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On a bucolic corner in Culver City sits one of the oldest still-functioning film studios in Hollywood, set apart by the magnificent mansion façade that can be seen from the street, as if existing in another era. Its entrance gate is set on Ince Drive, so named to keep the memory of the pioneering silent film director who built the studio alive–but his not-so-silent ghost may also be doing its part to make sure no one forgets him.
By 1918 Thomas Ince had established himself as one of the most important forces in the emerging film industry. Though his directorial efforts were not as artistically ambitious as contemporaries like D.W. Griffith or Mack Sennett, but his filmmaking methods almost single handedly turned the movies into a full-blown industry with efficient production innovations would eventually define the “studio system.” He built The Culver Studios for a half-miilion dollars to establish the largest and most proficient filmmaking operation to date.
By the 1920s, however, Ince was steadily being edged out by his industry rivals, but unlike others in Hollywood he was allowed neither a spectacular fall nor a glowing comeback–he met an ignominious end in 1924, no matter which version of his demise you believe. The official (and most likely) version had Ince falling ill while at sea aboard publishing tycoon William Randolph Hearst’s yacht The Oneida to celebrate his 42nd birthday, and was dead of a heart attack before he could be brought to shore for treatment.
A more sordid tale of his demise had an indignant Hearst catching his mistress, actress Marion Davies, in a compromising position with screen legend Charlie Chaplin; when Hearst pulled out a pistol and took a shot at the Little Tramp, the bullet accidentally struck and killed Ince. All aboard were sworn to secrecy, and the powerful publisher’s debt to them guaranteed their continued successes in their respective industries (director Peter Bogdanovich heard this interpretation from Orson Welles and dramatized it in the 2001 film The Cat’s Meow).
In any event, Ince was laid to rest, and Culver Studios passed through the hands of various other owners, including Cecil B. Demille, RKO, David O. Selznick (who used an image of the white mansion as his production logo) and Lucille Ball’s Desilu Productions, and many legendary films were shot there, including King Kong, Gone With the Wind, A Star Is Born, Rebecca, Raging Bull, E.T. and, yes, Welles’ Citizen Kane. It subsequently became a prime location for television production, among them such classics as The Andy Griffith Show, Hogan’s Heroes, Batman and Baywatch: currently it hosts several game shows like Deal Or No Deal, and the entrance to Las Vegas’ Montecito hotel/casino can be seen from Ince Drive.
But the fact that the legacy of the studio he constructed lives on, Ince has apparently not rested easy in the nearly 75 years since his oft-debated end. During some particularly extensive renovations in 1988, after decades of reports of unusual activity and mysterious sightings, the director decided to make his displeasure with the changes known.
Two workmen reported an odd encounter with a man in an old-fashioned bowler hat watching the studio makeover from a catwalk above Stage 1-2-3, and when they tried to speak to him he quickly turned on his heel and walked straight through a second-story wall, passing through it as if made of ectoplasm.
Later, as rumors of the bowler-wearing phantom persisted–it was spotted again in the Galleon Room, hidden behind secret panels near Ince’s office, as well as inside what was once the filmmaker’s private projection room–another workman was telling a tale of his own encounter with the apparition on Stage 2-3-4 to a special effects technician, who thought the description of the man in the odd hat fit an image of Ince he’d once seen.
This struck a chilling chord in the workman, who then related that the phantom had told him disapprovingly “I don’t like what you’re doing to my studio” before vanishing again into a wall. In yet another dramatic instance phantom footsteps were heard in the catwalks above Stage One just moments before the wrecking ball struck. Leave it to a director to try to get in the last possible word on the final shot.
Even today on the studio’s historical profile on its website, mention is made of how similar sightings “occur year after year,” and Ince may have some company: spectral security guards have also been spotted prowling around, as well as a ghostly woman (sometimes suspected to be the shade of actress Gloria Swanson) who vanishes, leaving a distinct cold spot in her wake.
The presence of so many poltergeists seems only fitting on the still-bustling studio lot that, after a century of moviemaking, refuses to give up the ghost.
