A Neanderthal woman struggles under the weight of the antelope slung over her shoulder, carrying it laboriously back to her family’s shelter. The hunt was successful, and the meat will ensure survival for at least a few more days, provided she can elude predators.
Beside the huntress, two schoolboys giggle. Only about eight-years-old but her equal in stature, the first child explores the wound in the antelope’s side and shouts, “Hey look! You can stick your hand in the guts!” His classmate has other things on his mind. While his friend explores antelope carnage, this little boy is furtively fondling the Neanderthal’s breasts.
The most obvious message of the Museum of Natural History’s new exhibit: kids love nudity.
I saw a lot more, however, than children groping bronze statues. At the David H. Kotch Hall of Human Origins, I witnessed a cross-section of civilized man: elderly couples wowed by the fossil record, and new parents trying to excite the imaginations of their children. I saw teenagers sneaking off to the dark theatre and a young girl pushing a stroller for her weary mother. And, of course, lots of giggling about the term “homo erectus.” I saw joy, shock, love, and greed (seriously, gift shop? Four bucks for a pen?). In short, I saw the end result of the exhibit’s subject.
Every surface of the Hall of Human Origin is packed with information. There are glass cases full of skulls, tracing evolution from the diminutive skeletons of our ancestors. While these artifacts were incredible archeological breakthroughs, the most visually impressive displays were the recreations. Lining the hall were fantastically realistic busts of humans at all stages of evolution, which artist John Gurche imbued with spirit and emotion while still maintaining accuracy. Looking from the monkeys to the masses around me really brought the exhibit to life.
Other aspects were less successful. The overuse of timelines, for example, was a flop. One particular young girl misinterpreted a vertical timeline tracing the steps of human development to mean that she was approximately three million years tall. Her mother, also puzzled, was reluctant to correct her.
As is frequently the case with museums, the gimmicky often overshadows the educational. The sad fact is that hard science can be boring. But interactive displays and funny games sell tickets, which fund the hard science.
Case in point: I spent most of my time at the exhibit waiting in a Disney World-length line for a glorified photo booth. Once inside, I positioned my face in front of the camera, and through the magic of photo manipulation, my image morphed before my eyes into a genuine depiction of myself as a prehistoric man. I opted for the Homo neanderthalensis. As I typed in my e-mail address to have my photo sent to me, I couldn’t help but wondering what the point was. Had the gift shop somehow invaded the exhibit proper? This wasn’t science.
But as I left the booth, I spied a group of kids, enthusiastically pointing at a squatting Neanderthal man’s junk. I was still giggling as I left the exhibit.
