by James Serpento
I must say at the outset that I had high hopes for “The Blair Witch Project.” I love horror films, I love to be scared at the movies, and all the HYPE (if there was a larger font available to me just now, I’d use it) had convinced me that this was just the ticket.
I’d driven my filmmaking partner, Kimberly Busbee, crazy for weeks: “We’re gonna go see it, right?” Somewhat reluctantly, she agreed.
And my partner and I are filmmakers. We love it when other filmmakers—especially the ones like us, who are small and poor—legitimately succeed. That success legitimizes us all, and we say good luck and godspeed. We really wanted to love this film.
So I know that my response below will be seen as uncharitable (hard to believe, really, since the “Blair Witch” guys are now rolling in dough), and thus I leave myself wide open for the same when our movies come out.
But doggone it, “The Blair Witch Project” just goes too far. I thought I’d be anything but what I was. What I was. . . was Not Scared Once. What I was. . .was bored. I too easily saw through the ruse. (Which is no big deal, really; it’s been done often enough to be a cliche, this “shaky, grainy 16mm and video equals reality” thing. We all know it’s a gag, know it well enough to know that it’s a clue we’re being manipulated. Nobody remembers the shit Oliver Stone took for using it in JFK?)
The difference here was that “Blair Witch” wasn’t supposed to be a joke. The HYPE was that the whole thing was real. Uh-huh. Then the filmmakers came forward and said, “No, it’s all just fiction.” (Translation: “Aren’t we clever?”)
And the most wonderful thing happened for the marketing department—the public was put in a double bind. They must plunk down their money if they want to find out A) is this real? or: B) if I accept that this is NOT real, how close to real do they make it seem?
And the story itself—if ever there was one—is forgotten.
You undoubtedly remember one of the very first times you were in this double bind, don’t you? You were a child.
And to get you to go to bed, the babysitter told you a scary story. “And this is what happens to little children who don’t go to bed when they’re told. . .” “That’s not real,” you said, defiantly. And that babysitter just smiled enigmatically—which was your answer (“Of course it’s not real. I’m just sick of you.”) But you had no way of knowing for sure unless you specifically misbehaved. Misbehavior meant one risked an encounter with the boogeyman (that one knew, deep down, wasn’t real), but, more importantly, it would certainly draw the ire of one’s parents via the bad report of the babysitter (“. . .and I tried everything, I told him stories. . .” etc.)
“The Blair Witch Project’s” marketing campaign treats us like docile, slightly imbecilic children—to the tune of a $1.5 million dollar advance to the filmmakers, that, ultimately, we pay for.
If we misbehave (don’t buy a ticket—or, worse, hate the movie), our punishment will be never knowing the truth, and/or drawing the astonishment or ire of our equally docile friends—“How could you not think that was the scariest thing you’ve ever seen?”
We finally have only two choices: See the movie and love it, or see it, hate it and keep our mouths shut. And that, friends, is how a Modern Classic is born.
Well, oddly enough—all that can be forgiven. It is, after all, marketing. Marketing has never been about the quality of the product, we all know that. We go along, cheerful co-conspirators, hoping that by giving up our money today, we’ll someday reap the benefits of a marketing campaign for our own products tomorrow, and the world just keeps on a-turnin’.
But what of the movie itself?
Finally, it’s just not very good.
It’s a great idea, not very well executed. It drags and needlessly repeats quite often, thus violating the one immutable law of entertainment—Thou Shalt Not Bore.
The acting is about what you’d expect from callow grad students just getting their feet wet with improvisation (that ghastly combination of “real profanity”—lest we forget that this is spontaneous—and clumsy text intended to “keep the audience in the story.”)
Worst of all, though, folks: we’ve just heard the story too often. We know what’s going to happen. So why are we bothering? (I had the same problem with “Titanic”—hurry up and get to the disaster because that’s what we all know we’re here to see. . . )
“Blair Witch” even includes—swear to god, and this may be the most insulting joke ever played on an audience—the “hip” equivalent of “here, close your eyes and put your hand in this . . .” You know, that thing you did when you were eight or ten and making your “Haunted House.” (One of the “filmmakers” turns up as little more than—in Kimberly’s words—“red goo in a hankie.””) The “Blair Witch” people didn’t even think enough of us to ask us to close our eyes. Maybe then there’d have been something left to the imagination.
But no. It’s all just kid stuff. You must either become a willful child coerced into submission, or an eager parent fawning over the kids’ “achievement.” Either way, your imagination just goes begging.
Well, remember this: “Blair Witch” will cost you $7 to sit through. The movie cost in the tens of thousands of dollars (no small amount of money, really). The filmmakers are getting $1.5 million as an advance, and you can bet there are all sorts of percs thrown in.
That scary story your babysitter told you? The one that terrified you into submission?
She told it to you for free.