For the first time yesterday, I became aware of a film called Night at the Museum. This is freaky, for two reasons:

1) It means I know something about modern culture, however tenuous my grasp.
2) The film appears to be strangely similar to my own haunting visions of possessed museumhood.

I shall explain point 2.

As I’ve mentioned before, I recently spent a few days in London. On a dark evening on my second day there, I found myself in the British museum. The museum was really nice, with lots of really interesting exhibits, although I didn’t have enough time to see all of them. In the Egyptian section, there were colossal statues:

Crikey.
Personally, I find gigantic statues to be slightly creepy, but worse was to come (and so shocking that I seem to have neglected to photograph it). I found myself wandering around the Greek section, and stepped into a white-painted area harshly illuminated by fluorescent light. It felt and smelt not unlike a University art studio, only around my were row upon row of life-sized statues and busts.

Their milky white marble eyes seemed to follow me as I walked around the deserted hall. As I moved, I began looking at the faces of each statue in turn. At first, I was more interested in trying to imagine the humanity that they captured; bolts of emotion echoing down through the centuries, reminders of our irrevocable transience.

But then I thought: what if these statues become animate, and try to hunt me down through the museum?

I began looking more closely at each one, and wondering about my chances of beating it in a fight. I also wondered which statues were more likely to protect me, and which were likely to want to layeth the smackdown upon me. I wasn’t so worried by the busts - they had no legs, and so I was likely to easily out-pace them.

But what about the big guys with the creepy, thin faces? I checked where the exits were, and made sure not to turn my back on any of the particularly creepy statues. I figured that my best means of evading their evil greek clutches would be to run to the Egyptian exhibit, and - when they approached me, somehow topple a colossus on top of them. This would result in the destruction of priceless art, but there is always collateral damage in love and war.

But what if the Egyptian colossi (I’m presuming that’s the plural) were also animate? Well, I figured there was one statue who could save the day. He had no legs, but never underestimate him. I am of course, referring to Mr Easter Island Statue!

Mr Easter Island Statue

I’m not sure why, but I got good vibes off of him - it was almost as though he could lay the smacketh down upon any Greek or Egyptian construct by melting them with lasers eminating from his eyes. That’s probably why the residents of Easter Island made so many of them; who can invade when you have firey laser eyes? Well, the Dutch, I think, but there were probably extenuating circumstances.

Anyway, yes. That’s what I’ve learnt from my trip to the British museum: lure any attacking animate Greek and/or Egyptian statues to the room occupied by Mr Easter Island Statue, and have him melt them with lasers.

Never let it be said that I learn nothing in museums.