For Von Stroheim, filming ‘Greed’ in Death Valley was just the beginning of his sufferingBy Chris Langley Inyo County Film Commission 3-12-2009 The legend of Erich Von Stroheim and his film, “Greed,” was one of suffering for art. Von Stroheim forced his company to endure enormous suffering, according to star Jean Hersholt, in Death Valley. Then Von Stroheim suffered as his print of his masterpiece went from nine-and-a-half hours to five hours to just more than two hours.
 Director Erich Von Stroheim with edited film from “Greed,” which may very well have been Stroheim’s masterpiece before he lost creative control in the editing process. Photo courtesy Inyo Film Commission The director is quoted as saying, “I consider I have made only one real picture in my life and nobody ever saw that. The poor mangled, mutilated remains were shown as ‘Greed.’” Upon wrapping production in San Francisco, the cast and crew went home to prepare for going on location in Death Valley. Hersholt stated, “At the end of that time we all returned home, and then the most terrible experience any of us has ever gone through, shooting the scenes in Death Valley.” Although shooting the first part of the film had run more than nine long months, Richard Koszarski is sure Von Stroheim chose the worst months to film in Death Valley on purpose. Director of Photography William Daniels agreed. “Of course, being a realist he really had to have it hot! Luckily it was dry heat, and we were all young, and could stand it. The only water was at Furnace Creek Ranch, which the English Borax Company kept supposedly for agricultural purposes. There was a lake with palm trees and we lived on little army cots in the open air. It was too hot for tents. I remember the beautiful stars through the palm trees at night. The food was horrible … The cast stood up well except for Jean Hersholt who became hysterical at one stage with the bad sunburn.” Filming in the early days was quite different from today. Now they have various air-conditioned units where people can sleep and wait to film. Then, filming was such a young and exciting prospect that many stars and personnel had not yet developed the expectation of luxury. Hersholt can speak for himself about the experience. “Seven car-loads went on the trip … During the two weeks that we were in the worst part of the Valley the biggest temperature was 161 degrees and the lowest was 91. The scorching air seared our blistered bodies, making sleep impossible. After a few days and nights not one of us spoke to the others unless we had to. Two of the seven cars were kept in use all the time, going back and forth across the valley to Baker, the nearest railroad point to take sick men to town and bring us back water, water, water … When the picture was finished I had lost 27 pounds and was ill in hospital, delirious with fever.” Paul Ivano, a cinematographer, had agreed to shoot second camera, filming inserts of landscape and sunrises. “Von Stroheim used to walk around in shorts, and gloves, and a colonial helmet and I think he had a gun strapped on in case a rattlesnake came out … The paint of the cars curled up and fell off. You couldn’t touch a piece of metal. And Stroheim seemed to like it. I could only stand it for three-and-a-half days.” Hersholt remembers, “Every day Gibson Gowland and myself would crawl across those miles of sunbaked salt, the hunted murderer pursued by the man who had sworn vengeance on him. I swear that murder must have been in both our hearts as we crawled and gasped, bare to the waist, unshaven, blackened and blistering and bleeding, while Stroheim dragged every bit of realism out of us. The day that we staged our death fight … the blisters on my body, instead of breaking outwards, had burst inward. The pain was intense. Gowland and I crawled over the crusted earth. I reached him, dragged him to his feet. With real blood-lust in our hearts we fought and rolled and slugged each other. Stroheim yelled at us, ‘Fight, fight! Try to hate each other as you both hate me!’” Editing his films was very important to Von Stroheim. He began with about 45 reels when he started showing it to friends and associates. Harry Carr reported beginning the film at 10:30 in the morning and staggering out at 8 that night. Other people reported seeing 40-, 42-, 45- and 47-reel versions. Undoubtedly Von Stroheim showed slightly different versions to different people. The Goldwyn Studio heads were now led by Irving Thalberg, an old Von Stroheim nemesis from earlier pictures. The studio began to explore removing Von Stroheim from any control of the picture. Pressure, both personal and financial as well as professional, built on the director, and he sent an edited version to Rex Ingram who turned it over to his editor Grant Whytock to produce a five-hour acceptable version. Eventually, Louis Mayer ordered a 10-reel version, with Thalberg’s agreement, and a very awkwardly rewritten and edited version by Joseph Farnham was completed. Before it was ready for release, the censorship board requested additional edits. By this time Von Stroheim had been removed. The Lone Pine Film History Museum has the studio copy of his contract specifying the conditions under which his removal was accomplished. The critical and audience reception at the time was understandably poor. The saddest chapter of the story is that Irving Thalberg ordered all the edited and rejected negative material from the film to be destroyed so that the silver could be added to the costs recovered by the studio. The critical history of the film has grown and subsided over the years, but many now see it as the greatest film that “never” was. TCM created a four-hour “reconstituted” version a decade ago. Stills were put in place of lost scenes to give the film more flow and to correct confusing and vague areas. The greatness of the film was not totally recovered, but the four-hour experience fully documents the virtues and strengths of what Von Stroheim had in mind and filmed. By any measure it is four hours well worth spending to take in the masterpiece. Next time, we go in search of other lost films made in Death Valley in the silent era. Langley can be reached by phone at (760) 937-1189 or by e-mail at
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