It’s funny- quite a few people in this country lament the state of things, and wish we could go back to the “good old days.” These are the same folks that think any mention of sex is taboo, that women should stay in the kitchen, that death, politics, and anything related to bodily functions, or actually living, should be kept behind doors and utterly private.

Yet our European counterparts (who live in nations that many of our forebears once lived in), have a much healthier take on life in general. Our ancestors certainly did too, in many ways. In Europe, topless bathers draw nary a second glance. Here in the U.S., just nursing one’s infant brings the risk of being detained for indecent exposure.

This extends to what we read and watch too. I’ve always found it somewhat amusing that we as a nation are willing to tolerate movies, video games, and pictures full of violence and gore, yet a bared breast brings cries of condemnation. Yet in Europe, commercials show much more skin than they ever do here (and for the record, why are we so squeamish about condom and contraceptive ads here, yet we have no problems with advertisements for products like Preparation H? I’d rather think about sex and love than hemorrhoids, thank you).

Currently, there’s a big fuss over a children’s book, by a well-known German children’s author. Apparently these books, which are a hit overseas, won’t be published here because one of the books contains a picture of a painting in an art gallery depicting a nude woman, and a statue of a naked man, with all his glory on display.  Other objections involve smoking in the pictures.

Censorship, anyone? It’s incredulous to think we live in a nation where its gummint and citizens often loudly proclaim the freedoms we have, yet turn around and censor books at the drop of a hat. As long as we’re going to ban books depicting museums and art galleries, we might as well require all our museums across the nation to institute restrictions on admission– you know, no one under 18 admitted to art museums and galleries whatsoever. For that matter, natural history museums as well. Goodness knows some child might get the idea in their head that there’s such a thing as a theory of evolution, or that animals have, well, you know, genitals. God forbid some innocent young soul learns the word “mating,” or “reproduction.”

I think this censorship and repression leads children to think sex and human functions are a bigger deal than they actually are, and warps their sense of perception regarding the natural world and how we live. In the past, humans lived multi-generationally in one home, usually no more than one or two rooms. Parents had sex at night with children in the same room. People did their business in chamber pots or on the streets, and tossed the contents out the window. When people died, they weren’t first sent to hospitals and linked up to machines or forced to live artificially. They died at home, and were laid out in the bedroom or the parlor. I think that despite the intolerance and inhibitions of the past (ankles used to be considered indecent, for example), people actually had a more realistic and better sense of life from birth to death, and didn’t sensationalize basic human interactions and functions, or create weird artificial social constructs about life, death, sex, violence, and tons of other issues. If we’re going to return to the “good old days,” I’d like to see us return to that, at least.

Right now, the books aren’t being published because the publisher, Boyds Mills Press,

…appeared to be acutely embarrassed about their objections but told her they feared being confronted by hundreds of offended parents, if they went ahead and published the book in its existing form.

They should be embarrassed. It’s 2007, guys, not 1621. Let’s ditch the puritanism, and leave it back in the 17th century, yes?

One fortunate aspect of living in a town like Los Angeles is the constant access to theater; whether through interpreted performances via Project D.A.T.E., or direct theater through Deaf West, we have the opportunity to attend plays every so often. I first encountered Deaf West during its very first play, “The Gin Game,” and I was pleased recently to have the chance to see their latest, “Sleeping Beauty Wakes.”

The play was in Culver City, in the Kirk Douglas Theatre, which is located in the renovated Culver Theatre, the area’s former popcorn palace. The stage is just across the street from Sony Entertainment Studios (which occupies some of the acreage that was once the renowned M-G-M studios), and is in the midst of downtown Culver City. The venue is a good fit for Deaf West and this particular play– it’s not as large and imposing as the Taper Forum or other larger stages, yet it’s not as small and intimate as Deaf West’s home in North Hollywood. Like Goldilocks, it’s “just right;” add in stadium-style seating, and you have a good auditorium for a mixed audience of hearing and deaf playgoers.

