Hip Hip Hypnotism

In a kaleidoscopic carnival of slapstick and subconscious suggestion, a bumbling street conjurer—half-huckster, half-helpless romantic—accidentally hypnotizes a fickle flapper into believing she is the Queen of Jazz-Age Babylon. What follows is a delirious chase through boardwalks, speakeasy cellars, and rooftop gardens where neon moonlight drips like molten sherbet. The conjurer, desperate to reverse the spell before sunrise, must outwit a cigar-chomping strongman, a monocled mind-reader, and a gold-digging dowager who covets the entranced girl as a living mannequin for her couture salon. Each attempted reversal only tightens the psychic lasso: the heroine tap-dances on café tables, auctions off her own kisses to the highest bidder, and serenades a bronze statue she insists is Paul Whiteman. Meanwhile, the magician’s own pocket watch swings back at him, plunging him into mirrored hallucinations where every reflection lip-syncs his guilty secrets. When the final truce is brokered inside a revolving lighthouse lens, identities wobble like wet plaster busts: who is the dreamer, who the dreamed, and whether love itself is only a glittering post-hypnotic suggestion scribbled on the back of a ticket stub.