My paternal grandma is a hoarding serpent, a treasure dragon who'll likely starve herself to atrophy or slip and break a bone while walking miles for infinitesimally cheaper napkins on a winter day. Taking up philosophy at uni was partly in deep opposition to old penny pincher's squabbly, squeaky, monstrously hilarious vice. A MUBI chum urged me to rewatch Van Sant's Gerry. The time is now: Greed's epilogue commands.
Cinema is the only art where people are as obsessed, if not more so, about the unfinished result than the finished one. They want the Legend, not the Truth. The Romantic past over the present. They want a 8 Hour epic of unknown quality rather than the compact 2:15 masterpiece that is in front of them. Von Stroheim has made one of the greatest and most modern silent films, whose influence still continues to spread.
Only when walking around Tübingen, hands in my pocket and not at all at ease after watching Greed, I realized how intense these 2,5 hours were. I knew what to expect, but it still overwhelmed me. The music, the crossroads between signs and realism, drama and contemplation, the gaze of ZaSu Pitts - I'm so grateful i saw it!