Stuart Jeffries

Enchanting but outrageously expensive: Tutankhamun reviewed

Twin Gods battle for your soul (and wallet): Fomo, the fear of missing out, and Jomo, the joy of missing out

Like Elton John, though less ravaged, Tutankhamun’s treasures are on their final world tour. Soon these 150 artefacts will return permanently to Egypt. Nearly a century after Howard Carter disrupted their 3,000-year rest in the Valley of the Kings, they are to be retombed in the new Grand Egyptian Museum in Giza.

But first they undergo their final ordeal, an outing in London. The genius of the Saatchi show, curated by Tarek El Awady, is to simulate the trials the pharaoh’s mummified corpse endured in the netherworld. After having his brain pulled out through his nose, Tutankhamun had to pass through 12 gates guarded by snakes, crocodiles, vultures and supernatural beasts. Accompanied by his worldly goods, including viscera stored in sumptuous gold canopic coffinettes, he then had his heart weighed against an ostrich feather to determine whether he warranted eternal life.

Without wishing to sound melodramatic, visiting the Saatchi I felt like Tut in the underworld. Even ticket-holders had to join a snaking queue outside. Inside, beautifully lit vitrines were heavily surrounded by vulture-headed sociopaths armed with cameras. The Scylla and Charybdis of Home Counties elbows and bored jackal-headed youths uninterested in their fellow teen’s plight were further impedimenta to savouring the boy-king bling.

A musty fragrance suffused the darkened galleries. Perhaps El Awady was simulating the fragrance of a recently opened tomb? No, it was the odour of Londoners sweltering in their coats, avoiding getting ripped off by cloakroom fees.

Was this a simulation of the fragrance of a recently opened tomb? No, it was the odour of sweltering Londoners

I managed to contemplate a case that contained a gilded wooden statue representing Tutankhamun riding a black varnished panther. How I envied the statue. If only I could have ridden, gold of body and obsidian of eye, through the Saatchi Gallery on a panther’s back, prodding oafs ruining the view of the artefacts with my harpoon and whipping photographers with my flail, I would have had a much more rewarding experience.

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