Troubled scenes at the British Museum

What has happened to the BM? An eyesore of a new building and populist exhibitions suggest it has abandoned its scholarly calling

The British Museum, for centuries a symbol of institutional rectitude in which the proprieties of presentation - centred on an almost clinical approach to historical fact - have by tradition always been set above commercial considerations, stands accused today of dereliction of duty. Graham Greene, chairman of the board of trustees, and Suzanna Taverne, the museum's managing director, have each remained silent over accusations of a cover-up involving the botched construction of a classical portico leading into the reconstructed Great Court. The suggestion is that the trustees and management knew what was going on and failed, for budgetary reasons, to take the necessary remedial action.

The British Museum, for centuries a symbol of institutional rectitude in which the proprieties of presentation - centred on an almost clinical approach to historical fact - have by tradition always been set above commercial considerations, stands accused today of dereliction of duty. Graham Greene, chairman of the board of trustees, and Suzanna Taverne, the museum's managing director, have each remained silent over accusations of a cover-up involving the botched construction of a classical portico leading into the reconstructed Great Court. The suggestion is that the trustees and management knew what was going on and failed, for budgetary reasons, to take the necessary remedial action.

At the same time, concern is growing over the museum's latest high-profile exhibition, "Gladiators and Caesars", which features clips from the recent Hollywood blockbuster Gladiator. The suggestion is that, under the administration of Ms Taverne, the museum is in danger of selling its soul.

Last week, Sir Jocelyn Stevens, former head of English Heritage, called for Greene to resign over the portico fiasco. Instead of using sympathetic Portland stone for the 65ft-high, triple-arched edifice, complete with hidden lifts, the builder from Dorset used differently coloured limestone from France, which was condemned as unacceptable by the museum authorities.

Pressure in support of the Stevens line could come from Camden council, the local authority responsible for Bloomsbury, which has deferred its ruling on what should be done until after the Queen opens the Great Court - to be named in her honour - on 6 December.

Ms Taverne, previously head of FT Finance, a division of the Financial Times, was furious over what happened. "We were deceived, we were taken in," she said as the hideous truth emerged from behind the scaffolding. But, determined that the museum should not be seen to be bullied by either English Heritage or Camden, the trustees simply ordered that remedial work be carried out to make the best of a bad job. The builder has left the scene, while the trustees have withheld the final £250,000 tranche of his fee, due to have totalled £1.74m. "He is welcome to sue us for it," Taverne announced laconically.

The crisis over the building, however, is only part of what some say is an ongoing story of populist revolution in the heart of Bloomsbury. In a bid to maintain the museum's status as London's most popular visitor attraction, "Gladiators and Caesars", as well as assembling an astonishing array of Roman helmets and weaponry, employs all the artifice of a 21st-century cinema. Thus, for an admission charge of £6, fans can watch Russell Crowe, from Gladiator, flexing his pecs in the Colosseum, and look on as Charlton Heston takes the reins in the chariot race from Ben Hur.

Next up, in a self-consciously Cecil B de Mille-style production which is bound to invite comparison with 1972's "Treasures of Tutankhamun", is "Cleopatra of Egypt: From History to Myth". Starting next April, the Queen of the Nile will reign for five months over WC1, exercising, one imagines, a fascination far in excess of her achievements in life. "Colossal sculptures" are promised, as well as bronzes, gems and drawings. But, though billed as "scholarly", the exhibition will pay homage, too, to the Cleopatra of opera and the movies. Expect, therefore, to see Elizabeth Taylor in her legendary role as the last of the Ptolemaic monarchs.

Should these evocations of ancient spectacle triumph at the box office - as well they might - complaints may have to be muted. It is hard, after all, to argue with success, and if anything like the 1.7 million paying visitors who flocked to see the golden mask of Tutankhamun give the thumbs-up to Gladiators and Cleopatra, the museum's hard-pressed trustees will be laughing all the way to the bank.

Yet questions arise. Has one of Britain's most respected institutions defected to show business or become, at best, a kind of ethnographic planetarium? Instead of functioning as a physical repository of global culture, closely tied to scholarship, has the BM given up the fight, bowed to the inevitable and "dumbed down" the past?

There is, naturally, a lot going on that does not make headlines. The galleries remain stuffed with treasures. There are also many smaller exhibitions, such as the present display of prints and drawings by Correggio and Parmigianino, which attract genuine enthusiasts. However, the word on the square is that, in an age in which the London Dungeon is held by young people to be more "authentic" than the Tower of London, and the Jorvik Viking Centre in York ("step aboard a time car and drift back through the centuries") prepares to welcome its 12,000,000th customer, it is no longer enough merely to conserve and curate. Museum culture has gone virtual: digital impresarios are ditching glass cases in favour of screen-based evocations of reality, warts and all. The past, in short, is being brought up to date.

The real question is, ought we to be surprised? We accept that the internet has transformed the way in which we receive and evaluate information. We acknowledge (as a survey last week confirmed) that young people today have barely heard of Dickens and may even think that Milton is a type of cheese. That museums should use back-projections, film clips and holography to increase the popular appeal of their work, while remaining true to the facts of history, is arguably not just understandable, but a public duty.

At the top, there remains much emphasis on the academic side of things. The museum's director, Dr Robert Ander- son, a specialist in scientific instruments and the Enlightenment, presides over a team of several hundred experts. There are 10 departments, each with a keeper and a team of curators, whose job is not merely to catalogue and display, but to date and evaluate objects and uncover their secrets.

Excavation is a key activity. Digs are currently going on in several locations. Visitors leaving the Gladiators exhibition are reminded that a team headed by the British Museum is engaged in the painstaking excavation of a real Roman amphitheatre.

The director and his colleagues work closely with similar institutions round the world and have a high reputation in the field of scientific research. Finds by amateur treasure hunters are regularly investigated by experts from the BM.

Objects in urgent need of restoration and conservation are routinely sent to London, where the relevant skills are considered the most advanced. A mask of Nefertiti, smuggled into Britain disguised as a replica, was revealed this year as a priceless artefact and returned to Cairo after being referred to Egyptologists at the museum by Scotland Yard detectives.

In 1996, when the accumulated deficit was forecast to hit £10.7m by 2000, there were mutterings of the need for an entrance charge. Today, following a rash of corporate and National Lottery grants, that threat has faded, and a good public response to the pay-to-view Gladiators and Cleopatra exhibitions should see it disappear from view.