No, the real magic in The Illusionist occurs whenever Norton and Paul Giamatti appear onscreen. Playing ambiguous rivals, each skillfully reading their dialogue through some kind of awkward turn-of-the-century Vienna accent, these two remarkable players have transformed their nerdy 21st century personas into respectable, upright 19th century men, ready to engage one another in a battle of trust and wits. Giamatti's tiny chin disappears into a commanding beard, while Norton's shy chatterbox turns into a soft-spoken, skilled professional. They're like premodern versions of De Niro and Pacino in Heat, and their banter is mesmerizing.
Based on a short story by Pulitzer Prize winner Steven Millhauser, the plot begins with eisenheim as a youth (Aaron Johnson), learning magic and meeting the girl of his dreams (eleanor Tomlinson), the future duchess. Years later, the grown-up Sophie (Jessica Biel, rising slightly above her pinup-girl status) is all set to marry the evil, moustache-twisting, drunk and violent Crown Prince Leopold (Rufus Sewell, wasted in an underwritten role), when the grown-up eisenheim comes back into town, now a master illusionist.
His tricks take Vienna by storm, but his old ties to Sophie and his ability to fool Leopold earn him the crown prince's fury. What follows is a fairly routine combination of murder mystery, last-minute escapes, special effects and a "twist" ending. Giamatti plays the chief inspector whose job mainly entails protecting the prince and covering up his many lurid activities, but his faith in his job is lately running thin.
Writer-director Neil Burger does everything he feasibly ought to do, from hiring composer Philip Glass (and getting an unexpectedly subtle score) to commissioning Ricky Jay as a magic consultant and trusting cinematographer Dick Pope (Vera Drake) to conjure up some beautiful, golden-tinged images, sometimes framed in brown edging, like old photographs.
But Burger also fails to take any chances, relying on bland, time-tested cinematic devices. One current trend he faithfully follows is the one in which the film opens with a dramatic flash-forward from three-quarters of the way through the story, even though there is no other instance of time manipulation. The reason for this exasperating practice is that the filmmaker is bored with his chronological opening, and "cheats" with a more dynamic one.
Another old chestnut occurs with the flashy dramatic editing—copied note-for-note from The Usual Suspects—as the chief inspector figures out the "twist."
None of these obvious flourishes can match the magical power of just a few heartbeats in time as illusionist and inspector—and two amazing actors—regard each other with curiosity, cunning and, finally, respect.