The silence lasted about four seconds. But four seconds of silence after a magic trick — when you are standing on stage, looking at an audience that is looking back at you, and nobody is reacting — feels like an hour.
It happened at a corporate event in Salzburg. I had just performed what I considered my strongest close — a mentalism piece that built beautifully, had the audience leaning forward, and delivered a climactic moment that should have landed like a thunderclap. The prediction was revealed. It matched perfectly. The impossible thing had happened.
And then… nothing. A few people started clapping tentatively. Others looked around to see if they should join in. The applause eventually came, but it was uncertain, scattered, the kind of response that follows a moment of “Wait, is it over?”
The problem was not the trick. The trick was strong. The problem was not the audience. The audience was engaged. The problem was me. I had not told them it was over.
Fitzkee’s Three Steps
In Showmanship for Magicians, Fitzkee lays out a deceptively simple three-step formula for getting applause. Three steps that, once you understand them, seem so obvious you wonder how you ever performed without them:
Step one: Show you are approaching the end. Signal that the climax is coming. Build anticipation. Let the audience feel that something big is about to happen.
Step two: Indicate the end. The climax itself — the moment of magic, the reveal, the impossible thing. This is the peak.
Step three: Clearly point out that you have finished. An unmistakable signal that the effect is complete. Then wait. Wait for the applause. Wait ten seconds or more if necessary.
Three steps. Approach, arrive, finish. Most performers handle step two just fine — they execute the climax. Many handle step one reasonably well — they build toward it. Almost nobody does step three properly.
Why Step Three Is the One That Matters
Think about this from the audience’s perspective. They are watching something unfold. They do not know the structure of your trick. They do not know your script. They do not know whether the moment they just witnessed is the finale or a setup for something bigger.
In a movie, the credits tell you it is over. In a concert, the musicians stop playing. In a play, the lights change and the actors take a bow. These are unambiguous signals that tell the audience “This is the end. React now.”
In a magic show, the performer IS the signal. If you do not clearly communicate “This is over,” the audience will hesitate. They will wait. They will look for more. And in that hesitation, the energy of the climactic moment dissipates. By the time they realize it is over and start clapping, the peak has passed.
My Salzburg problem was textbook step-three failure. The prediction was revealed — step two was done. But I had not built the approach — step one was weak. And I had not signaled completion — step three was nonexistent. I just… stood there, holding the prediction, waiting for the audience to figure out on their own that the show was over.
Step One: Show You Are Approaching the End
The approach to the end is where timing does its most important work. Fitzkee writes about gradually slowing your tempo as you approach the climax — each pause becoming slightly longer, each phrase delivered with slightly more weight.
Think of a roller coaster. The most exciting moment is not the drop itself. It is the slow climb that precedes it. The click-click-click of the chain pulling you upward. The view from the top. The moment of suspended anticipation before gravity takes over.
Your climax needs that climb. The audience needs to feel that something is coming. Verbal cues help: “Everything comes down to this moment.” Physical cues help: slowing your movements, making eye contact with the audience, letting your body language shift from casual to focused.
In my mentalism closer, I now build the approach over about thirty seconds. I slow my speech. I make eye contact with specific audience members. I let pauses expand. I verbally signal that we are arriving at the critical moment. By the time the prediction is revealed, the audience is leaning forward, holding their breath, ready to react.
The approach converts passive viewers into active participants. They are no longer watching. They are waiting. And an audience that is waiting will react explosively when the moment arrives.
Step Two: Indicate the End
This is the climax itself — the reveal, the transformation, the impossible moment. Most performers understand this step intuitively. You show the card. You open the envelope. You reveal the prediction. The magic happens.
The key detail Fitzkee emphasizes is clarity. The climax must be unmistakable. The audience must understand instantly what has happened. If the climactic moment requires explanation — if you have to say “See, the card you chose was the seven of hearts, and this is the seven of hearts” — the effect has not been designed clearly enough.
The best climaxes are visual. They register before the conscious mind can process them. The card changes color. The object appears where it should not be. The prediction matches the free choice. These are moments where the eyes tell the brain “impossible” before the brain can argue.
When the climax is clear, the audience’s reaction is immediate and involuntary. The gasp. The widened eyes. The sharp intake of breath. These happen before applause, and they are the raw material from which applause is built.
Step Three: Clearly Point Out That You Have Finished
This is the step that changed my performances more than any other single adjustment.
After the climax, you must physically and verbally signal that the effect is complete. Not subtly. Not ambiguously. Unmistakably.
Fitzkee’s approach involves three components:
The physical gesture. A clear, deliberate movement that says “done.” This can be placing the props down with finality. Stepping back from the table. Dropping your hands to your sides. Turning to face the audience squarely with your shoulders open. Whatever the gesture, it must be definitive.