This is Deaf West’s first big production in the wake of “Big River,” (it has also staged “One Act Plays: Krapp’s Last Tape and Zoo Story,” and “Open Window”– both are significant in their own ways, but Deaf West and the Los Angeles Times have both played up “Sleeping Beauty Wakes” as the successor to “Big River”), and I suspect the director, if not also Deaf West, hoped that lightning would strike twice and “Sleeping Beauty Wakes” would become as big a show as “Big River” was. However, this isn’t the case here. “Sleeping Beauty Wakes” is not of the same caliber, nor does it have as outstanding a cast. But at the same time, “Sleeping Beauty Wakes” has quite a bit going for it, and because of this, has deservedly been extended another week. As of this writing, it’s closing date has been extended from May 13 to May 20.

The story, as you might deduce from the title, is about the fairy tale princess, Sleeping Beauty. We encounter her in two different settings and eras: a modern-day story of a comatose woman in a sleep clinic, who is undergoing treatment along with fellow sufferers under the direction of a physician and her staff, and the back story we are all so familiar with– the young princess suffering under a curse, heading unmindfully towards her destiny. The two stories collide as the princess, under a centuries-old spell, awakens from her “once upon a time,” only to be forced to deal with the realities of the present.

As the play opens, the first thing you notice isn’t the actors or the play itself, it’s the set. Striking from the beginning, the set designs continue to be both outstanding and appropriate to the play. A “stained glass” background strongly evokes the Middle Ages, and for the remainder of the evening, every scene set in the fairy tale era of “once upon a time” has “stained glass” or similar medieval motifs as part of the background, and it works beautifully. The clinically stark white walls and stainless steel of the modern sleep clinic emerge forcefully through the minimalist set, with its cinder-block walls, its gurneys and medical machines surrounded by nothingness, and bathed in white light.

Just as the sets were simple and effective, so was the lighting. There were no moments of poor lighting, or ill-considered color choices for particular lights. Where the mood needed to be shady and dark, the lights were manipulated effectively. For the scenes set in the present, the harsh lights of a clinic were strong enough to mimic the hospital effect, yet not so strong it overpowered the audience. For the romantic scenes between Beauty and her paramour, the shadows and lights were merged at just the right level to evoke a sense of romance. In fact, the only real drawback regarding the lighting relates to another aspect of the overall theater experience (and one you don’t normally find in most plays these days!): the open-captioning.

According to the program leaflet, “Center Theatre Group would like to acknowledge an anonymous donor who provided support for captioning services…” Some generous soul out there funded open-captioning. I too would like to add my thanks– some hard-of-hearing or deaf people out there who are not well-versed in ASL will definitely appreciate this addition. However, to benefit from the captioning, your seat definitely has to be towards the rear of the theater (although the captioning was visible from my seat, down in front, it’s projected above the main stage, which didn’t facilitate taking in both the captioning and the play itself, at least from my vantage point). Also, while the captioning was visible for most of the play, there were times that red or orange strobe lights were used, and at that point, the captioning nearly vanished. So if you’re going to see this play, and you plan to take advantage of the open-captioning, just be aware there will be a few times that the dialogue isn’t going to be easy to see.

At the beginning of the play, we encounter Sleeping Beauty (Alexandria Wailes), already in her respose, and the Groundskeeper’s Son (Russell Harvard), who admires Beauty and comments on her languor. The story unfolds as we see the already familiar tale in front of us, with the King (Clinton Derricks-Carroll), the Queen (Christia Mantzke), and their court. A twist soon emerges, as Beauty’s compatriots Urashima Taro (Shannon Ford), Rip Van Winkle (Brendan Milburn), and Snow White (Valerie Vigoda) enter and reflect that they too share her predicament, as part of the fellowship of mythological and legendary characters fated to an endless slumber. This part of the script was reminiscent to me of the trend in literature and popular culture of late to take the classic stories we know and love, and view these tales through a different prism. Some examples are “Wicked,” the re-imagining of “The Wizard of Oz” through the eyes of the Wicked Witch of the West, and the recent graphic novel series Fables by Bill Willingham and Mark Buckingham (which in turn owes a debt to Neil Gaiman and his classic Sandman series– somehow I could see Gaiman doing a story featuring Van Winkle and Urashima Taro; it’s very much in the vein of his body of work. But I digress…).

Our story progresses, with the emergence of our heroic (and cocky!) prince (played here by Troy Kotsur), who of course will awaken our princess fair. Or will he…? We soon shift from the distant fabled past to the decidedly earthbound here and now, where a sleep disorder clinic is run by the Director (Deanne Bray) with the assistance of her staff, including an Orderly (Russell Harvard). The directors patients include a trio (Christia Mantzke, Kevin Early, and Erika Amato; Amato and Earley appear previously, as members of the royal court), and a sleepwalker (Troy Kotsur).

