How do magicians work their way up the Las Vegas ladder?

Magicians like to turn things inside out, and two of them are doing just that to the conventional rules of working one's way up the Las Vegas ladder.

Mike Hammer demonstrates that you don't have to move to move up. And Dirk Arthur proves he belongs on a big stage — even if belonging there isn't the same as earning the right to be there.

Both of them remind us that if you think magicians are interchangeable, you haven't been in Las Vegas very long.

Arthur and his exotic tigers and leopards ended up, almost by default, on the stage where Elvis Presley once sang. In recent years only two small venues were available to his traditional and increasingly old-fashioned illusions show — O'Sheas and then the old "La Cage" showroom at the Riviera — and both of them cut his tenure short by closing their doors.

But he found the Westgate also in need, after an ambitious plan for Elvis-themed shows went south. New management was suddenly in the mood to lease the showroom operation to the producers of Arthur's show at the Riviera.

When he reopened in late August, a lot of people were right to ask how Arthur can fill a big theater when he couldn't fill a small one. It's still not a terrible question, but two things at least explain the logic.

First, the old Las Vegas Hilton is now part of a big timeshare resort company. And people who sit through Westgate Resort pitches, or stay at their properties, need a few perks — maybe, um, show tickets — to sweeten the deal.

More to the point: The show is just better now. Or at least, that's the illusion.

Arthur's last two editions made him work harder to be a personality, but they had a seedy carnival vibe. Shabby production values revealed his props as less spectacular than shopworn. "Shine up those cabinets to where they sparkle and dazzle us again," I urged in January.

Lo and behold, someone did.

Arthur's magic is still of the switcheroo school that dominated the Siegfried & Roy era: He comes out in a red blazer, oversees the stuffing of two female dancers into a large contraption, covers it, uncovers it and boom: 400-pound snow-white tiger.

But the lighting is now rich and mysterious. The death drills and helicopters pack a little more of a wow factor. If you're going to be old-fashioned enough to frame your illusions with dancers, it helps to add some atmosphere.

And since so many of Arthur's illusions consist of making something appear or disappear, it also helps to add specialty acts, such as last week's silk aerialist and "cube"-twirling strong man.

Still, there's more laughs in the first five minutes of Mike Hammer's show than in all of Arthur's. The Four Queens club comic has come into his own in the past four years, when his chief claim to fame was being cheap: the lowest full-priced ticket of the 100-odd shows in town.

Not a bunch has changed on that front. You can still get in the door for $23, and the plush but gloomy Canyon Club still has the air of something abandoned. Hammer's show still seems a little commando, like a TV or movie character — maybe Kramer with his Merv Griffin set — saying, "Hey, look what they just left sitting here!"

But Hammer has moved beyond squatter's rights, to increase the value of his real estate. He now fills the gap for edgy, impertinent comedy magic left by the Amazing Johnathan's retirement. He's less a magician of wonder than a rapid-response insult comic comedian who needs the tricks as an excuse to get his victims up to the stage.

Much of the banter is preloaded, and Hammer needs to learn some change-ups to vary his full-throttle delivery; maybe customize it more to each victim. But enough of it is well-improvised to justify repeat business.

When Hammer uses an extension pole to distribute cards in the audience, one of his takers is named Rod. "How apropos!" he exclaims. And after making fun of the way one guy Boston-pronounced his name "Don" as "Done," he later meets a second guy named Don, turns back to the earlier guy and says, "See, that's how you say it." (All of this goes by much faster than it takes to read it).

There are a few fresh twists on the standard magic. Hammer is one of many comics who now realize the way to really scare someone is not to imperil them, but their phone. Still, when it comes to the trickery, you're just as likely to be impressed by Adam London a few hotels down at the D.

But like we said, the two aren't interchangeable. London's family show is nice, and friendly, more like Disney animation. Hammer is brash and rude Bugs Bunny Warner Bros. cartoons all the way. And no tigers required.

— Read more from Mike Weatherford at reviewjournal.com. Contact him at mweatherford@reviewjournal.com.