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No, it’s not the messenger of death from
Poltergeist, it’s Dr. Gunther von Hagens
the inventor of Plastination
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Museum Review
Body Worlds
At the California Science Center through January 2005
I’m officially done with dick… at least for a couple of weeks, and I’ve seen enough penises sans epidermis to last me the rest of my life. When they advertise, “discover the mysteries beneath your skin,” call me crazy, but I didn’t imagine confronting a free balling set of testes belonging to a dissected ‘for your viewing pleasure’ penile shaft.
The exhibit, which seriously blurs the line between medical marvels and horror movie special effects; features a mad scientist’s invention of plasticising human corpses for preservation, only to disturbingly disassemble them in nightmare inducing postures. Keep an eye out for the guy doomed to carry his own skin for eternity. Those specimens not lucky enough to be kept somewhat intact were run through some sort of hybrid meat-cutter, resulting in displays of translucent cross sections of the human form, and its major organs.
Aside from any obvious trauma, a combination of several unfortunate events resulted in the scientific significance of the installation being lost on me:
1. An overly enthusiastic group of med students uncovering the mysteries of the human heart one display case at a time.
2. A run in with a 400-degree tempura mushroom left me nauseous as blood dripped down my throat and the seared dangling flesh from the roof of my mouth cried out for a skin graft.
3. The insta-party Museum Benefit DJ blaring ‘hits’ from the ground floor, i.e. looking into a dead woman’s abdomen at her preserved fetus while listening to Beyonce wail about all things jelly.
4. The bacon strewn buffet table whiff that infiltrated the exhibit with less warning than the music.
However, I would recommend attending the bizarre display for yourself, if only to marvel not at the miracle of life and all of its intricacies, but at the experiment that culminated in this, and consider how many small neighborhood pets lost their lives for these flayed ex-people to stand before you. Not to mention that at the exit, only your signature on a postcard stands between you and the immortal infamy of your corpse in plastic. Just bring a friend because after the first hour- with no end in sight you’ll need some moral support and probably a hug. In addition: be prepared to swear off beef-jerky for life, and all things cock-like for, well, at least a little while.
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