The story goes back and forth periodically, as we progress through Beauty’s childhood to the moment she first encounters the Bad Fairy (Deanne Bray), suffers the consequences of her encounter, and follows through to the present-day, where she finally awakes, and has to deal with the realities of being a princess out of time and story.

As you may have noticed so far, quite a few of the actors and actresses play double roles. This is not generally a problem, and all those playing dual roles manage at the very least to handle both roles responsibly. While the technical aspects of staging, lighting, and the sets are fantastic, I found myself disappointed at times by the costumes. The clothing worn by the royal family and the court seemed stuck between the kind of costumes you’d find in a college theatrical offering and a professional production in a prestigious theater. I will admit that the costumer cleverly designed the outfits to both evoke royal raiment and modern-day sleepwear; in that sense, it was an ingenious decision. The clothing worn by the doctors and patients in the clinic were nothing special or out of the ordinary, and thus served their purpose.

The acting ranged from outstanding to tolerable. This is in no small part due to the predicament Deaf West has found itself in in choosing to do musicals and plays geared towards hearing audiences. Who are the plays for, who will they attract, and thus, how is the language going to be structured? I found that quite a few of the hearing actors/actresses were doing double-duty, both voicing and signing their parts. This differed markedly from “Big River,” where the director and Deaf West wisely had the voice actors shadow their Deaf counterparts, or remain in one role as the voice actor. For what it’s worth, the National Theater of the Deaf (NTD) faces the same problem: while their core audience of Deaf theatergoers wants and should expect a performance with the best ASL possible, for NTD and Deaf West to remain viable, they must look to a larger, broader, hearing audience that in many cases has little or no exposure to ASL. Couple this with the need to present a commercially successful play with an engaging story, and you have an ongoing dilemma that has yet to be resolved. This is part of the larger difference between sign-language theatre and Deaf theatre; where some of Deaf West’s earlier or smaller pieces such as “The Gin Game” and “Zoo Story” are properly sign-language theatre, in terms of the language choice, the ASL, the flow of the dialogue, etc., they more closely resemble Deaf theatre. Shows such as “Big River” and “Sleeping Beauty Wakes” are most decidedly sign-language theatre, and as such, the deaf audience is only taken along so far as the fact that all the characters sign.

Unfortunately, in “Sleeping Beauty Wakes,” the decision was made to have Amato, Earley, Milburn, Ford, Vigoda, Mantzke, and Derricks-Carroll simultaneously voice and sign their roles. I think this was disastrous for the most part. Milburn, Ford, and Vigoda are musicians, and apparently did very well (in fact, Vigoda played the violin, and earned strong accolades at the end of the play, so I take it she’s a very good violinist!) in this aspect; as actors, they weren’t quite as good.

Vigoda was fine as Snow White, and was appropriately chipper. Amato may be a fine actress elsewhere (her credits in the program attests to this!), and her voice-work may be outstanding, but her ASL skills were competent at best; the same is true of Mantzke in her role as a clinic patient. I would rather have seen them either sign solely in their role and allowed others to voice for them, or for them to voice only, and have others supplant them in signing roles. It’s difficult to sign and speak at the same time, as many people familiar with ASL know; to pretend this is possible here is robbing not only the deaf audience, but also the hearing audience as well, since now the appearance is given that apparently you can both sign and speak at the same time (which is something any student in an interpreter training program is taught immediately NOT to do!). I hope in the future Deaf West remedies this and picks one method or the other, and sticks with it.

Milburn, unfortunately, came across as unbelievable. His sign was reminiscent of a beginning sign student, his beard kept slipping, his makeup wasn’t effective, and he was not believable in the role of Rip Van Winkle. Ford, as Taro, fared somewhat better, but also had fairly basic sign skills (although in his defense, his lines were equally minimal!). Of all the hearing thespians in supporting roles, Early comes across best as capable of signing and voicing simultaneously, and was engaging in his role as a clinic patient. Overall, I enjoyed his performance, and hope Deaf West finds other opportunities for him in future productions.

