MUSEUMSHIFT

If you haven’t watched this, I would suggest giving it a go (if the above feels like your scene). It’s currently FREE to watch on Pluto.

I have always had a soft spot for this movie – no matter how much criticism it gets – so I left out a few plot points and creature reveals. Partly because they don’t really tie into the museum angle, but also because I think it’s more fun to discover them yourself. This is the kind of film that’s perfect for a rainy day in your sweatpants, snacks, and zero expectations. It might not win everyone over, but if you go in ready for something messy, gory, and a little ridiculous, it’s a pretty fun time.

While I prefer to do these breakdowns “watch-along” style, this film doesn’t lend itself to that approach, as it jumps around topically.

Since I have a feeling not many of you have seen this “gem,” I’m going to give an obligatory !SPOILERS! warning. Stop now and watch, or read on and be spoiled.

********** Problematic Trope

The film opens with an Amazonian tribe (the fictional Zenzera) being observed, photographed, and documented by anthropologist John Whitney. Rather than being portrayed as distinct individuals, the tribespeople are presented as a monolithic “other,” as they carry out an unknown ritual. The scene’s lighting, cinematography, and sound design emphasize a fear of the unknown. We learn that this ritual gives rise to the Kothoga, a monster central to the film’s narrative. This depiction leans heavily on the “white explorer” trope, framing Indigenous cultures as dangerous and primitive, with their spiritual practices and artifacts as otherworldly. In later dialogue, Whitney’s research is quickly defined as studying “ancient” tribes, which just showcases how non-Western cultures can be defined and viewed.

This happens a lot in horror. Many films build tension by treating non-Western cultures – fictional or not – as dangerous or mysterious rather than complex, fully realized communities. When real cultures are used, it reinforces harmful stereotypes by framing them as inherently ominous. Even with fictional groups, audiences are sometimes unable to separate fiction and non-fiction.

Some films flip this dynamic by centering the perspective on the culture that would traditionally be treated as the outsider. In these cases, unfamiliar practices are normalized, and the real threat comes from intrusion, colonization, or other external aggressor (see Prey, for example).

Exhibition

The main exhibit that serves as a backdrop in this film, Superstition, already feels off in its comparison of the term in different cultures. Western examples – spilled salt, umbrellas opened indoors, avoiding walking under ladders – are used as an entry point, introducing visitors to superstitious belief. But that framing feels unstable from the start. Alongside black cats and full moons are statuary and funerary practices of Ancient Egypt, representations of Pan and other gods, Mesoamerican rites, and ceremonial dress from various cultures, and – added late in the process – an Amazonian (Zenzera) artifact. All of these are things tied to structured belief systems and cultures. Placing them next to casual habits as if they exist on the same level feels… unbalanced.

From a museum standpoint, this exhibit lacks curatorial oversight and a clear sense of mission. It treats one side as trivial and the other as mystical. And then there’s the issue of how fully formed everything already is. We’re shown that the Kathoga statue is a last-minute addition, but the exhibit is acting like the statue was always the main event, as it’s given a place of prominence.

When critiques of this show are raised – whether well-founded or not – the usual response is that its primary intention is donor funding. In other words, it may not aim to be especially profound or convey a strong message, but rather generate revenue. I find this odd, since this museum would be expected to display comparable works as part of its regular programming.

While the film constantly presents non-Western belief systems as both real and potentially threatening, while framing Western superstition as relatively trivial, one could argue that the lead detective, Vincent D’Agosta, places greater weight on these so-called “trivial” superstitions, as he is shown observing his own rituals – such as refusing to pick up a heads-down penny, avoiding stepping over bodies, and carrying his lucky bullet.

I hope she gets overtime… and puts on a mask.

And then there’s the sudden push on prepping the statue that has suddenly been made a key focal point of the show. It arrives in pieces, along with leaves for packing material. The crates look fine, albeit inadequately packed. We’re meant to believe that conservation and restoration of a damaged artifact can be handled in a matter of days, right in the middle of an active install. That feels like a pretty wild ask. In reality, any meaningful restoration work – especially on something structurally damaged and culturally significant – takes time, planning, and careful handling, not to mention the ethical considerations of how far you intervene. But here, it’s just folded into the urgency of the plot. It adds to the same issue: the exhibit is treated as both professionally curated and hastily assembled.

Work is conducted on it until the pre-show fundraiser opening. While red carpets are being rolled out, the restoration technician and conservator, Perri Masai, is shown working on the piece as debris blows around the workspace. I’d hoped to see respiratory protection and adequate ventilation… I saw neither.

Grant Funding

One of the first scenes where we see a discussion about museum culture and politics occurs between Dr. Margo Green and her colleague, Greg Lee. We quickly learn that both have applied for the same grant. While this is technically allowed, with caveats, it’s a dick move. It’s clear that Greg knows this and has planned to act underhandedly. Through this exchange, the film establishes a professional rivalry – both within the museum and, likely, academically.

