia is the first to notice. Morris says that someone's standing in front of it and he and Grimthorpe rush out to catch the trespasser, but Morris reappears empty-handed. Patricia says that he will come if she calls her; she sings a song like the one she did when she entered and the Stranger appears at the threshold of the garden. She tells him he may enter and he does. Morris shuts the garden door behind him and calls him a fraud. Smith rejoins that everyone has a right to the benefit of the doubt. The Stranger then takes off his hood and cloak and reveals himself to be a young, but ragged man in full evening dress. The man then introduces himself as the Conjurer. Everyone laughs except Patricia, who accuses him of ruining the fairy tale she was living in.

An hour later, the Duke is rambling about a group of militant vegetarians. Hastings points out that the vegetarians only want to collect money to prove their cause is popular and the Duke absentmindedly says that he will then give them three shillings. Hastings nervously attempts to talk him out of it; the Duke already gave three shillings to the anti-vegetarian groups and both groups have used the money to form violent gangs. When Hastings says that the magistrate will find his argument lacking, the Duke responds that he is the magistrate and that he has paid off sympathisers on both sides and is therefore perfectly impartial.

Hastings leaves and the Duke chats with the Conjurer, inquiring about news in his field. The Conjurer then reveals that he is a former journalist, but found his two professions did not mix well because the two fields "rest on opposite principles": a conjurer must conceal something that happens, whereas a journalist must explain what has not happened. The Duke leaves confused and the Conjurer – in a soliloquy – checks his gear and prepares for his work, but begins to doubt. He is interrupted in thought when Patricia returns. The two equivocate over truth; the Conjurer says that he told her a number of truths and Patricia admits that is true, but says he never told her the important truth about who he really was. He retorts that he is not sure if he is the only conjurer or if he even is a conjurer. He gives an example of a man in a garden practising a speech where he pretends that the speech is impromptu, which he likens to the work of a conjurer. He says that, when he was caught, he played to the fairy tale he was pretending and, although he destroyed the tale, he found himself treating it as a holiday from reality. Patricia is moved by his words and says she is less angry with him, but nothing is worse than fake magic. He responds saying that she brought the real magic.

Morris enters the room and claims to know all the Conjurer's tricks which are strewn about on the table. The Conjurer calmly belittles him and he becomes heated, but Patricia defuses the situation. Morris asks to confirm that a goldfish trick he knows is really just slices of carrots. The Conjurer confirms, but says he must judge for himself. He then pulls a bowl of live goldfish out of his hat. Morris is flabbergasted, but ineffectively attempts to downplay his surprise. He regains himself and says that he wants the old tricks that Moses had when he turned his rod into a snake and produced water from stone. Smith and Grimthorpe enter the room as Patricia reprimands Morris for blasphemy, but Morris says he does not believe in God. Grimthorpe laughs, saying: "Nobody but women believe in religion." Patricia becomes infuriated and leaves.

The gentlemen get into an argument about religion. Smith defends the faith, but Morris rejoins that Moses was just a conjurer whose audience did not know any better and were fooled into belief. Ultimately, the Conjurer begins to agitate Morris and Morris threatens him in turn. The Conjurer calmly goads him further, but Grimthorpe intercedes to stop it from becoming violent. Smith interjects to change the argument into a discussion. He argues that, if the painting of the Duke's ancestor on the wall is forged, it does not mean the Duke's ancestor was never real and thus even if miracles had been faked, that does not mean that saints are not real. Morris mocks Smith saying that science will always find a reason for anything and force miracles into obscurity and that, even though it may be his ancestor on the wall, he cannot make the ancestor dance around again.

Just then, the painting on the wall swings and Morris angrily accuses the Conjurer for playing a cheap trick on them with moving furniture. A chair falls over which frightens Morris, but he attempts to explain how the Conjurer did it. The Conjurer calmly says that the method would work. Morris continues his tirade with increasing fear and anger, saying that priests could no more change the red lamp in the adjacent house blue than Joshua could stop the sun. The lamp then turns blue. Increasingly afraid and angry, Morris attempts to figure out how the Conjurer did it. Grimthorpe becomes impatient and tells the Conjurer to make the light red again, which he does. Morris then rushes out into the garden to inspect, running back and forth in a frenzy. Patricia runs out to get him and comes back requesting Grimthorpe's assistance. Smith tells the Conjurer that the last trick "is so good that I wish you had not done it". The Conjurer says he wishes the same. When Smith asks if he wishes he has never been a conjurer, he responds that he wishes he had never been born at all and leaves.