Those cast in more major roles did fine, although I think the Deaf actors/actresses as a whole were best (not simply because I’m biased, but also because they were very good in their roles). As King, Clinton Derricks-Carroll (whom many may know best from the TV show Sliders. He also won a Tony for his performance on Broadway in “Dreamgirls.” ) did an outstanding job. His sign skills were good enough that even though I wished he was either signing only or voicing only, I could understand his part of the dialogue. His performance was even better; his skill at timing, his presence as a king was evident, and he clearly was engaged with the actors opposite him.

As his wife, the Queen, Christia Mantzke also shone– it was clear she enjoyed and was more involved with her role as the Queen, and her ability to sign was far more evident here. I can’t vouch for her voice or her singing, but the audience around me didn’t seem to have any problem with her performance as well.

The lone disappointment among the Deaf members of the cast was Russell Harvard. While Harvard’s professional experience has been largely limited to Gallaudet University productions, as well as an apparent stint with the roadshow Rathskellar, I was looking forward to seeing a new talent emerge. Unfortunately, I didn’t see that. Harvard’s ASL is impeccable, to be sure, but his acting seemed forced at times, almost as if he was conscious of the fact that he was acting in a cast of veterans and wanted to be on par with his fellow performers, but ended up trying too hard. This affected his performances as the Groundskeeper’s Son and the Orderly; while he didn’t do so poorly that he stood out, he also didn’t do as well as he could have. However, I did see a few instances where I began to understand why Deaf West chose him for this role, and these moments occurred during the duets he had with Wailes, the first of which was “Trouble” and then “Drifting” (both were excellent during this particular number). Each time that only he and Wailes were on stage, Harvard seemed to feel comfortable enough on stage to truly inhabit his role. Harvard’s youth was to his advantage, because both of his characters were young– I found myself wishing he had let himself naturally fall into the role, rather than working so hard to be the role. For this reason, I’d have to say the jury is out on Harvard’s acting ability (or lack thereof) and any future he might have; I hope to have the opportunity to see him again in another play before I can definitively state whether we should see more of him or not.

As always, Troy Kotsur is a delight, but he seems to be stuck in supporting roles– while I greatly enjoyed him as Pap in “Big River” (and some of his legwork in this play reminded me of Pap!), I also found him capable of carrying off a lead role when I saw him as Krapp in “Krapp’s Last Tape” and as Peter in “Zoo Story.” While he was most effective as the Prince and as the Sleepwalker in “Sleeping Beauty Wakes,” I hope Deaf West will find a piece that best showcases Kotsur’s talents.

As Sleeping Beauty, Wailes at first puzzled me. I found myself slightly bored and nonplussed by her performance, and began to wonder just why she was cast in the role. However, given that she was largely asleep for the first third of the show, I suppose I reacted a bit too soon; beginning with the first of her duets with Harvard, Wailes truly awoke, and from that point on, she was very engaging as the title character, allowed an air of youthfulness to permeate her role without completely overtaking it, and evoked the appropriate emotions when confronted with the immediacy of her return to the waking world. Although she started slowly, she ended up fully being Sleeping Beauty.

Some plays are ensembles; others are star- or role-driven vehicles. This particular play is more ensemble than role-driven, but if there’s one character/performer who stole the show, it’s Deanne Bray, as both the Director and the Evil Fairy. As the Director, Bray was quite effective and believable, with all the stubborn righteousness that doctors have; in a moment that was both an inside “joke” of sorts for the Deaf audience members and a reminder to the hearing viewers of deaf people’s capabilities: at one point in the play, Bray states she’ll call the authorities. She does so via a pager, rather than using an actual cell phone- a stark reminder that deaf people certainly have the capability to do such a job as directing a sleep clinic.

As the evil fairy, Bray is in her element– her costume is reminiscent of Disney’s Malificent, complete with dual horns. She is both malevolent and weary, human and inhuman, and her performance in this role was absolutely compelling. I hope Deaf West will find a show that is worthy of Bray’s talents.

Overall, it is a satisfying cast and an enjoyable story. Despite the fact that it is clearly intended for hearing audiences (many of whom no doubt will leave with a sense of, “Oh, that was beautiful! Isn’t ASL so pretty?”) , both deaf and hearing audiences will leave the theater pleased, with a sense of having spent an enjoyable 2 and 1/2 hours of their evening at the theater. If you’re in the mood for a pleasant story, an evening of ASL married to music, and a couple of outstanding performances, then I urge you to try to obtain tickets in the next couple of weeks if at all possible. [For a MUCH briefer review of this play, see Tayler Mayer’s perspective on “Sleeping Beauty Wakes” here.]

