“That bloke ain’t going nowhere,” said the guard with a laugh, leaving us alone in the empty block of cells. Peering through the small barred window in the door of Houdini’s cell, I found the magician bound as securely as ever and looking, if possible, even more dispirited and piteous than when I had left him. His was a face heavy with affliction; but seeing me, the faintest glimmer of hope ignited in his doleful eyes — an unspoken query to which I responded with only the barest nod of my head. Immediately Houdini’s face — indeed his very form, trammelled as it was — seemed to flare with energy, as though the very thought of freedom had rekindled his still indomitable spirit. With a grateful sigh, Houdini closed his eyes, tilted his head back in deepest concentration, and there then began the most remarkable sequence of human exertions I have ever witnessed. I have been told since that I am the only man who ever saw Houdini escape from a prison cell. This is to be regretted, for none of his public feats, remarkable though they were, can have matched the sheer drama and exhilaration of that solitary struggle at Scotland Yard.
What do You think about The Ectoplasmic Man (2010)?