Grimthorpe returns to the drawing room having put Morris to bed and asking Patricia to watch over him. Smith goads him for this, saying that he has put a woman who believes in fairies in charge of the very real health of her brother. Grimthorpe responds that he trusts her judgement in this matter and Smith uses the opportunity to criticise him. He says that Grimthorpe will trust a woman with life and death matters, but will not trust her when she sits in his pews. Grimthorpe shoots back by saying that just because a woman is strong-minded and still attends church services does not make her correct; there were many people who believed in Apollo. Smith responds that belief in Apollo and Jupiter kept men from madness because it provided explanations. Grimthorpe asks if Smith even believes in his religion and Smith responds: "Suppose I don't: I should still be a fool to question it. The child who doubts about Santa Claus has insomnia. The child who believes has a good night's rest." Grimthorpe calls Smith a pragmatist, but Smith rejects the title and says that, if madness has fallen on anyone in the family, it has not fallen on the woman who believes in fairies, but on her brother who rationalised himself into insanity. The Duke enters and rambles incoherently and Grimthorpe says that only the Duke has inherited the family's madness.

Later in the evening, Morris can be heard thrashing and babbling in his room. Grimthorpe tells the Conjurer that Morris's madness is not entirely his fault, but that he believes that giving Morris a rational explanation will help temper the symptoms. When Grimthorpe asks for the trick's secret, the Conjurer refuses, saying that no one would believe him if he told the truth anyway. The Duke enters and attempts to bribe the Conjurer into revealing the secret. The Conjurer refuses and the Duke hands him a cheque for several thousand pounds. The Conjurer hesitates and tells the men it was magic. Grimthorpe is outraged that he would take the check and then lie to them, but the Conjurer then rips up the check and says he wish he never learned about magic being real. Smith entreats the Conjurer to sit and discuss so they can help Morris, but the Conjurer refuses. He berates Smith to believe him and walk in faith; he does not blame Grimthorpe or the Duke for not believing him, but he finds it offensive that the priest would not believe. Smith shrinks, saying: "I believe.... [After a pause.] I wish I could believe." The Conjurer responds: "Yes. I wish I could disbelieve."

Patricia returns and demands to speak with the Conjurer. The rest leave. Patricia pleads with the Conjurer to reveal the trick, but he derails the conversation. He tells her that he fell in love with her and she recounts that he really never believed he was a magician. The Conjurer says that he wants to marry Patricia, but his confidence is lost and he does not believe she would marry him. Patricia softly agrees to marry him, but he says it is nonsense. He tells her about how his mother married his father, a dying travelling fiddler, and how he believed she would have been happier and better off if she had been more rational. Patricia responds that individuals find joy in the people they choose to bind to their souls to and promises to help with all the domestic duties. She then asks again about how the trick was done, but the Conjurer becomes intense and says he controlled devils to do it. Patricia says she does not believe in devils, but he retorts by saying that the room they are in is full of them. He tells her that he was involved in a number of different groups who pretended to invoke the spirits to help them, but he had to stop because they would give him hangover-like symptoms even though he could no longer become drunk. He says ultimately the spirits he actually conjured up seemed like fairies initially, but it became clear that they were devils when they attempted to seize control of him. Ultimately, he wrested control back and severed the connection, but they continued to taunt and bother him. He laments that he invoked them when Morris began insulting him. Patricia says Morris will never believe the truth and the Conjurer goes into the garden to ask God for help.

Grimthorpe, Smith, and the Duke return to the drawing room. Hastings follows shortly thereafter and looks pale and says she was shocked, but will not disclose why and then leaves. Suddenly, the men become increasingly uncomfortable and Smith cries out: "In God's name, go!" Grimthorpe thinks he is talking to him, but Smith says he was speaking to someone else. Grimthorpe acknowledges this and says the room is horrible. The Duke prattles and becomes unsettled before falling clumsily onto a chair. The Conjurer reappears and tells the presence in the room to return to Hell and that he will never invoke them again. He says that he figured out a lie to explain the trick to Morris, but he refuses to tell the others. He goes and Patricia returns saying that Morris is much better after the Conjurer told him the lie. Grimthorpe, Smith, and the Duke thank him and Smith asks what the lie was. The Conjurer refuses to explain because it will be plausible and they will run from the truth that magic is real. The Conjurer says goodbye to Patricia, but she says she will not say goodbye and says that the fairy tale has come to an end the only way it can be: by becoming true.

