THERE are no seances, no bouts of mass hypnosis, no damsels floating through steel hoops, yet this modified lantern lecture by the science writer Simon Singh and psychologist Richard Wiseman is every bit as intriguing as the more lavish illusionist shows to sweep into the West End. Given that so many of us have not the remotest idea how nature works — that copy of Stephen Hawking’s book never did get read, did it? — Singh and Wiseman ’s double act deserves the maximum amount of exposure.

To be fair, science graduates may find it all too simplistic. But that would be to miss the point. Television schedulers may not be aware of it, but the general public’s curiosity about the building blocks of existence is every bit as powerful as the urge to learn how to hang wallpaper and design a patio. Both Singh and Wiseman are natural popularisers, dispensing wisdom with droll, decidedly ungeeky banter. From the nature of optical illusions to an idiot’s guide to the Big Bang, they cover an impressive amount of ground. Although their climactic stunt, involving sending million-volt bolts of miniature lightning across the stage, has generated most of the publicity, (under-16s and people with pacemakers are advised to steer clear) the evening’s real value lies in its exploration of the more mundane facets of everyday life.

What is the Scientific Method? Why does a balloon make a noise when it is popped? How well does the brain store images? And why do we think we can hear Satanic messages when a Led Zeppelin anthem is played backwards? Taking turns to address the audience, Singh and Wiseman throw themselves into each conundrum with boyish enthusiasm. Wiseman, a former professional magician, concentrates largely on the themes of perception and deception; Singh is free to indulge his passion for cosmology and cryptography.

The theoretical discussions are never less than enlightening. Perhaps out of concern at the audience’s attention span, the two presenters have also drafted in a theremin duo, Sarah Angliss and Stephen Wolff, as well as a young contortionist, Delia Du Sol. The interludes have their charm, but tend to be a distraction from the main business at hand. As for the million-volt bit of derring-do, all went well on press night, Wiseman standing at the centre of the surging rays of light, his body protected by a coffin-like cage. In a setting as intimate as the Soho Theatre’s studio, it was an undeniably unnerving sight. The spirit of Houdini lives on.