Looking for the man behind the mask.

New York Times (John Noble Wilford)

The first public showing of the face of the boy pharaoh Tutankhamun, last week, exposed more than cracked, leathery skin and his buckteeth. (Gene Tierney’s overbite was much more fetching.) Archaeologists also detected a new feature, the hint of a Tut smile, transfiguring a regal mummy from antiquity into a human being with emotions perhaps like those of people today. The first reaction of Zahi Hawass, Egypt’s head of antiquities, was unscientific. The face, he said, “has magic; it has mystery; it has beauty.”

The search for identifiable affinities, if only a smile, with people long ago may account for our fascination with mummies and hominid skulls. History is full of dynasties and armies, documents and artifacts, but lacks, especially in deep time, the flesh and sinew of shared humanity. There is some felt need to put a face on the past.

Even ancient Egypt, which left arguably the most expressive remains of an early civilization, has frustrated scholars. Its temples and tombs are decorated with sculpture, portraits and other paintings. But the art is more or less idealized. Though the faces may bear some likeness to the person in life, the stylized renderings speak to posterity, conveying the divinity and serenity of immortal kings and queens.

Some representations lead to contradictory impressions. A famous bust of the powerful queen Nefertiti shows a beautiful swanlike neck and high cheek bones. In others, she appears haggard. Even Nefertiti must have had bad days.

Emily Teeter, an Egyptologist at the University of Chicago, said that when you had the body of a person and could also look into the face, then some of the personality may emerge. This, she said, “goes beyond representational art and really conceptualizes history.”