George Bernard Shaw was at the opening performance and reportedly gave a standing ovation, shouting "Bravo!" from his box.^[9] Although Chesterton's sister-in-law – Ada Chesterton – believed Chesterton's work was generally inferior to his brother's, she wrote a glowing retrospective about the night.^[16] According to her:

It was a memorable evening. Gilbert and Frances were almost mobbed in the foyer, and at every interval were eagerly surrounded. [...] When the curtain rang down, Gilbert made one of his wittiest and most delightful speeches. [...] Cecil and I foregathered in the bar with Fleet Street critics. Bernard Shaw, I remember, told Gilbert that he had a natural sense of the theatre, and insisted that he must go on writing plays and that a great career as a dramatist lay before him.^[17][18]

Following the premier, Chesterton arrived at his newspaper's office around 6 pm and left with his brother for a drink before dinner and were greeted by an enthusiastic crowd. Although Chesterton generally had an aversion to the telephone, he was reportedly so happy with the influx of congratulations and greetings he received following the play's opening night that he answered the phone himself, which his sister-in-law referred to as "extraordinary".^[14] By the end of 1913, the play was published as a book by Putnam's Sons, which enjoyed a high number of sales.^[19]

Chesterton was notoriously bad with his finances and Shaw sought to protect the success of Magic from Chesterton's poor financial management.^[20] Although the play was well-received, Chesterton only received compensation for the play from one of the backers, E. S. P. Haynes, and it was years before Chesterton was able to reposess the rights to the play.^[21] Following the premier, Shaw wrote to Chesterton's wife, saying:

In Sweden, where the marriage laws are comparatively enlightened, I believe you could obtain a divorce on the ground that your husband threw away an important part of the provision for your old age for twenty pieces of silver. [...] In future, the moment he has finished a play and the question of disposing of it arises, lock him up and bring the agreement to me. Explanations would be thrown away on him.^[22][23]

The play ran for over a hundred performances.^[19][24] For the hundredth performance, Shaw's short play The Music Cure began being featured as the curtain raiser following a promise Shaw made to Chesterton "if there should be [a hundredth] one", though The Music Cure was only performed seven times.^[25]

Magic was popular with audiences and met with positive critical reception.^[26] In general, critics were surprised by how well Chesterton had adapted to the stage, despite never having written a play. Others remarked that the use of colour instead of music during climactic scenes for effect was a welcome choice, as was his ability to create strong characters in the context of a live audience.^[19] In particular, the moment when the red lamp changes to blue was viewed as a "felt experience" by audience members years after their first viewing of the play.^[27] Other commentators praised the atmosphere of the play, noting that a looming sense of evil penetrated the performances. The Chesterton scholar Denis J. Conlon [Wikidata] noted that, although Chesterton had not converted to Catholicism yet, the play seems to indicate that he believed something in the universe worked on behalf of evil.^[27]

Shaw wrote resounding praise for the play, more than any other critic.^[28] In 1916, writing in The New Statesman, Shaw called Chesterton "an artist of almost magical dexterity in language and casuistry". He finished his piece with a paragraph about Magic, writing:

I shirk the theatre so lazily that I have lost the right to call myself a playgoer; but circumstances led to my seeing Magic performed several times and I enjoyed it more and more every time. [...] Mr. Chesterton is in the English tradition of Shakespear [sic] and Fielding and Scott and Dickens, in which you must grip your character so masterfully that you can play with it in the most extravagant fashion. Until you can present an archbishop wielding a red-hot poker and buttering slides for policemen, and yet becoming more and more essentially archiepiscopal at every roar of laughter, you are not really a master in that tradition. The Duke in Magic is much better than Micawber or Mrs. Wilfer, neither of whom can bear the footlights because, like piping bullfinches, they have only one tune, whilst the Duke sets everything in the universe to his ridiculous music. That is the Shakespearean touch. Is it grateful to ask for more?^[29][30]

Patrick Braybrooke praised the play in his 1922 biography of Chesterton, calling the play "difficult" because it is difficult to discern what the authorial belief is. He remarked that the conversations between the Smith and Grimthorpe were particularly good, serving as a critique of poor dialectic discourse and reveling in what is unknowable. Braybrooke also remarked that Magic is "undoubtedly a problem play" and that the nature of the play lends itself to the term comedy as much as it does tragedy.^[31]

The Irish novelist and critic George Moore, with whom Chesterton had feuded intellectually,^[a] gave it a stellar review.^[19][32] Writing to Forster Bovill on 27 November 1913, Moore stated:

I followed the comedy of Magic from the first line to the last with interest and appreciation, and I am not exaggerating when I say that I think of all modern plays I like it the best. Mr. Chesterton wished to express an idea and his construction and his dialogue are the best that he could have chosen for the expression of that idea; therefore, I look upon the play as practically perfect. The Prologue seems unnecessary, likewise the magician's love for the young lady. That she should love the magician is well enough, but it materialises him a little too much if he returns that love. I would have preferred her to love him more and he to love her less. But this spot, if it be a spot, is a very small one on a spotless surface of excellence.
I hope I can rely upon you to tell Mr. Chesterton how much I appreciated his Play as I should like him to know my artistic sympathies.^[32]