In reality, multiple applications from the same institution for a single large grant are uncommon and typically discouraged. Most major grants accept only one application per institution per funding cycle, and proposals often undergo internal review. While the film does not specify the grant’s parameters, it seems unlikely that both could legitimately apply independently without institutional oversight – especially since the grant would fund not only their research but also their staff.

That said, the presence of the donor at the background exhibit gala, and the fact that both of them plan to schmooze them, suggests this may not be a traditional grant at all. This reads more like a private donor or foundation that operates with its own board, rules, and application process.

This is also where we learn that Margo doesn’t like the idea of schmoozing, as she just wants to be left alone to focus on her work (which, same). We later see her practicing in an auditorium: discussing her work, why it’s important, and detailing how the grant funds would be used. So again, there’s some ambiguity there. Ultimately, the grant isn’t used as an accurate depiction of museum funding, but as a plot device to create tension.

Facilities

Security and Access

Early in the film, we see Margo arrive at work. She enters through the public entrance, signs in, and greets the security guard (Fred). I would expect a museum of its size and implied prestige to have a separate employee entrance to help with visitor flow. The sign-in and sign-out process may be for accountability purposes – so staff can be tracked in case of an emergency – but I doubt it would be prominently placed.

This alludes to a pre-keycard era, but by the late 1990s, a major museum like this would already have, or be in the process of implementing, electronic access control systems. Since the film is based on earlier source material, it’s possible this aspect simply wasn’t updated to reflect 90s systems. However, this argument falls apart later in the film when security is able to lock down whole sections of the museum, with electronic door locks, and we see keypads in use. So, system failures are at the whim of narrative dependency… got it.

In parallel, we also see a school group entering the museum. It’s unlikely that large groups would simply enter en masse without coordination. They would be checked in, organized, and led in a more controlled manner. In the film, however, the children appear to stream in with minimal oversight. Considering two of the kids wander off, this tracks.

A little history on fire suppression…

During the gala preview, things start to fall apart pretty quickly. I won’t get into specifics, but the security system flags certain actions as “theft” and starts to malfunction. There’s no smoke, no fire, yet the sprinklers still go off as part of the broader system failure.

The sprinkler deployment feels antiquated, yet its zoning suggests a more advanced system. For the time, it was probably a fair representation – even if the film’s overall security system sits in a strange technological limbo.

That contradiction actually lines up with what was happening in museums at the time. The field was in a transitional moment, moving away from traditional suppression methods such as standard wet-pipe sprinklers and halon systems, toward pre-action and water mist systems. These newer approaches were meant to reduce water damage to collections while also addressing environmental concerns.

By 1993, the Western Association for Art Conservation had already documented this shift, especially in new construction and retrofits. For a film released in the late 90s, likely produced in the mid-90s, and based on even earlier source material… some of these seemingly outdated and/or inconsistent details start to make more sense.

Roles and Hierarchy

Greg Lee might be a pest; however, it is nice to see Margo has support in Dr. Ann Cuthbert, Dr. Albert Frock, as well as her team. This support serves as a contrast to Lee’s more scheming and self-serving behavior.

While Ann’s role at the museum is somewhat nebulous, the remaining positions feel more defined.

The bodies aren’t even cold…

It hasn’t even been 24 hours, yet the curator and director of security are already looking to reopen the museum. I understand the pressure – you’ve got an opening scheduled, a gala preview hosted by the Board of Directors tomorrow, bartenders and caterers lined up, guest lists finalized – but you also have a dead security guard (no, not Fred!) that seemed like a staple in the institution.

I want to believe the Board of Directors would understand a delay, but at the same time, I’m not entirely convinced of that. It also raises another question: who is actually in charge here? We meet a variety of museum staff, such as curators, security personnel, and various employees, but there’s no clearly established museum director or other authority figure. The chain of command is vague, especially given the severity of what just happened.

While Dr. Ann Cuthbert appears to function as a de facto leader in several situations, she is listed as a curator – not a director, not an administrator – and I don’t recall any single executive figure ever being introduced or addressed on-screen. Each time I’ve watched this, I have always identified Cuthbert as the director/leader of the museum… which she is, if only in practice.

Maybe that’s something the film gets right. In moments of crisis, institutions like this become less about formal hierarchy and more about who actually steps up and handles things. Which is something I can attest to.

Real Museums

The museum used for exterior shots, as well as some interior shots of the lobby and exhibit spaces, is the Field Museum in Chicago, for which the movie is also set. According to IMDB, production initially approached the Museum of Natural History in New York, but they declined. Additional sets were built in Los Angeles.

