I guess it’s time I finally break the silence regarding The Blair Witch Project. If there’s a dark spot on my career, the deaths of those three poor actors are it. I’m sorry, Josh. I’m sorry, Michael. I’m sorry, Heather. I just wanted to make a movie. Shit got outta hand.

It was supposed to be a fake documentary about the making of a real documentary about a folksy witch in New England. The witch sounded interesting to me because her name was Blair, and she was covered in hair. As you all know by now, I’m a sucker for hairy broads and things that casually rhyme.

Before I get to the bad stuff, let me bring up some of the good stuff. For one, The Blair Witch Project is easily the cheapest movie I ever made. All the video cameras were Christmas presents from my mom, and I paid the actors with sex. In fact, because I opened a hotdog stand while we were on location, I actually made money while shooting. If I remember correctly, The Blair Witch Project’s budget came in at around -$43.08. Something like that.

It was also the easiest shoot I’ve ever been involved in. Since the actors were supposed to look as real as possible, I had them film each other. And since the actors were supposed to sound as real as possible, I made them write the screenplay. This allowed me to sit in bed and watch hotel HBO while those knuckleheads walked around the forest for two weeks. The plan was to add a CG witch later with money made from the hotdog stand.

Now to the bad stuff. It turns out the witch was real. Two months later my actors had yet to return. Worried, I gathered a posse of drunken and/or religious locals to go retrieve them. Another two months later, they still hadn’t returned. Because I love my mother and cherish any gift she gives me, it looked like I’d have to go into those woods myself.

I found their tent about two yards into the forest. Continuing on, I stumbled across some cute little stick figures, and some dude’s teeth wrapped in one of MY PROP SHIRTS!

As I walked around, I began hearing weird noises, like the woods were whispering to me. I followed the sounds and they led me to this crappy looking old cottage, which smelled like thrift store and piss. I went downstairs, and that’s where I found my actors. They’d been hung upside down and skinned. Despite that, the one that called Heather had a little life left in her. Unfortunately, her tongue was cut out, so she couldn’t tell me where my fucking cameras were.

I turned around and there she was: Blair the Hairy Witch. I paid her off with sex, and she told me where my cameras were.

Back at the hotel I assembled the footage in the most linear way I could. Actors interview locals, actors get lost, actors get scared, actors scream at each other, one actor disappears, one actor throws the map in the river, one actor snot-cries and apologizes at the camera for almost twenty minutes, another actor disappears, final actor follows his cries to the stinky cottage and gets killed by the unseen witch.

Quite a tale. I could smell the untold amounts of money a proper tribute to these actors would bring me. So I packed up my hotdog stand and headed back to Hollywood. I wish my actors didn’t have to die, but I’m sure they’d agree that the trip into outer space I bought with their blood, sweat, and tears was worth it.

(three stars)