Frank Harris, despite his disagreements with Chesterton as well, also gave the play a positive review.^[19] In his series of books called Contemporary Portraits, he wrote positively about the play. In the second series, he wrote that "London took 'Magic,' and Chesterton to its heart of hearts" and that the play "had more than a success of esteem".^[34] He praised the play for having been one that he believed grew in value over time, remarking that the play was remarkably consistent and had a well-orchestrated climax.^[35] In the third series, Harris wrote that Magic was a "noble play" which was "splendidly rendered". He similarly praised the use of colour and stage effects to create a strong atmosphere that suggests that something "incommunicable" is present.^[36]

Once the play had made landfall in the United States, Lawrence Gilman saw the play at Maxine Elliott's Theatre in New York City. Writing for The North American Review, he gave spectacular praise to the show, calling Chesterton "the perfect reincarnation of a Hebrew prophet, with a passionate and thunderous ecstasy" and "an amazing man!". Gilman's only critique was what he felt was the overexplanation of the Conjurer's past, signalling that Chesterton needed to trust the "mystical integrity of his parable" more.^[37]

William Archer and A. B. Walkley were less impressed. Archer, writing for The Star, called Chesterton "elusive and tricksy" and contrasted Chesterton negatively with Shaw. Walkley, on the other hand, called the play's central thesis "fly-blown" and that the topic had no place in the theatre in his piece for the The Times.^[38] A writer for the socialist newspaper The Clarion gave a positive review of the play in general, but questioned whether anything it had set out to answer had been answered at all. G. S. Street gave a positive review in The New Witness, but called the play unambitious, petitioning Chesterton to take the art form more seriously.^[38] H. W. Massingham, in a review for The Nation, took issue with the topic, arguing that it "seems chiefly calculated to re-enshroud men's minds" and called for Chesterton to "cheer up" and stop romanticising the Middle Ages.^[39] Although he found the religious element of the play poorly introduced and argued that the play seems to advocate "swallowing practically anything", Desmond MacCarthy found the first act "admirably good" and, when Chesterton had called his play "amateurish" during his curtain speech at the premier, MacCarthy lamented that he wished "other people's acts were as amateurish" as Magic.^[9]

In Germany, the play received positive press following a production there, many of whom saw the influence of Shaw in Chesterton's work and several remarked that Chesterton had surpassed him.^[32] Gearóid Ó Lochlainn [Wikidata] and Toto Cogley staged the play in 1926 at the Gate Theatre in Dublin.^[40] In 1935, Shelah Richards, in her directorial debut, staged Magic there as well.^[41]

The play later went on the influence the Swedish director Ingmar Bergman, who staged the play in Sweden in 1947 under the name Magi at the Göteborg City Theatre.^[42] The stage design was done by Carl Ström and the play starred Anders Ek as the Conjurer.^[42] However, the play struggled due to its double-feature composition, being overshadowed by the popularity of Thornton Wilder's one-act play The Long Christmas Dinner.^[43] Critics still enjoyed Bergman's adaptation; although he was criticised for his impractical stage effects, Bergman met with critical success and was praised for using visually imaginative design, such as using dimming lighting to signal scene changes instead of the more traditional curtain.^[43] Ebbe Linde [sv; fi] said Bergman's play had "more than enough dynamics and boldness for a genius" and called the production a "spellbinding metamorphosis".^[44] Bergman was likely inspired by the play when he created the 1958 horror film The Magician.^[45]

Although Chesterton later wrote other pieces for the stage, Magic is sometimes referred to as Chesterton's "one and only play", especially since few have referred to his 1927 stage essay – The Judgment of Dr. Johnson, about Samuel Johnson – as a drama.^[46] The Judgment of Dr. Johnson was eventually staged at the Arts Theatre in 1932 and received better reviews than Magic, though it did not lead to further success.^[47] Chesterton did, however, write other plays. In 1914, he attempted to have his novel The Flying Inn adapted for the stage, but it was never performed as such. In 1932, Chesterton wrote a play The Surprise, which was not published until 1952 and not performed until 1953, well after Chesterton's death in 1936.^[48] It is unknown if Chesterton wrote any other plays, but Conlon believes that it is possible that up to ten remain unpublished; following his death, several of his unpublished manuscripts were given to the British Library, but they were never catalogued and have not been made public.^[49]

• The play performed by the Blackbird Theater in Nashville, Tennessee