The exhibition galleries are divided broadly into three for the opening shows, and these interlock so you can wander between them. There’s “Autobodies”, which consists of MoMA’s entire collection of cars, namely six (it was three, but they have quickly acquired three more for this show). This hasty assemblage represents the design side of things and tells you little. Then there is “Tempo” which covers contemporary works dealing broadly with the theme of time, in which Martin Creed’s linear arrangement of clicking metronomes is surrounded by a wearying number of modified clocks by various hands. And then there is the one everyone will come for, which is “To be Looked At”, a title taken from one of Duchamp’s glasses on display, which has the highlights from the MoMA collection.

This works. OK, maybe it is over-full, over-hung, over-rich. Drawn towards those Demoiselles, you can at first miss even “Starry Night”, one of a run of Van Goghs uncomfortably placed in a kind of antechamber. But further in, you can sit in a space and compare and contrast the best of Picasso, Matisse and Rousseau from the early years of the twentieth century. Or sit in another space and get late Matisse versus Pollock, with side orders of Rothko and de Kooning, all from the 1950s. Mondrian is within eyeshot of Ellsworth Kelly, Duchamp of Brancusi. The Surrealists jostle in a row. You even find a Chris Ofili within dung-throwing distance of a Chuck Close. As a condensed primer of modern art, “To Be Looked At” does the business.