The facial expression. A smile, a look of satisfaction, a moment of shared amazement with the audience. Your face tells them how to feel about what just happened. If you look uncertain, they will feel uncertain. If you look satisfied and present, they will feel permission to react.
The wait. This is the hardest part. After the climax and the gesture, you must wait. Do nothing. Say nothing. Just stand there and look at the audience. Let the silence do its work. Let someone start to clap. Let others join in. Let the applause build.
The wait requires confidence. Every instinct tells you to fill the silence — to say something, to move to the next trick, to do anything other than stand exposed in front of a quiet room. But the wait is not empty. The wait is the moment when the audience processes what they saw, decides to react, and gives you the response the effect deserves.
I have timed my waits. Three seconds feels like a long time when you are on stage. Five seconds feels like an eternity. But five seconds of confident silence after a strong climax almost always produces applause, even from reserved audiences. Someone starts. Others follow. The social permission cascades.
The Anatomy of an Applause Moment
Here is what happens in those critical seconds between climax and applause, as best I have been able to understand it:
The impossible thing happens. The audience’s conscious mind short-circuits briefly — the thing they just saw does not fit their model of how reality works. This creates a fraction of a second of genuine cognitive disruption.
The emotional response follows immediately: surprise, delight, wonder, sometimes laughter. This is involuntary.
Then the social calculation begins: should I clap? Is it over? Is everyone else going to clap? This is the moment where many audiences stall, because the social calculation requires certainty that the effect is complete.
Your step-three signal resolves the social calculation. Your physical gesture, your facial expression, and your confident wait tell the audience: yes, it is over. Yes, this was the climax. Yes, you should react now.
Without that signal, the audience is stuck in the social calculation phase. They felt the surprise. They want to react. But they are not sure it is time. And by the time they figure it out on their own, the moment has cooled.
What I Changed After Salzburg
After the uncertain applause in Salzburg, I went back to my hotel room and rebuilt every ending in my show. For each effect, I scripted three things:
The approach signal: what I would say and do in the thirty seconds before the climax to build anticipation and signal that we were nearing the peak.
The climax: the effect itself, designed for maximum visual clarity.
The finish: a specific physical gesture, followed by a specific facial expression, followed by a deliberate wait of at least three full seconds.
Then I rehearsed them. I stood in front of the hotel room mirror and practiced endings. I practiced placing props down with finality. I practiced the deliberate step back. I practiced the open, satisfied look at an imaginary audience. I practiced waiting.
It felt ridiculous. Practicing how to end a trick seemed like the least important thing I could be practicing. But Fitzkee is clear: the end of the trick is the moment that determines the audience’s response. Everything else — all the setup, all the build, all the technique — is in service of that moment. If you fumble the ending, you waste everything that preceded it.
The “Don’t Go Back” Rule
Fitzkee adds a critical corollary to his applause formula: after you get the applause, do not go back and do another trick. You are at the peak. If you continue and the audience lets you finish without enthusiasm, you have lost ground. Quit at the peak.
This maps directly onto his broader principle of always leaving them wanting more. The audience’s appetite for you is at its maximum right after a strong finish with strong applause. If you push forward, you are betting that the next piece will be even stronger. Sometimes it will be. Often it will not. And if it is weaker, you end on a down note rather than an up note.
I use this principle at the end of my keynote segments. When the final piece lands and the applause comes, I thank the audience and transition back to the presentation content. I do not add a bonus trick. I do not extend the magic segment. The magic ends at its peak, and the audience carries that energy into the rest of the keynote.
Teaching the Audience How to React
There is a deeper lesson underneath the three-step formula. The audience is not a passive receptacle. They are active participants who need to be guided. Not manipulated — guided. They want to enjoy the show. They want to applaud. They want to feel the communal rush of shared amazement. But they need permission and direction.
A good ending gives them both. The approach says “something big is coming — get ready.” The climax says “here it is.” The finish says “it is over — react now.”
This is not about tricking the audience into applauding. It is about removing the barriers to a reaction they already want to have. An audience that is unsure whether the trick is over is an audience that is inhibited. Remove the uncertainty, and the reaction flows naturally.
Fitzkee was a product of the vaudeville era, where performers lived and died by audience response. Getting applause was not a vanity exercise. It was the metric that determined whether you got booked again. His three-step formula was born from the practical necessity of reliably generating audience response in a competitive entertainment landscape.
The landscape has changed. The principle has not. Audiences still need to know when to react. Performers still need to tell them. And the three steps — approach, arrive, finish — remain the clearest, most reliable system for bridging the gap between a strong effect and a strong response.
Show the end. Indicate the end. Finish clearly. Then wait.
The applause will come.