In the first week of January 1994, Helen, Ben, Amanda, and Naomi arrived at the Lucasfilm campus in Marin County for the final screening of The Blair Witch Project.
They were ushered through the familiar hallways of Skywalker Ranch and greeted briefly by a few assistants before being pushed forward toward a small, private screening room.
Inside, seven or eight executives from 20th Century Fox were already seated. The most notable among them was Bill Mechanic, the then-President and Chief Operating Officer of Fox Filmed Entertainment. Alongside him sat Colette Singer, current head of Fox's distribution division. George Lucas himself was seated near the center, chatting quietly with a couple of executives.
Trial sessions like this happened in Hollywood almost daily. But this one was different. With George Lucas personally involved, even the most jaded Fox executives kept their opinions close to the vest.
Maintaining a strong relationship with Lucas was essential for Fox. They were pushing Lucas to start a potential new Star Wars trilogy, prequel or sequel and Industrial Light & Magic—Lucas's powerhouse special effects company—was critical to their ambitions.
"This is just a courtesy screening," one executive whispered to another. "George wants it, so we show up."
"Still... a horror movie shot for what, forty grand?" The other snorted softly. "Let's just survive this."
Another executive nearby, flipping through his notes, leaned in and whispered, "Hell, we'll distribute it for the minimum if George gives the nod for Star Wars. That's the real prize here."
Ben offered a polite smile as he shook hands with Bill Mechanic. Bill gave him a firm but reserved nod. "George speaks highly of you. That doesn't happen often."
"Thank you, sir," Ben replied. He was nervous but steady.
The lights dimmed. The grainy, handheld footage flickered onto the screen. The shaky shots and muffled audio began to tell the story of three film students venturing into the Black Hills Forest near Burkittsville, Maryland to investigate the legend of the Blair Witch.
Naomi sat beside Amanda and watched attentively, arms crossed. At first, she was just trying to stay polite. She was grateful to Ben for inviting her, and the meeting with George Lucas had been surreal. She'd even exchanged a few words with Colette Singer, who hinted at a possible role in Fox's new movie. All of this—from a coffee chat a few weeks ago. It still hadn't quite sunk in.
But as the movie reached the 30-minute mark, Naomi began to fidget. There was no music, no elaborate camera work, and no clear narrative. She leaned toward Amanda. "Is this really it?" she whispered.
Amanda gave a small, tense smile. "Just wait."
Meanwhile, Bill Mechanic sat with his arms folded, suppressing a yawn. "What the hell did George see in this?" he muttered under his breath to Colette.
"Feels like a student film," Colette whispered back. "Low-res, low-effort. Let's hope there's more to this."
After nearly an hour, the room felt heavy with secondhand embarrassment. The executives weren't angry, just disengaged. This wasn't the first time they'd sat through a vanity project. The film was muddy, grimy, and borderline amateurish—until the manila envelopes began to circulate.
Ben nodded subtly to Amanda, who stood and began handing out printed copies of the film's marketing strategy.
"Please take a look," Amanda said clearly. "This is the campaign we've designed to go with the film."
The first page read: CONFIDENTIAL: The Blair Witch Project – Integrated Viral Marketing Campaign.
The next line read: Prepared by Ben Gosling, USC Graduate and Director and Amanda Newhouse.
Some executives scoffed. A few didn't even open it. But Colette and Bill glanced at the first page, then flipped to the next. And then another.
Colette's eyebrows slowly lifted. She sat forward, thumbing through the plan with increasing interest.
Her actions along with Bill's caught the eye of the other senior executives invited for the screening and they began to take a look at the promotion plan as well.
"Ben... did you write this?" she asked, flipping another page, her voice touched with disbelief.
He nodded. "Along with Amanda. We're treating it like the legend is real. Missing person posters, fake police reports, online forums seeded with urban myth discussions. It's a campaign built around ambiguity."
He nodded. "Along with Amanda. We're treating it like the legend is real. Missing person posters, police reports, flyers at targeted places, forums seeded with urban myth discussions. It's a campaign built around ambiguity."
Bill was now completely invested, his brow furrowed as he traced the timeline of the strategy. Every few moments he'd glance up at the screen—grainy footage of the characters now screaming in the woods—then look back down at the plan.
Colette leaned toward him. "This is more than marketing. This is myth-making."
Bill flipped back to the front. "Wait a second—are you saying you're going to market this as a real event?"