During one of the scenes, we see the back-of-house storage. Let’s be real, this is industrial shelving. Granted, all the items look to be wet specimens, and I’m certainly no expert on housing for natural history museums, but I feel that standards are probably similar across the board. However, if her role, research, and staff rely on grant funds to continue, perhaps some of that work may include rehousing and reworking of museum storage spaces. To the film’s credit, the shelving system shown was era-appropriate. The move towards space-saving methods and a closer eye on conservation standards was still happening, so it’s not unrealistic to think that this museum could have been in a transitional phase – an argument used throughout this breakdown.

Final Notes

Tropes, Theft, and Narrative Revenge

“They made a deal with Satan to vanquish their enemies. So, Kothoga was born.”

Applying Western theology to non-Christian cultures always annoys me. That being said, part of me likes the idea that the Zenzera culture they took from gets some kind of revenge. It’s explained a little more in the film, but I see room for narrative expansion. The Kothoga pushes back and punishes the people who came in, took things, and tried to exploit them. It’s satisfying to see the invaders face consequences. The chaos the monster causes is retribution – something that was initiated at the very beginning of the movie. The museum is the backdrop where that revenge takes place – the symbol of exploitation becomes the site of reckoning. It’s grim, but it works. While there are some deaths that hit hard in this film, it’s worth noting that broad-stroke revenge scenarios rarely get a curatorial eye. Am I reading more into this movie than perhaps the originators intended? Likely. I never read the book, though.

The original author worked in a museum?

This movie is actually based on a book of the very same name. Coincidentally, one of the authors (Douglas Preston) worked at the Natural History Museum in New York as a writer, editor, and manager of publications in the 1970s and 80s. This is likely why AMNH was initially scouted, as a fictionalized version is used in the original novel. This could also be why the more technical aspects of this movie seem underdeveloped/outdated. It could also be that “accuracy” in this genre is less important than plot, scares, and other thriller aspects – which is understandable. It was written for general audiences in mind, not… you know… US.

The Science

I’m the last person who should be talking about the science happening on screen. The closest I’ve been to a lab was in college, and it focused more on bones, stone tools, and pots… not DNA sequencing. I would love someone with a science background to weigh in on the validity of Dr. Margo’s work throughout the film. I am fairly certain, however, that DNA sequencing takes longer than shown, even if you have your own lab.

Destroying scientific storage and labs… a funny anecdote

In the climax, the scientific storage areas and lab are obliterated. While some of these specimens are likely replaceable, I would expect many are not – RIP to the giant ground sloth skeleton. Early on in my career, I could never. In fact, I actually packed up a collection I was processing during an active assailant situation. Now, I would let things burn to the ground if it meant surviving and killing a monster that was going to eat me. I like to think I’ve got my priorities in order these days.

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Thanks for sticking around. There was a lot more to unpack here than in my other breakdowns, since this is one of the few cases where the museum isn’t just a backdrop, but the main setting.

Before we begin, I’ve linked below the other courses I took:

Networking without the Cringe: How to Slay Your Informational Interviews (Speakers: Jessica Meis and Sierra Van Ryck deGroot)

Personal Branding Workshop for Emerging Museum Professionals (Speaker: Haydn Corrodus)

Museums Run on People: Why Staff Visibility is Advocacy (Speakers: Alli Schell, Peyson Dauley, and Annelise Conway)

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Museums Run on People: Why Staff Visibility is Advocacy

Speakers: Alli Schell, Peyson Dauley, and Annelise Conway

This session functioned as a case study of the New Bedford Whaling Museum and its social media strategy – specifically how it worked to increase audience engagement, align programming with its online presence, and highlight the museum’s staff as part of its public identity.

So… what do you post?

One of the most refreshing elements of the approach was the level of agency given to Front of House (FOH) staff. Those who wanted to appear on camera could do so, and those who preferred not to were never pressured to participate. FOH staff were also actively included in shaping content, which felt significant given that they are often closest to visitors and have direct insight into audience interests, behaviors, and responses.

By getting everyone involved and understanding the potential of fun content, the museum was able to grow its reach, strengthen name recognition, and increase visitation – both in daily attendance and through programming. Importantly, there was a clear effort to align the tone of their digital presence with the in-person experience. This matters more than it might initially seem. A highly energetic on-line presence, followed by a flat or disengaged on-site experience, can create a noticeable disconnect that undermines trust and expectations. I’d be confused and disappointed if I followed a page expecting one voice and experienced something completely different.

How does this REALLY help with staff advocacy?

In this example, it parallels staff visibility with institutional visibility. Rather than being treated as faceless operators behind the scenes, museum staff become part of how the institution is recognized publicly. When FOH staff, educators, and back-of-house teams appear in videos, reels, and posts, they are no longer invisible labor – they become a recognizable part of the museum’s identity. For the Whaling Museum, staff visibility is not just a communications strategy to them, but a form of advocacy that makes museum labor more connected to visitors and a wider audience.