It’s always interesting after December 25 to see just how fast people take their decorations down. On a grand scale, a lot of businesses, institutions, and the like vary, some removing their tinsel and lights almost immediately, with many waiting until right after New Year’s. Usually by December 29, though, I can find Valentine’s Day candy and cards in most of the chain drugstores, and a good number of the supermarkets as well. Somehow candy hearts isn’t exactly what I want as part of my post-Christmas glow, y’know?

Individuals are different. I can usually view lights and lawn decorations until after New Year’s, though here in Southern California, a lot of people, especially the further east I go, tend to leave them up until at least January 6. Yep, today. The reason for that is that traditionally, the Christmas season in many European nations and cultures differs from our market-driven culture. Here in the States, Christmas starts the day after Halloween and ends at 00:00:01 December 26. We then have a brief frenzy called “Return Your Gifts and Enjoy Discounts” Day, usually celebrated for all of four hours on December 26, quickly followed by promotions for the coming year (woe to ye who bought anything advertised as “interest free until 2007!”– you’ve definitely been had), quickly followed by the doldrums, punctuated by ads for the next three-day weekend/”holiday.” Oh, yeah, and those candy hearts.

In countries such as Spain and Mexico, the end of Christmas comes twelve days after (the “Twelve Nights of Christmas,” you know), on Three Kings’ Day. On that day, so it goes, the Magi entered Bethlehem and paid homage at the manger. Since that day, children leave straw stuffed in their shoes (for the camels, natch) in honor of the event, in the (usually successful) hopes that the Magi will leave gifts in exchange. In other countries, they celebrate January 6, or Epiphany, with processions, ceremonies, and similar celebrations at the closure of the Christmas season.

Growing up, we celebrated Epiphany. While it didn’t mean a second round of gift-giving (the materialistic me was disappointed, I’m sure), it meant a festive meal and a final night to appreciate the tree, which always was taken down the following day. It was a nice way to stretch out the holiday a bit. As an adult, I’ve carried on the tradition in my own home, and we usually have an extra-special meal and enjoy the house with just the Christmas lights and tree lit.

This year, since January 6 is on a Saturday, we decided to make a fun day of it. It’s gorgeous here in Southern California (would be anyway, but with global warming it certainly is getting even more warm and sunny), so I decided to surprise my hard-working spouse with a trip to the Getty Villa. While it’s under the umbrella of The Getty, it’s a separate location from the Getty Center off of the 405, and was at one time the entire museum.

What’s amazing about the Getty is it’s funded by the riches left by J. Paul Getty. The oilman and head of Getty Oil amassed a sizeable collection in his lifetime, then left a chunk of change in a trust to maintain that art for the public. I was rather small when he died, and I remember hearing my parents say that Getty had died. I asked who he was, and was told that he was the richest man in the world. An elementary school mind didn’t exactly wrap around how much money that was, but it was still a suitably impressive statement to ponder. As an adult, it’s far more impressive when you visit both museums and realize that admission is free (yes, FREE– cheapskates and art lovers, rejoice!), and the only cost is for parking. Maintaining the site, paying the staff, acquiring new works of art, defending ethically-challenged curators and administrators in court, operating a hillside tram, and all that an art museum entails comes gratis, because the trust covers it all.

The Getty Villa houses all its Greek and Roman art, in a villa that is a copy of one that once graced the countryside near Mt. Vesuvius. It’s on the site of Getty’s estate, in Malibu.

For those of you that are not privileged to live in the area, here’s what the Getty Villa looks like:

Pretty nice, huh? I’d been there a couple of times, before they closed it for renovations (and opened the Getty Center). It just reopened recently, in late 2006, and I was able to snag tickets. While a lot of the art within was enjoyable, one particular area I enjoyed was what I call the “Hall of Gods.” In this room there are statues of the Greek gods, most dating from around 400-200 B.C. (if I remember correctly). This is the room I’m talking about:

It’s impressive, and a gorgeous room to begin with. But as you enter from the adjoining room, to your left is a statue of Zeus. What was fascinating about this sculpture is that for most of its existence, it’s been lying on the ocean floor. Looking at the statue, you can see the difference. Half is still fairly white, still solid, while the other half has been riddled with holes from mollusks and other sea creatures, and shows the ravages of time (don’t you just love clichés?). Here’s a couple of pictures, so you can see what I mean:

Fascinating, isn’t it? The entire upstairs was a new experience for both of us, because in its previous incarnation, the second floor of the Villa was where everything else (read: post-Roman Empire Art) was located. Now it’s been completely re-done.

