While he wasn’t being treated like a faith healer in other parts of the world, Sorcar’s reputation eventually caught the attention of the BBC, which invited him to be featured on Panorama. By the time Sorcar convinced them to seek medical treatment, the boy had succumbed to the bite. Once, a family whose son had been bitten by a venomous snake brought him to Sorcar for healing instead of to a physician. Sorcar’s successful self-promotion made him a tremendous star in his native India, although he would sometimes regret how convincing his persona had become. (In a sign of the slightly sexist times, he also enjoyed “clipping” the tip of his assistant’s tongue off for the sin of talking too much.) He could make a car vanish from the stage and copy the handwriting of audience volunteers on a board even though he was blindfolded. Born in 1913 to multiple generations of magicians, Sorcar had embraced his heritage and used his unique ethnicity to travel the world. While Hussain was planting seeds for Indian illusionists on British television, Sorcar was occupied with appreciative Japanese audiences. In 1937, the BBC Television Service-which was then relatively new-broadcast a performance by magician Ahmed Hussain, who strolled across hot coals while clad in a turban and sherwani. From the earliest movies of the late 19 th century, cameras sought to capture tricks normally only available to theater crowds. It was also a time when television was continuing the fascination moving pictures had always had with illusionists. With international travel relatively uncommon in the UK, a visit from a foreign talent was bound to be noticed. The British, like much of the world, had become enamored with Indian stage performers who marketed themselves by playing up the stereotype of the Indian mystic-one who could summon peculiar abilities from a poorly understood corner of the world. Sorcar’s Apperformance on the BBC newsmagazine show Panorama-similar to the one seen in the video above-represented a pivotal time for a number of rising narratives in popular culture. Millions of BBC viewers were left to wonder whether Sorcar, an exotic-looking man clad in a turban, had just killed a woman on live television. Her body was in full view of the cameras, and the saw’s descent into her midsection-complete with a squealing motor, like it had met with resistance-was morbidly effective.Īs Sorcar’s saw seemed to be passing through Dey’s spine, host Richard Dimbleby stepped in front of the camera and abruptly announced that the show had come to an end. But in 1956, it was uncommon to see the trick performed on live television-and even more unusual that Dipty Dey, Sorcar’s assistant, hadn’t climbed into a box to help disguise the illusion. Sawing a woman in half is the great cliché of magic, a trick repeated tens of thousands of times over hundreds of years. Above her was a circular buzz saw, big enough to cut through animal carcasses. Sorcar grabbed the handle of the saw, turned it on, and began lowering it toward the girl's belly button. As the BBC’s cameras crept in for a closer look, Sorcar secured the young woman to the surface. Sorcar, led his 17-year-old hypnotized assistant to a flat surgical table. Protul Chandra Sorcar, better known as world-traveling stage magician P.C.
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