My museum is allergic to fun and/or doesn’t see the value. What do I do?

Believe me, I’ve been there. Actually, a similar question was asked… and I’m glad it was.

One of the challenges in this kind of work is navigating institutional comfort levels with tone. Many museums – particularly at the leadership level – can be hesitant about content that feels too informal, even when it resonates with audiences. The “resistance to fun” is rarely about the content itself, but about perceived risk and professionalism. What feels like an approachable way to share information to staff can sometimes be read by leadership as an affront to institutional professionalism.

Rather than pushing for an immediate shift in tone, it’s often more effective to start small with low-risk experiments such as slightly more conversational captions, behind-the-scenes moments, or featuring staff who are willing to show a bit of their expertise and personality (while still staying within the museum’s “comfort zones”). These incremental changes lower the stakes and allow teams to test audience response without triggering concerns about “losing professionalism.”

Over time, this helps institutions expand what they consider acceptable communication, rather than forcing a sudden shift in voice. It becomes less about changing everything overnight, and more about gradually widening the range.

To support your case though, results still need to be made accessible in a way that makes sense to your institution. Quantitative (“hard”) metrics like engagement rates are useful, but so are qualitative (“soft”) indicators like comments, sentiment, and interaction.

The real question is, how do you can translate audience behavior into institutional language that decision-makers recognize? Sometimes that’s data, and sometimes it’s clearer storytelling around outcomes like visibility, attendance, or revenue. What matters most is figuring out what leadership values and contextualizing content and feedback to support that.

My spider-sense is tingling…

Listening in on this case study brought me back to the personal branding course I took the day before.

In that session, the speaker emphasized the importance of defining your topics, choosing your platforms carefully, and avoiding the trap of spreading yourself too thin. In my own understanding, this ties closely to the idea of alignment – ensuring that where you show up and what you share actually supports your broader goals.

For museums, the mission statement serves as a guiding anchor but only to a certain extent. Not every piece of content needs to explicitly reflect it. For example, something like Heated Rivalry voice-overs (as used by the Whaling Museum) doesn’t directly signal a mission statement, but it can still fit within a broader engagement strategy. Other forms of content and promotion may be more overtly tied to institutional goals. It’s all about balance.

As I learned in the branding webinar, content pillars/topics provide a framework for staying consistent without becoming repetitive or diluted, allowing for creative flexibility while still maintaining strategic alignment.

This is where staff advocacy re-enters the picture.

When museums think about visibility, they are also making decisions about labor, voice, and representation. Staff visibility strategies only work sustainably when they work to advocate for staff rather than over-taxing them. When participation is intentional, platforms are chosen with care, and expectations around content creation are clear and shared, rather than implicitly assumed. Otherwise, visibility easily becomes another layer responsibility.

Staff advocacy is about making that visibility structured, supported, and meaningful. It’s ensuring that how they are shown does not come at the cost of their capacity, agency, or well-being. Because museums run on people – but whether those people are supported or simply seen is a choice built into every content decision. The same principles that guide strong personal branding can be easily applied at an institutional level. The difference is that in museums, the “brand” is made up of more components.

Getting personal here…

It’s also worth remembering that this is not the first time collecting institutions have had to navigate the implications of digital platforms.

During the early adoption of social media in museums, archives, and galleries, I helped draft a state-level policy to address a key concern. That concern was ensuring that social media content was not treated as original record. At the time, this was not hypothetical as platforms were inconsistent, long-term access was uncertain, and the tools required to capture and preserve digital content were still being developed. Meeting standards required the use of external, third-party data extraction tools, which is where the policy intervention came in. While social media allowed for extended access and visibility, it couldn’t replace the responsibility to maintain original records within controlled archival systems and records retention schedules.

A year or so later, I spoke more broadly about this work at an information governance conference, where these concerns were widely shared. Archiving digital content required specialized tools, workarounds, and a level of technical administration that made it clear just how fragile these platforms were.

That history still shapes how institutions operate today within the sphere of social media.

Many of the same organizations that are now being asked to embrace more visible, personality-driven, and platform-native content were trained to approach these systems with caution. The hesitancy around tone, informality, and participation is not simply resistance to change; it is rooted in a professional culture built on safeguarding collections and institutional memory.

Understanding that context reframes the tension. The challenge is no longer whether to engage, but how to do so responsibly by balancing the need for preservation and control with the growing expectation for visibility, accessibility, and human connection.

Closing Thoughts

This session didn’t give me the advocacy strategies I expected, but it certainly make me think about how staff visibility is addressed. Visibility can be a powerful tool, but only when it’s matched by how staff are supported behind the scenes. Otherwise, it’s not advocacy… it’s optics.

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