Before Paranormal Activity, before Cloverfield, and before Unfriended, there was The Blair Witch Project. It released in 1999 to a warm critical reception and instant icon status. The film began as a collaboration between film students Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sánchez, who, budgetarily restricted, decided to embrace the aesthetic of a rock-bottom production in full force. Its barebones plot is introduced in the opening titles, which purport that the film about to be watched is composed of entirely authentic footage discovered a year after a group of film students —who had ventured into the depths of the woods to make a documentary about the local legend of the Blair Witch —mysteriously disappeared without a trace.
The way in which the film was made and distributed is arguably more fascinating than the movie itself. The directors hired three unknown actors — Heather Donahue, Michael C. Williams, and Joshua Leonard, all playing fictionalised versions of themselves — into the woods, armed only with camping gear, sound recording equipment, and two cameras. All they knew was the plot synopsis given above and that they were expected to improvise a horror film and document their reactions. Little did these actors know what their conniving directors had in store for them. Instructed to move from location to location, they would receive notes with pointers on what to do and say in 35 mm film cans, and so genuinely did not know what would come next. One example of deception was the covert planting of actors among the otherwise authentic local townspeople who the cast were tasked with interviewing about the Blair Witch, meaning their surprised reactions to the kooky locals’ stories about the eponymous evil are as close to genuine as can be. The same goes for their screams later into the film once the danger really kicks off.
This anarchic form of guerrilla filmmaking was paired with a brilliant mass marketing campaign, using things like missing person posters, messages on online forums, a website ostensibly made by the characters of the film, and even a mini-documentary about the Blair Witch on the Sci-Fi Channel. All of which made the film’s purported authenticity all the more believable. Reportedly, many audiences at the time truly believed that the film they had watched was entirely real — which is a testament to the quality of its filmmaking and marketing (as well as to the gullibility of ‘90s audiences whose exposure to the found footage genre was still minimal).
As the genre exploded in exposure in The Blair Witch Project’s wake, so too did its disparagers. A critique commonly levied at the found footage subgenre is a problem somewhat intrinsic to the medium: namely, why does the person behind the camera not stop filming the nanosecond they start being chased by zombies, hungry cannibals, or 25-storey alien lizard creatures? The thing that separates The Blair Witch Project from much of the found footage horror schlock that succeeded it is that it takes this question and makes it central, adding a compelling psychological and metanarrative component that enhances the film’s frights in a very satisfying way.
[...] why does the person behind the camera not stop filming [...]? The thing that separates The Blair Witch Project from much of the found footage horror shlock that succeeded it is that it takes this question and makes it central...”
Another big criticism I have seen is directed towards the Heather ‘character’ — who, need I remind, is just an exaggeration of the real actress. Look at any discussion of the film to find everything about her criticised relentlessly, with no such vitriol directed at the the other (male) characters, who, in my opinion, respond to the situation far more poorly than she ever does. This reaction has lead to the real Heather Donahue (now named Rei Hance) struggling to find acting work. A crying shame, since —despite everyone else apparently thinking otherwise —I enjoyed her performance a lot. It is interesting that I haven’t seen this kind of response to the deluge of other female horror leads, whose stupidity typically far transcends anything Heather is supposedly guilty of. Perhaps audiences just weren’t ready for a female horror character who isn’t quite as docile.
While watching, I shared in the filmmakers’ evident joy in the insane way they embraced their low-budget limitations. Some have interpreted this film’s narrative — about low-budget filmmakers failing to make the film they want due to evil forces beyond their control — as some big metaphorical expression of the frustrations artists feel when their ability to make art is constrained by outside influence, be it studio meddling or budgetary hardships. While I enjoy this reading, I feel like the clear love for the creativity that arises from limitation shines through a bit too hard for me to agree this film is supposed to serve as a condemnation of external constraint. There’s just too many charming little moments at the start where the characters show their creativity, like using a car to do dolly zoom or recursively filming each other’s cameras like they’re doing some experimental arthouse installation.
Despite the increasing apparentness that the Blair Witch may be more than a myth as the film progresses, Heather keeps filming. It is this element of the film’s relationship with the camera that, in my view, makes The Blair Witch Project one of the most interesting films about filmmaking ever made. Instead of a condemnation of constraint, I interpret the film as an exaltation of commitment to one’s craft despite all odds. Unlike the many later found footage operators, Heather doesn’t prioritise documentation over self-preservation or empathy. Instead, we watch a woman director grapple with the script of her film being torn up in front of her while she attempts to adapt as best she can to her new role. She desperately tries to hold onto any modicum of control of the situation left. One notable moment occurs where the camera is turned on her: she is mocked for crying and insulted for the one remaining motivation she has left — to film. And still she remains steadfastly behind the camera until her final moments engulfed in terror, because “it’s all I fucking have left”.
Heather, Rei, you deserved better.