The Tenenbaum family

I usually write for Cultuurpers about technology or governance. About directors and regulators, about organisations that lose sight of why they were originally set up, and about why people who are supposed to keep power in check sometimes end up becoming part of it. Last week, the topic here was the Dutch Photo Museum. The court was highly critical of the way the board had treated former director Birgit Donker, bringing a long period of managerial failure to a painful end. Or so I thought.

As is so often the case in a Wes Anderson film, there turned out to be a second storyline. Not the one set in the courtroom, but the one centring on the characters – the custodians who disappear one by one. One leaves with a carefully crafted farewell message containing nothing but warm words about the museum’s bright future, whilst another opts for complete silence. As if a Board of Trustees were a piece of scenery that is silently wheeled offstage once the performance is over, whilst the audience is still watching the stage.

Then I read in An interview in the NRC with the museum’s interim director, Roderick van der Lee. Suddenly, everything fell into place – not because the interview shed any light on the court case, but because it offered a glimpse into the world in which some directors seem to see themselves. It starts right from the opening sentence: “I already had a Burberry jacket when I was four.” This is followed by a fond description of Italian and English suits, Vinted finds, red socks, a collection of hundreds of ties, and a quote from Oscar Wilde: “It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances.” Van der Lee adds that what he wears reflects what he values: quality, craftsmanship, sustainability and an appreciation of the past.  

Anyone reading the interview without further context will see an art historian with a flair for style and tradition. It conveys a love of craftsmanship and objects steeped in history. It is a likeable portrait that fits perfectly into a lifestyle section of the NRC. However, context is not merely what is written on the page, but also what the reader already knows.

And that is precisely what gave the interview an air of unreality. Whilst the judge had only just ruled that the museum had been seriously remiss in its administrative duties, I was reading about Burberry jackets, carefully chosen pocket squares and red socks. Whilst, behind the scenes, an organisation is grappling with the consequences of years of failing oversight, the camera in the interview lingers affectionately on the details of taste, style and personal aesthetics.

Perhaps that is precisely why I keep thinking about The Royal Tenenbaums made me think. Wes Anderson rarely makes films about bad people. His characters are charming, well-read and impeccably dressed. Their homes are carefully furnished, their routines almost ritualistic, and their sense of aesthetics impeccable. Yet they often live for so long within their own carefully constructed universe that, without realising it, they lose touch with reality. Their tragedy is not that they wish to do harm, but that they have come to regard their own story as more important than the world around them.

Perhaps the same applies to governance. Major governance failures rarely arise because people deliberately do the wrong thing. Far more often, they arise because directors and supervisors gradually shut themselves away in a world where reputation, position, style and mutual unquestioned acceptance become more important than the uncomfortable question of whether they still dare to critically assess their own performance. Loyalty then takes precedence over correction, and oversight imperceptibly becomes mere window dressing.

Since reading the NRC interview, I have therefore come to view the crisis at the Nederlands Fotomuseum differently. Less as a series of bad decisions and more as a clash between two worlds. One world revolves around responsibility, accountability and the ability to correct one’s own mistakes. The other revolves around identity, culture, taste and the careful cultivation of a self-image. In a Wes Anderson film, this would result in a moving tragicomedy, complete with symmetrical sets and melancholic music. In the boardroom of a public museum, however, the same script rarely ends with applause.

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