As the groundbreaking indie horror film celebrates its 25th anniversary, the original cast claims they are owed millions in profits. A cautionary tale of Hollywood babes in the woods.
By Lisette Voytko-Best, Forbes Staff
When he learned this year that The Blair Witch Project was getting a reboot, Joshua Leonard—one of the original actors in the groundbreaking 1999 indie horror film—was laid up in bed, battling Covid for the first time.
He heard about the project—which horror director and producer Jason Blum is reviving for Lionsgate—at the same time as everyone else: when the news hit the press, which has been the case for every Blair Witch sequel. Leonard was also, to put it mildly, fed up. “So I decided to pick a fight with a movie studio,” he says.
Gone Girl: Heather Donahue "disappeared" in 'The Blair Witch Project.' In real life, she later changed her name to Rei Hance and walked away from acting.
Artisan Entertainment/Getty ImagesThe 49-year-old Leonard vented his frustration the way most people do these days—on social media, with a long Instagram post that concluded: “It’s 25 years of disrespect from the folks who’ve pocketed the lion’s share (pun intended) of the profits from OUR work, and that feels both icky and classless.” (Through a spokesperson, Lionsgate declined to comment for this story and has yet to publicly address the cast’s requests or complaints.)
Given the monumental success of the franchise, an alternate title for The Blair Witch Project might be The Little Horror Film That Could. Based on the fictional tale of college kids who went missing while shooting a documentary about a witch hiding in the woods of Burkittsville, Maryland, it was filmed on a $35,000 budget (with marketing and post-production costs, that number rose to more than $250,000) and went on to gross an astonishing $248 million at the global box office. Analysis by OpusData (its parent company is behind box office data site The Numbers) shows the total gross revenue, including ancillary sources (video sales and rental, cable showings, and more) to be $372 million, a figure that appears to never have been reported.
The film’s three principal actors—Leonard, along with Heather Donahue and Michael C. Williams—became overnight stars. They were only paid $1,000 for the two weeks it took them to shoot Blair Witch with handheld video cameras. How much additional money the stars made for the film, and how much they could have made, has never been reported. Forbes conservatively estimates that since the film’s premiere, the actors received $375,000 each, with the majority coming from settlements and, importantly, not from the film’s box office profits.
If the actors had been paid according to their original contract, Forbes estimates they would have each received approximately $1.3 million (closer to $2.5 million when adjusted for inflation.) Why the Blair Witch actors never received those millions is a case of some classic Hollywood accounting, a practice that studios historically employed to hide financials, and therefore avoid sharing profits, with a movie’s cast and crew.
Over the past quarter century, the trio watched as Blair Witch became a sprawling franchise, with two sequel films, made-for-TV movies, books, video games, and even a Las Vegas escape room. The actors, however, no longer work in the business. Leonard walked away in 2021 and now builds houses in New York’s Hudson Valley, and Williams is a middle school guidance counselor in Westchester County. Donahue, who legally changed her name to Rei Hance to get away from her association with the movie, lives in Maine. They made a movie about getting lost in the woods—and are still trying to find their way out.
As the film celebrates its 25th anniversary this week, the three stars came together last month in a wide-ranging Variety interview to call out Lionsgate, the studio that owns Blair Witch (and is rebooting the franchise with horror master Blumhouse Productions) with a list of requests for the millions in backpay they feel they are owed. Among the issues the three are fighting for are residuals (standard in SAG-AFTRA agreements), workers’ rights, and a heads up before a new Blair Witch movie is announced, to prepare for seeing their names and faces all over the Internet yet again.
But mostly, they say, they want to finally be acknowledged by Lionsgate for their contribution to the film’s success, including the use of their real names as their film characters. As Leonard puts it: “Can we do business and be fucking human beings at the same time?”
Hide and Seek: As part of the marketing for 'The Blair Witch Project,' the studio created "missing" posters of the cast and asked audiences for help in locating them.
William Thomas Cain/Getty ImagesWilliams (best known as the guy standing in the corner of the basement at the film’s climax) and Leonard emphasize that the fans and people they met doing the film are cherished parts of their experience—what Leonard describes as “an honor” and “a joy.” They know they are privileged to be affiliated with such a groundbreaking film. “But as far as the Hollywood piece of it, it was so easily dismissed and ‘move on from these people,’” Williams says.
At the heart of their decades-long beef with Lionsgate is the original contract each of them signed. Like their film characters, the contract is missing, or, at best, AWOL. When the then-twentysomething actors were hired to do Blair Witch, a non-union production, they signed a page-and-a-half deal memo, without thinking much of it. “There was nothing at stake,” Leonard says. “We were so grateful to be making $500 a week. Because that meant we didn't have to hump it doing our day jobs.” The key part of the deal memo was a single line guaranteeing the actors to 1% of net profits if the movie grossed over $1 million.
Video Verité: Joshua Leonard played 'Joshua Leonard' in the 1999 film, which was mostly shot on Hi-8 camcorders.
FILM STILL BY UNITED ARCHIVES/NEWSCOMNet profits are infamously a part of opaque Hollywood accounting, and almost as old as the movie business itself. Bottom line: There is no guarantee anyone contractually owed net profits will ever see a dime.
The most notorious example of Hollywood math is 1990’s Buchwald v. Paramount, in which Art Buchwald, the famed Washington Post columnist, claimed the studio stole the idea for the 1988 Eddie Murphy movie Coming to America from him. The California Superior Court ruled in favor of Buchwald and awarded him damages, and in the process unsealed bombshell internal Paramount documents showing how much Murphy, among other top billed names, were paid. Then Paramount claimed that Coming to America made no net profit despite earning $288 million at the box office. In a separate legal action, Paramount and Buchwald came to a settlement. The studio admitted no wrongdoing. Net profits, according to the book Fatal Subtraction: The Inside Story of Buchwald v. Paramount, “were not really profits. They were the leftovers after the studio got back all its costs, generously paid its big-name talent and took out a hefty chunk for itself.”