"Yes," Ben said. "The entire campaign is structured to blur reality. The audience won't be sure if it's fiction or fact until long after the movie ends."
Naomi understood that the Unique Selling Point of the movie wasn't in the film but in the files shared.
So, she leaned over and began reading her own copy. As she read through the timeline of staged news stories, internet forums, radio mentions, and documentary teasers, her doubt began to evaporate.
"Oh my god," she whispered. "This is actually brilliant."
Colette nodded slowly. "It's cheap. It's risky. But it could work."
Bill leaned back in his chair, glancing at George. "So this is what you saw in it."
George Lucas smiled faintly. "It's not the footage. It's the execution. It's something different—and Hollywood could use a little different."
The remaining executives began flipping through their copies more seriously now, whispering among themselves.
"This level of realism… people might really believe it," one murmured.
"And with the Newhouse family involved through Amanda," another added, "we've got media buy-in practically guaranteed."
There was a moment of stillness in the room. The movie continued in the background—one of the final scenes in the ruined house—but no one was watching anymore. They were all reading. And thinking.
"You can try it," Colette Singer said, half to herself and half to the colleagues seated nearby, as if testing the words aloud.
"You can really try it." whispered one of her colleagues. The two colleagues next to him nodded in unison.
"A stunning publicity plan, I really don't know how he came up with it." One of the film selection staff had a very complicated tone.
Bill looked at Colette. She gave a tight, excited smile.
According to her distribution experience of many years, as long as the publicity is in place according to the plan, it is almost certain to get a good box office. Even if it takes a certain amount of resources to promote it, it won't need too much money, just a little bit of motivating.
At that point, TV stations and newspapers would likely rush forward, driven by the intrigue, to reprint and broadcast the story without hesitation. The media storm would feed itself—public curiosity would ignite, and the narrative would spread like wildfire, all without the studio spending a cent more.
Bill nodded slowly. "Still need to figure out how we handle the backlash once people figure out it's fiction. But that's a problem I'd like to have."
The only lingering concern was the inevitable revelation that the film was fiction. Eventually, the media—many of whom would have been inadvertently fooled—along with public relations professionals and moviegoers, might react with backlash. If not handled properly, it could put a dent in the company's image.
But that hesitation was brief. For a company of 20th Century Fox's stature, with a reputation for conservative promotion, the risk felt oddly refreshing—and the proposed campaign was far more cost-effective than anything in their current pipeline.
After all, Fox was backed by News Corporation, one of the world's largest media conglomerates. And in this business, profit speaks louder than reputation.
Colette Singer, as one of the managers of 20th Century Fox's distribution department, was also a sharp judge of commercial potential and held significant influence over which films the company chose to distribute.
She was not like a film critic who focused heavily on technical or artistic details. In her view, many of the top-grossing films had merely average production values.
What mattered more to her was understanding market trends—what kinds of movies North American audiences and genre fans were hungry for, and what narratives could tap into the public consciousness.
And clearly, "The Blair Witch Project" had that kind of potential. It catered perfectly to the curiosity and thrill-seeking nature of the North American moviegoing public.
Colette finally broke the silence and whispered to Bill "We can market this. Big time. And with the investment so low, we're talking serious returns."
Bill finally leaned forward, fingers tented and said loudly "We'll need to review this with legal," he said. "It's... a bold try. To create a myth to sell a movie."
"But bold might be what we need," Colette murmured, half to herself.
"I really want to see how it performs when it's released." whispered a senior executive who was hooked by the strategy laid out in the folder.
Even if the film only pulls in a few million at the box office, it will still turn a solid profit—and clearly, its potential goes far beyond just a few million dollars.
Perhaps 20th Century Fox was about to release a film that would go down in the annals of Hollywood as one of the greatest low-budget blockbuster successes ever made.
The entire film of The Blair Witch Project is only about 90 minutes long, so the trial screening did not take much time. As the credits rolled and the lights rose slightly, Colette Singer knew she could not wait longer.
She knew she had to seize control of the negotiation before the others moved. With practiced grace, she made a beeline toward Ben—her stride quick, her expression composed, but her intent unmistakable. She was targeting him not just as the director, but as the point of vulnerability—a newcomer eager for validation, and possibly willing to settle for less.
Bill, observing the maneuver, chuckled and gave George a knowing look. George, well-acquainted with the personalities in play—especially his niece and Amanda—simply waved him off and said, "Just watch. It's going to be a good show."
"A very good film," she said with a smile, extending her hand.