After a lovely day spent in the environs of art, subsidized by Oil (one of the few times I’ll admit there’s benefits of an oil fortune!), we decided to get a bit more traditional. We sauntered down the PCH and took I-10 (improbably called the Christopher Columbus Freeway at its origin in Santa Monica– any Floridians who know what it says at the terminus of I-10 on the other end?) downtown, for yet another visit to Olvera Street.

Los Tres Reyes is one of the few, if not the only, fiestas/celebrations left on Olvera Street that I have yet to do, but it seemed like a fun way to close out the holiday season. We weren’t disappointed. After a brief meal at one of the many eateries along the street, we ambled down past the various puestos and observed the procession making its way from the Avila Adobe. While the shepherds were similar to Las Posadas (the same costumes, if not the same people!), the head of the processional was graced by Mary, Joseph, and Jesus, and behind an angel carrying a star were the Magi.

I was so used to the usual ceremonies I didn’t realize, that just as on Dias de Los Muertos, there was a pageant in the Plaza. Fortunately I discovered this relatively quickly, and observed as the processional came to a stop in the heart of the old plaza, and then the Holy Family stepped forward, followed by dancing shepherds and celebrating attendants. After this came the angels and the Star of the East, followed at last by the Three Kings, who solemnly entered the stage, circled slowly with their gifts, and then presented themselves to Mary, Joseph, and Jesus.

For me, this was truly more about Christmas than the other celebrations we’ve seen, or activities we’ve done. There’s no secular curtain thrown around the events of January 6; there’s no Frosty, Rudolph, or Keebler Elf protoypes running about. It’s Christianity at its heart: the birth of Jesus and the Adoration of the Magi. A fitting close to yet another wonderful year, and a fun holiday season.

Today we finally went to see the Tutankhamun exhibit at LACMA, along with half of the West Coast, it seemed. It was the first day of my wife’s fairly short vacation, and seeing the exhibit was one of our priorities. We locked in our tickets ages ago, and to avoid the hassle of parking and driving, took the bus. Despite what you may think of public transportation around here, it really was smooth– we took the 4 up to Wilshire, transferred within minutes and in a total trip time of less than 30 minutes we were right in front of the LACMA West building, where the Tut show was.

I had heard that the entrance lines were long, but when we got to the huge tent set up for the queues, it was very brief– maybe less than five minutes total, and then we were quickly ushered into the LACMA West building. The entrance to the exhibit itself was rather glitzy— tall statues of Egyptian mummies, tomb paintings, and the like. The first half of the show focused on personages and rulers other than the “boy-king”, which was good as it gave some context to the times. There was even a genealogy of Tut’s presumed ancestry.

One thing I really appreciated throughout was a deviation from the norm in museum text presentations. Instead of the normal placard directly below each item, the glass cases in this exhibit had one placard in the normal spot, and then one at the top of each case. This meant I could stand back at a distance, read the material at my own pace, then dart in to examine the artifact close-up when an opening was available.

About half of the stuff on display were from tombs and people other than Tutankhamun, so it was a chance to view and compare different items from different times. The first half of the exhibition was fairly smooth, and we were able to wander along, reading and glancing at each piece on display, and not get bogged down.

But about midway, in the beginning of the exclusively Tut material, a room that detailed items and information about pyramids and tomb traditions became totally bottlenecked. It was increasingly crowded from that point on, I suppose because everyone wanted to see Tutankhamun’s belongings and funerary accoutrements. There was a little of everything, from the chair Tut probably sat in, to feathers and crowns, to bows and arrows. One thing that I particularly liked was the coffin of another mummy, and the ability to walk completely around the coffin and view the intricate detail. Another item that stood out was a storage case in the shape of a scarab beetle, exquisitely outlined in semi-precious jewels and gold inlays.

