CAIRO — In his memoir “The Big Rewind,” film and television critic Nathan Rabin said that during his stay in a mental institution, he amused himself with a peculiar pastime:
“Some folks collect stamps ... I collect bitter ironies,” Rabin wrote. “So I had to savor the moment when the [nurse] staring daggers at me bitterly groused to a coworker, ‘I just don’t see why everyone thinks “The Simpsons” is so great. What’s so funny about a father who strangles his son?’ ... here she was conveying bottomless concern for an imaginary cartoon boy while betraying nothing but contempt for the squirming bundle of humanity sobbing softly six feet away.”
Last week, I experienced my own bitter irony. At a press conference of Zahi Hawass, Director-General of the Supreme Council of Antiquities, I saw a man drop a video camera on a mummy case while scrambling to film another seemingly more important mummy. In Egyptology’s Holy of Holies — the Cairo Museum’s grand lobby — I scrambled over an ancient statue of Amenhotep III, attempting to avoid being hit by a boom mic. (The God-King, incidentally, was brushed by a collapsing lamp. He’s survived worse.)
We had gathered for the unveiling of Hawass’ latest exploit: DNA extraction from Tutankhamun’s corpse in an attempt to learn more about his lineage. I attended as The Daily News Egypt’s clueless intern.
Hawass’ press conference didn’t reveal much about the boy king’s death. The news agencies following the event trumpeted some variation of “Malaria Killed King Tut,” but Hawass had argued this theme well before testing results. The test did reveal Tutankhamun to be sickly, likely a product of incestuous parents , but true Egyptologists have assumed this for years. (Tomb relics depict Tutankhamun seated on a throne, holding a bow. Only the sickliest kings shoot bows without standing.) The DNA tests’ actual substance — who Tutankhamun’s mother was, his relationship with the priest Ay succeeding him — are not yet developed.
This didn’t stop the media. The first clue was the press release shoved into my hand by a Discovery Channel Representative, announcing the times of the new special on Zahi Hawass’ latest “amazing discovery.” Discovery had collaborated with the Supreme Council to make this special and, gosh-darn-it, they planned to make sure every media outlet knew how amazing this three-hour special of lab coat-clad men measuring DNA test tubes actually was.
“Sir?” the woman asked me. “Does your paper need anything else?”
“No, I think we’re fine,” I said, flipping through the many-paged press release.
The woman offered to send me pictures, though her smile disappeared once I handed her a scribbled e-mail address rather than a pristine business card. I sat next to an Associated Press reporter, took dutiful notes, and, when the conference ended, looked on as everyone surged towards the podium.
“What’s going on?” I said.
“Everyone’s rushing the podium for coffin footage,” he responded, rushing towards the junket, pulling an audio recorder from his khaki pocket.
I followed, pen and paper pressed against my chest. In the crowd’s midst stood Hawass, standing proudly over the corpse of Tutankhamun’s mother (maybe), preening for the cameras.
Zahi Hawass inspires extreme emotions. Some love him, claiming his tenure as the Supreme Council’s director-general has single-handedly revitalized Egypt’s economy. My roommate, for instance, is still happy to recount how he managed to shake the good doctor’s hand.
Others are less kind, claiming Hawass is a charlatan whose actions have harmed far more artifacts than they’ve preserved. The man also tends to exaggerate, referring to Valley of the King storerooms as pharaonic mothers’ long-lost tombs.
However, everyone agrees Hawass has never met a camera he did not like. Today, Hawass was in good form, posing in adventurous and thoughtful stances, undisturbed by the chaos around him. After 15 minutes, he wandered off. I assumed the conference had ended. It hadn’t. Hawass simply wanted to retrieve his hat — one modeled, of course, after Indiana Jones. He resumed posing, cameras resumed flashing and I walked away.
As I left, I saw a boy attempting to view a senet set, the ancient precursor to backgammon. It was difficult, as the cases throughout the lobby had been haphazardly shoved into corners to make room for the multitude of TV cameras.
I continued on, leaving the boy struggling to climb over the chaos to view this antique board game. Reporters rushed past me, anxious to file before the next hour.
In the lobby’s corner, a custodian dusted the light’s broken shards off King Amenhotep III, his stone face unmoved by the chaos we had just witnessed.
You can reach this columnist at thescene@theeagleonline.com.
