Those are people who died

So, I’ve decided to divulge a few “secrets” about the Body Worlds exhibit, for the benefit of those who haven’t seen it. I saw the exhibit on Saturday evening, and it was still unsettling my supper come Sunday afternoon.

OK, it wasn’t that gross. But there were a few seconds when I became dizzingly aware of what was surrounding me–dead people. I had to sit down. But most of the time, I was able to block the notion that these had once been living, breathing folks, probably because they had been pulled apart and posed in such ridiculous fashions–“the gymnast,” “the runner,” “the basketball player” and so on, with brains and spinal cords spilling out their backsides. But then I came upon “Lady of Muscles and Nerves,” or something like that, and I could very much see the structure of her face. (NOTE: the female plastinates have considerably more poetic names–the most ridiculous being “Phoenix with two birds,” and yes, this kneeling plastinate is indeed freeing two plastinated birds from her clutch.) Then there was the guy whose tattoos you can see–a sailor, I surmised, based upon the tattooed ships and big-breasted lady, now cut to pieces, like bread.

There’s also the much-touted “fetus” room–separate because we’re apparently so much more sensitive about plastinating itty-bitty humans than we are the big ones. Once inside, however, I understood why the museum had portioned this room apart, for the benefit of the weak and weary (like me): An eight-month pregnant woman who had died suddenly is plastinated along with her baby, the stomach sliced apart to reveal the tot.

I thought the “audio tour,” in which Gunther von Hagen grapples with whether or not plastinates are science or art (Uh, it’s science, d’Uh), was a complete waste of dough–a waste of time even more so.

But I’m glad I toughed out the exhibit.