One thing that was disappointing for my wife (and many of our friends who have gone to see this) is that none of the actual coffins or masks were on display, as they were in 1978. Nevertheless, the last two rooms were fascinating in their own right. The first had a holographic display of Tutankhamun’s coffins and mummy, with outlines showing the size and approximate location of each coffin layer, ending with a 3-D form of Tut’s actual body. The final room showed models of what Tutankhamun might very well have looked like, which was interesting to see.

It’s really amazing when you stop to think about it—these people died 4, 5, and even 6,000 years ago. Ancient Egyptian beliefs centered on the afterlife, and all that preparation for eternity. Yet when you think about it, we go to these shows, we ooh and ahh over the coffins and mummies, we buy the souvenirs: These people were right all along—they *did* live forever.

After we exited the show, the corridor led to the ubiquitous gift shop, full of gadgets, games, trinkets, t-shirts, coffee mugs, the “Mummy went to see the Mummy and I all I got was this Mummy” action figures, and the like. There were quite a few National Geographic videos and DVDs, some of which I’m interested in, but that’s what Netflix is for. After we’d checked out some of the books, we left the building, and went over to the main section of LACMA for lunch.

Following a leisurely repast of salad, panini, and a couple of drinks, we decided to “do” LACMA. One benefit of paying through the nose for the “blockbuster” was that our tickets also permitted us entrée to LACMA on the same day. We decided to start at the Japanese arts building.

Part of this was mildly interesting, and part of it was fascinating. The temporary exhibit du jour was about Japan and the World’s Fairs, which was interesting in the sense that it allowed the viewer to observe Japanese contributions and Western perceptions of Japan at global expositions. But the permanent display on the first floor was worth the time. It was a room full of netsuke, which I had never heard of before. Apparently these are the little carvings from wood, ebony, and other materials that serve as “locks” for the cords attached to purses that were attached to kimono belts. The netsuke range from mythological figures to animals to abstract pieces, and ranged from early Edo period pieces to more modern representations. Although they were not on display (obviously!), there also seem to be netsuke of a more risqué sort. Thus I got the chance to see some interesting art and learn something about Japanese culture.

From this end of LACMA, we went to the Modern Art building next. Since I am not a fan, I dashed through all the floors rather quickly. I did see a few paintings and pieces that were interesting, but for me, “good” art ends around the time Cubism started. For example, I like Picasso’s Blue Period, but the middle and endpoints of his career I can do without. But as you know, art is subjective—my wife and others enjoy modernism (which I refer to for the most part as “kindergarten art,” as in, “any kindergartener can do that”), even if I don’t. I did like one piece that was made up of black-shrouded, anonymous life-size figures seated in a circle on the floor. It made me think of ringwraiths, dementors, and other evil figures, or just simply unknown priests of a bygone era. Another project I liked was two rooms that were set up to resemble an American commercial garage from the 1940s-50s. To me, it was a mixture of history and art that I found fascinating.

The next building was European, American, African, Islamic, and non-Japanese Asian art. It was this building that made me realize just how huge LACMA really is. The first floor had Mesoamerican, African, and South American art, American furniture and arts and crafts, and 20th century American art. So far, so good. But the second floor was European art practically from the Dark Ages to the Impressionists. I wandered through Manet, Degas, Raphael, more religious art than you can shake a stick at, portraits of long-dead noblemen, stone effigies from medieval tombs, even an entryway from a Mediterranean church or estate house. The layout of the various rooms became confusing, and since there was no map provided, I had to keep careful track of where I had been.

A couple hours later, my wife was all “arted” out and decided to retreat. I forged on, as I wanted to see the non-European sections. I found the Islamic art section to be very interesting—illustrated pages of the Koran, models of royal ships, and even a small-scale model of a mosque. The Indian subcontinent area contained numerous statues and carvings of Buddha, Rama, Kali, Ganesha, and a host of other deities; there were more bodhisattva carvings than there probably were bodhisattvas to begin with. At this point, it was all starting to swim before my eyes, and I still had the Chinese art left on yet another floor. At this point I too capitulated, and went in search of my spouse. We agreed it had been a wonderful day, and a good bang for the buck—for less than $30 each we had traveled throughout art history and time from Ancient Egypt to the rest of the world. While LACMA isn’t as large as the Met in NYC, it definitely is worth a repeat visit.