For fans, it's one exhibit to rule them all

Now playing at the Museum of Science: a reliquary for our modern age.

" `The Lord of the Rings' Motion Picture Trilogy -- The Exhibition" is, on the brutal face of it, little more than a collection of pretty costumes, drawings, plastic models, and cast-off prosthetics lined up for display. The ambience, however, is hushed, the lighting low, the speakers emitting distant sounds of battle. You would think you were making a pilgrimage to the toe bone of a saint. Many people in the hall think they are.

After a scamper up the museum's dear old glockenspiel stairs, you hand your ticket to one of the acolytes at the door and enter a place located somewhere between the Mines of Moria and the attic of Barad-Dur. Collected in the hall is a rich panoply of detritus from the making of Peter Jackson's celebrated adaptation of the Tolkien trilogy: Galadriel's gown, the Evenstar, Glamdring and Sting, Gandalf's toffee bag, and lots and lots of rings. A gallery of armor lines a far wall: Uruk-hai, Warg rider, elf foot soldier, Gondor swordsman, and more. If none of this means a thing to you, ask your kids or don't bother going.

"Homina-homina-homina -- Sauron's suit of armor! Sauron's suit of armor!" says a 10-year-old boy to his mother as they round a corner. Clots of people gather before the shards of Narsil and a video documentary on the culture and history of Rohan, absorbing the lore of a world that has never existed with more vigor than they reserve for the world they live in. Awestruck teenagers stand before the eerily lifelike silicone replica of actor Sean Bean as Boromir lying in his funeral dory. Parents cover the eyes of their goggling children as they pass before the replica of the cave troll -- sans pants and anatomically correct.

A young couple stand before a collection of the Rings of Men and the Rings of the Nazgul and parse the difference. He: "They should be the same rings, since the Nazgul are enslaved men." She: "Maybe as the Nazgul withered away, so did the rings?" He: "That would be so cool." An eavesdropper resists the temptation to mention that it's a movie.

The exhibition, which will remain in the museum through Oct. 24, has been put together by the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa in collaboration with New Line Cinema, and it combines an institutional sense of artifact with discreet Hollywood ballyhoo. Parts have been designed specifically for Boston, and they dutifully nod in the direction of scientific instruction.

A "scaling" video exhibit shows how a human actor can be rendered Hobbit-size and allows kids to tower over their parents on TV (five bucks for a picture to take home). A booth illustrating motion-capture technology lets you wield a Nerf sword and control the actions of a digital warrior. Other sections, such as a height gauge that allows you to find out whether you're a dwarf or an orc, or the touch exhibit that compares a steel, aluminum, and synthetic plastic sword, seem better suited to the Children's Museum.

Aspects of the exhibition do have value beyond popular arcana. Ngila Dickson's Oscar-winning costumes retain their splendor, organized as they are according to the characters who wore them. And the drawings that line the wall give a glimpse at the mysterious process by which an image in someone's head can ultimately make its way to millions of moviegoers. The color digital landscapes seem a little plastic, but pencil sketches by Alan Lee of such eldritch locales as Caras Galadhon carry a wispy power, and there's a muscularity to John Howe's imagining of the battle between Gandalf and the Balrog that cuts through all the pop LOTR mysticism.

Off to the side, in a dark chamber of its own, is the piece de resistance: The One Ring itself. It's encased in a Plexiglas shaft so more committed fans won't try to swipe it, and the shaft is mounted on a dais in which glowing letters in English and Elvish spell out the famous rhyme that begins "One ring to rule them all . . ." Only a churl would note that it looks like a cheap metal trinket.

Ty Burr can be reached at tburr@globe.com.