Ben, polite but cautious, shook it. "Thank you for your compliment."
Colette gave a quick, practiced laugh. "That's not a compliment. If it weren't for Mr. Lucas' invitation, I wouldn't have attended today's screening. But it turns out you've surprised me. Maybe we should sit down and talk."
Her tone was smooth, almost too smooth. Amanda, watching from nearby, immediately recognized the shift—Colette wasn't just giving praise. She was positioning. Targeting Ben with the kind of calculated friendliness she used when negotiating from strength.
Amanda stepped forward, ready to interject. She had seen this kind of approach before—an executive feigning casual interest to cut a deal early, while the numbers were still vague and the terms still malleable. Colette was trying to get in first, and ideally, cheap.
The things we do for our clients, Amanda thought as she smiled and cleared her throat.
When Amanda understood she was successful in drawing their attention back. "If I may," she said, flipping to the final page of the marketing dossier. "You'll find the requirements for global distribution rights laid out clearly here. This isn't just about the domestic campaign. We're asking for international theatrical rights, as well as control over the pacing and rollout of the marketing timeline abroad."
There was a brief pause as the executives scanned the listed terms. A few brows furrowed.
Colette raised an eyebrow but said nothing, understanding that she lost the round and simply started flipping back to the terms and rereading them more carefully.
"Wow! Is this newbie director asking for too much" whispered an executive.
On hearing this, Helen frowned and then added, firm and unwavering, "This is the deal. You can take it—or we go to Paramount. They also have a good relationship with Uncle George, and they've already expressed interest."
A ripple of reaction moved through the Fox executives. Some exchanged skeptical glances.
Bill's jaw tightened slightly. Paramount was indeed a viable competitor—and the thought of them scooping up not just the film, but Lucas's implicit blessing, made the hesitation in the room suddenly feel heavier.
"I think Fox has realized the value of the film—and the marketing campaign attached to it," Ben said with a shrug. "As for the specific price, I don't believe 20th Century Fox will be stingy."
Helen frowned, and George Lucas stifled a chuckle. Naomi's eyes went wide in disbelief, stunned at Ben's bluntness. Amanda, sitting beside her, let out a snort. "Not stingy?" she muttered under her breath. "If anyone outside heard that, they'd die laughing."
A flicker of discomfort crossed Colette's face. There was no film or distribution company in Hollywood that wasn't stingy—unless there was something bigger at stake. Normally, if a no-name rookie said something like that, she would've countered immediately and offered a lowball sum—maybe $100,000, double the movie's budget, just to shut it down politely.
But today was different.
This wasn't just any film. George Lucas was sitting across from her. And 5% of the global box office had already been offered to him as a condition of the deal. She now understood why that cut had been baked in—it wasn't just a nod of gratitude; it was leverage. Serious leverage.
The proposed offer was steep for a low-budget horror film: $1 million for worldwide distribution rights, plus a tiered bonus structure—1% of global box office if the film made under $50 million, increasing by 1% for every $10 million after that, capped at 20%.
And then there was the real kicker—Lucas would receive 5% of the global box office, no matter what. That meant Fox couldn't fudge the numbers, not unless they wanted to risk the wrath of George Lucas, and by extension, potentially jeopardize Star Wars negotiations.
Colette felt cornered. She glanced sideways at Bill, who was calmly reviewing the proposal again, almost amused.
He knew what this was—a good show. Ben and Helen had played their cards well.
Fox wouldn't lose money here. But they'd earn less than usual. Still, to pass on the deal now, in front of George, would be suicide. Bill leaned back slightly, lips curling in the faintest of smirks.
"Well," he thought casually, "as long as the books stay honest and George is satisfied, I don't see any real downside."
Bill nodded at Colette hoping she could understand his intentions.
Colette nodded slowly, her voice composed but a touch strained. "We'll need to run the numbers again… but this structure is workable."
Fox would pay more than they liked. But they'd get the film—and George's favor which, as everyone in the room understood, was worth a hell of a lot more.
George stood up, brushing his coat sleeves. "So... do we have a deal?"
"We'll get back to you by the end of the week," Bill said. "But yes—this has legs."
As the lights came up and the credits rolled, and the executives began filing out of the room with Helen and Amanda deciding that further conversation would only happen with Ben out of the loop.
Otherwise, who knows what he will speak in front of everyone.
Naomi turned to Ben. "You're kind of insane," she said, "but in a genius way."
Ben exhaled for the first time in a two hours and smiled. "Thanks!"