The Blair Witch Project Movie

For consumers seeking video treats this Halloween, the release of the sleeper hit "The Blair Witch Project" a mere 60 days after the height of its theatrical run is perhaps more shocking than whatever it was those three ill-fated student filmmakers found in the woods. The average time it takes for a film to go from theater to video is about six months.

In October 1994, three student filmmakers disappeared in the woods near Burkittsville, Md., while shooting a documentary. One year later, their footage was -- All right, you got me. It's been six summers since "The Blair Witch Project," but you can still tell that's straight from the opening title of the cheapo fright flick. Try this one: Five pals who met at the University of Central Florida disappeared after making the most profitable movie of all time.

Joe Berlinger is a month away from the release of his first dramatic feature film, but he's not gearing up for the usual round of film festival screenings and promotional hustles. Instead, he's bracing for an onslaught of criticism. "It seems like everyone is predisposed to hate this movie," says the 37-year-old director. "No matter what this ends up being, it seems like a good portion of the population is ready to complain about it."

The 34-year-old computer whiz in Silver Lake got a phone call from the friend of a friend--the head of publicity for a movie studio. The offer was $10,000 a week for an Internet "project." Was he interested? Absolutely. Details quickly followed from the studio's department of new media. The computer whiz discovered he would soon be "purposely forgetting everything I knew about design." The job was to construct a phony fan Web site for a new movie.

Studio executives are not yet insisting that moats and drawbridges be added to their stately homes, but it would be understandable if they were. For after the huge success of "The Blair Witch Project," trumpeted on simultaneous covers of Time and Newsweek, movie industry players may be forgiven for feeling just the slightest bit besieged. If ever a film's triumph could be called unprecedented, "Blair Witch" is the one.

With breakout independent film successes last year like "The Blair Witch Project," "Being John Malkovich" and "Dogma," companies like Artisan Entertainment, USA Films and the smaller Lions Gate are hoping to build on their success in 2000 and become major players in the minor leagues of independent film distributors.

Even without the once-in-a-generation breakaway hit "The Blair Witch Project," independent and art-house releases acquitted themselves quite well this summer. The grosses may not appear impressive when compared to the giant studio releases, but most were low-cost films with upscale appeal. The function of independent movies in summer, says Sony Pictures Classics principal Michael Barker, is as counter-programming to major-studio escapist fare.

In a bewitching scenario for independent film distributor Artisan Entertainment, industry sources estimate that in the next seven years Hollywood's newest movie franchise, "The Blair Witch Project," and its sequels could generate $500 million in revenue and $150 million in profits for the privately held company. Artisan's investment in the pseudo-documentary that nobody else in Hollywood wanted will ultimately total around $30 million. That includes an acquisition price of $1.

The people who work at creating play, who craft the whizzes and the bangs and the dings and even the dongs, will tell you the same story: Designing toys is a very serious occupation. Oh, sure, people like Eric Ostendorff of Mattel Inc.'s Hot Wheels design group get to shoot little metal cars along precision plastic tracks all day. Or maybe, like Ryan Slate of Playmates Toys, they spend their time helping dream up dolls that can remember your birthday or ask for cereal for breakfast.

The man who is poised to turn the smallest movie of the summer--the super-low-budget thriller "The Blair Witch Project"--into one of the season's biggest hits was basking in the Santa Monica sunshine last week, a big smile on his face.

As frightening as it was for the Wayans brothers to be given their own film, something even more terrifying lurks in the shadows of Tinseltown: the "Blair Witch" trilogy. And as with all blockbuster big-screen franchises, a video-game conversion was a must. Tim Gerritsen of Human Head Studios headed the transfer of "The Blair Witch Project 2: Book of Shadows" from film to video game.

Joe Berlinger is a month away from the release of his first dramatic feature film, but he's not gearing up for the usual round of film festival screenings and promotional hustles. Instead, he's bracing for an onslaught of criticism. "It seems like everyone is predisposed to hate this movie," says the 37-year-old director. "No matter what this ends up being, it seems like a good portion of the population is ready to complain about it."

With breakout independent film successes last year like "The Blair Witch Project," "Being John Malkovich" and "Dogma," companies like Artisan Entertainment, USA Films and the smaller Lions Gate are hoping to build on their success in 2000 and become major players in the minor leagues of independent film distributors.

For consumers seeking video treats this Halloween, the release of the sleeper hit "The Blair Witch Project" a mere 60 days after the height of its theatrical run is perhaps more shocking than whatever it was those three ill-fated student filmmakers found in the woods. The average time it takes for a film to go from theater to video is about six months.

Even without the once-in-a-generation breakaway hit "The Blair Witch Project," independent and art-house releases acquitted themselves quite well this summer. The grosses may not appear impressive when compared to the giant studio releases, but most were low-cost films with upscale appeal. The function of independent movies in summer, says Sony Pictures Classics principal Michael Barker, is as counter-programming to major-studio escapist fare.

In a bewitching scenario for independent film distributor Artisan Entertainment, industry sources estimate that in the next seven years Hollywood's newest movie franchise, "The Blair Witch Project," and its sequels could generate $500 million in revenue and $150 million in profits for the privately held company. Artisan's investment in the pseudo-documentary that nobody else in Hollywood wanted will ultimately total around $30 million. That includes an acquisition price of $1.

As frightening as it was for the Wayans brothers to be given their own film, something even more terrifying lurks in the shadows of Tinseltown: the "Blair Witch" trilogy. And as with all blockbuster big-screen franchises, a video-game conversion was a must. Tim Gerritsen of Human Head Studios headed the transfer of "The Blair Witch Project 2: Book of Shadows" from film to video game.

In October 1994, three student filmmakers disappeared in the woods near Burkittsville, Md., while shooting a documentary. One year later, their footage was -- All right, you got me. It's been six summers since "The Blair Witch Project," but you can still tell that's straight from the opening title of the cheapo fright flick. Try this one: Five pals who met at the University of Central Florida disappeared after making the most profitable movie of all time.

Studio executives are not yet insisting that moats and drawbridges be added to their stately homes, but it would be understandable if they were. For after the huge success of "The Blair Witch Project," trumpeted on simultaneous covers of Time and Newsweek, movie industry players may be forgiven for feeling just the slightest bit besieged. If ever a film's triumph could be called unprecedented, "Blair Witch" is the one.

The people who work at creating play, who craft the whizzes and the bangs and the dings and even the dongs, will tell you the same story: Designing toys is a very serious occupation. Oh, sure, people like Eric Ostendorff of Mattel Inc.'s Hot Wheels design group get to shoot little metal cars along precision plastic tracks all day. Or maybe, like Ryan Slate of Playmates Toys, they spend their time helping dream up dolls that can remember your birthday or ask for cereal for breakfast.