Getty Villa Digs Out After Its Own Volcanic Eruption

The reopening of the Getty Villa was presided over by Barry Munitz, the president and CEO of the J. Paul Getty Trust who resigned two weeks ago amid charges of extravagant spending on exotic personal whims. Munitz left without severance and agreed to repay the trust $250,000. The Los Angeles Times has reported that Munitz used Getty money to buy a $72,000 Porsche, to stay with his wife in $1,000-a-night luxury hotels. He had his staff express-mail umbrellas to him while he traveled.

That's the Munitz problem. Then there is the new open-air theater carved into the hillside, inspired by classical antiquity and honoring philanthropists Barbara Fleischman and her late husband, Lawrence, whose names are carved in stone in large letters as the museum path opens upon villa and theater. But, bummer! -- Barbara Fleischman, a New York art collector, resigned from her position on the Getty board of directors three days before the villa reopened, after it was revealed that she had made a personal loan to Marion True, former curator of antiquities at the Getty, which Getty officials called a conflict of interest. True is also being tried by Italian prosecutors who say she trafficked in looted art. She resigned last fall and denies any wrongdoing, and the Getty is paying for her legal defense. (A sizable chunk of the best stuff in the Getty Villa was acquired by True in the years after J. Paul Getty's death). The Italians want the Getty to return 42 items, including a dozen objects that were donated or sold to it by the Fleischmans. A number of these contested items -- the L.A. Times reports 34 -- are on display in the villa today.

Seen in the proper light (and the new architects have filled the renovated villa with natural light from new windows and skylights), these swirling scandals are somehow fitting. Getty himself was the kind of tycoon who liked to keep both wolves and sheep as pets, just to keep things in perspective. Caesar himself could relate to this den of intrigue.

The new museum is being hailed as intelligent and alluring. The villa is awash in bright golds, blues and greens -- colors that would have filled a Roman estate at the time of Christ. The gardens are meditative, formal and filled with water and sculpture. The museum no longer houses the old French furniture and old master paintings (they've been moved to the Getty Center). The villa dedicates itself exclusively to collections of Greek, Etruscan and Roman artifacts -- and they include some doozies (Getty himself confessed a love for "big things").

Karol Wight, the new curator of antiquities, says the museum now possesses a complete and world-class assemblage of art from the ancients. On display are 1,200 pieces of glass, coins, goblets, armor, jewelry, pottery and sculpture.

There is a Roman sarcophagus depicting the Greek warrior Achilles dragging the body of the vanquished Trojan foe Hector behind his chariot (see: Brad Pitt in "Troy"). There is booty from Alexander the Great's campaign in Persia and beyond. And there is a huge limestone sculpture of a goddess, most likely Aphrodite, made in southern Italy, around 400 B.C. Among the folds of her windswept gown, one can still see the faintest pigments of long-ago paint.

Does it matter that Aphrodite might have been "looted" as the Italians charge? Of course, but doesn't that make this all the more delicious?

As J. Paul Getty explained his life in the arts, "I don't think there's any glory in being remembered as old moneybags."