Young magician Curtis Adams has a likeable, energetic stage presence that carries his "Magic That Rocks" show through some iffy moments for the older audiences who frequent the Plaza.

Curtis Adams bills his show as "Magic That Rocks," because, presumably, "Magic That Teen-Pops" wouldn't have the same ring to it.

The 23-year-old magician spends much of the first part of his Plaza show dancing his fool head off with two female sidekicks, as though he's auditioning for the Backstreet Boys. "Ever since I was a little kid, I always wanted to be in the music videos," he explains.

Two of the comedy segments that come later have him pushing his cute, ever-smiling face into a video camera until his image distorts on the overhead screens. Sometimes, he even bonks his head right on the lens.

Both behaviors are consistent with what you might see on the Disney Channel. And Adams has come up with an act that would play well as an introduction to stage magic for that channel's "tweener" viewers.

Unfortunately, tweeners aren't old enough to legally gamble, so Adams finds himself rocking their grandparents at the Plaza.

The result isn't a total mismatch. After all, everyone likes to feel hip, even if we only recognize the Phil Collins part of the Bone Thugs-N-Harmony tune ("Home") that plays before the house lights go down.

Three seniors that Adams singled out for participation in a show last week seemed to get a kick out of being involved. No one complained about the deafening level of his recorded music, either. Still, you get the idea that if Adams digs in for a long run downtown, he'll quit waiting for a audience that may not exist and cater more to the people who do show up.

Either way, "Curtis Adams: Adrenaline -- Magic That Rocks" as it's fully known, offers a few illusions you don't see in the other Las Vegas magic shows. Even the familiar ones are well-staged with attractive lighting. If you can sit through the worst Croc Hunter imitation ever, the show gives bargain-hunters an evening attraction for $27.50, which is cheaper than the premium-seating prices for afternoon rivals Rick Thomas and Dirk Arthur.

Adams is working with creative director Don Wayne, who steered David Copperfield through his prolific years of annual CBS specials. You can see the parallels, from his scruffy stage attire and casual banter to the comedic framing of illusions.

Like Copperfield, Adams lets the air out of the melodramatic bombast of Vegas magic shows. Instead of building up the requisite "deathtrap" with ominous cello chords and solemn narration, Adams introduces it with the comic mistreatment of an audience recruit. Later, a funny scenario frames the mangling and unmangling of a Lamborghini.

One of the most unusual segments blurs the line between magic and theater as Adams engages in silent physical comedy with a sweater magically animated on a coat hanger.

It's only when things turn serious that the audience gets ahead of the trick: A Greek statue turning into a woman and back again, or the anticlimactic closing stunt of Adams spinning up so much stage fog with his motorcycle that -- guess what? -- he vanishes. My apologies if you didn't see that one coming.

But a likable attitude and energetic stage presence buy a lot of forgiveness. For much of his time up there, you can tell Adams is trying too hard. But you can also tell that when he gets more experience under his belt, he's going to be very good at this some day.