Genre Benders: Co-writers and co-directors Dan Myrick and Eduardo Sanchez conceived of 'Blair Witch' as film students. They have directed a handful of movies since but none of the sequels.
Artisan EntertainmentOther hugely successful films at the box office, including Men In Black ($600 million on a $90 million budget), Forrest Gump ($678 million on a $55 million budget) and Gone In 60 Seconds ($237 million on a $100 million budget) have allegedly never made a profit, according to their respective studios. And studios have typically refused to turn over financial records for films unless they are forced to by a court. Why? Because they are “evil monolithic giants,” says entertainment IP lawyer Neville Johnson with a laugh. “Unless something is required, the general rule in the entertainment business, it’s not going to be accomplished.”
After premiering at the 1999 Sundance Film Festival to great acclaim, The Blair Witch Project was acquired by Artisan Entertainment for $1.1 million. (Lionsgate eventually acquired Artisan in 2003.) Subsequently, the actors say, their deal memo was absorbed into Artisan. They were locked out of negotiations by Artisan, they claim, never signed anything, and they never saw any documents or paperwork showing what became of their original deal memo. Meaning they had no idea what their rights were.
Studios, according to one high-ranking Hollywood exec, take on significant risk when acquiring an independent film. “There were no stars. It was shot on video cameras, done cinema verité-style, which had never been done in horror before,” they said, adding that the filmmakers were given a good minimum guarantee, which is a cash advance from the studio, later recouped through the box office. The exec also sees where the Blair Witch actors are coming from. “I’m sure they feel fucked over.”
Any additional money the three actors received in connection with Blair Witch came from two settlements, according to the actors. The first, around $300,000 in 2001, was the result of Artisan buying out ownership rights from Haxan Films, the production company that made Blair Witch. It was the result of Haxan having its own disagreements with Artisan at the time, according to an individual close to the production company, adding that the filmmakers had advocated for the stars while negotiating for themselves.
The second payment came from a 2000 federal court case, Donahue v. Artisan Entertainment, which challenged the studio for using their names and likenesses to promote a sequel, Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2. The actors received another $300,000 each, but most of that money went to their lawyer, who took the case on contingency. “It was worth every penny,” Leonard says, because it meant the actors owned their real names. Both settlements were paid out over a few years. After taxes, it is not a lot of money for their work in what, at the time, was the most financially successful independent film in history.
Bomb Squad: The 2000 sequel 'Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2,' performed poorly at the box office despite a larger production and marketing budget.
UNITED ARCHIVES/NEWSCOMAs the movie exploded worldwide, the actors continued in their day jobs to make ends meet, believing they would be compensated for their work. Williams went as far as quitting his furniture moving job during an appearance on Late Night with Conan O’Brien—only for Conan sidekick Andy Richter to run into him two years later working a shift at a Hollywood hot dog joint. “He's looking at me, like, of course he remembers me. And he has that look that I've seen a million times over 25 years,” Williams recalls. “That look that everybody gave you: ‘What are you doing?’ ‘What happened?’ I was, like, We didn’t get paid. [Richter] was cool and gracious and wonderful and went back to his job on TV. And I stayed and flipped hot dogs.” (Representatives for Richter did not respond to Forbes’ questions as to whether he remembers the incident.)
Then there was the backlash. To this day, fans assume the Blair Witch stars are rich, says Williams. Donahue was heavily criticized for her character’s refusal to stop filming, which the actors now attribute to a late ’90s, cultural rejection of a strong female protagonist. Her famous apology—crying into the camera, tears and snot running down her face—was parodied, and she was nominated for worst actress at that year’s Razzie Awards. She declined an interview request by Forbes, but in a written statement directed at Lionsgate, says: “You should, at the very least, pay industry-standard residuals for the ongoing cultural relevance and living legacy of my work in Blair Witch…If we don’t have value, please stop using us. Since you won’t do that, please pay us.”
The second-best outcome of the renewed interest in Blair Witch would be to scuttle the reboot, Leonard says. After having a phone conversation with Jason Blum, the founder of Blumhouse Productions, Leonard claims the director asked him to stop his negative social media posts: “If you guys keep doing this, you’re going to kill the IP.” The cast, Leonard says, also wants to have a meeting with Lionsgate film division head Adam Fogelson. In text messages seen by Forbes, Blum said he spoke with Fogelson, and “was hoping to meet and find a solution” sometime in the fall. (Blum, through a representative, declined to comment.)
The actors acknowledge they could have done more to receive profits and legal protection, but were reluctant to go to war with the studio so early in their careers. “[The studio] got very, very, very, very fortunate that we were non-union actors,” says Williams, “And they knew that more than we did, guaranteed, because that's their business before it was our business.”
The ultimate hope is that by taking their longstanding battle with the studio public, other young creatives in the industry will not suffer the same fate. “Don't let this happen to you,” Williams says. “Sit down with the people who are making money off of your work and renegotiate that.”
Before news of the reboot broke, the cast had dinner with original co-director Eduardo Sanchez, the first time they had all gotten together since the movie became a phenomenon 25 years ago. Williams says the evening was cathartic. “There were tears, and there was laughter, and there was all this stuff that you share of what is a major life event. Being in The Blair Witch Project is one of the top five major life events.”
With the new movie in the works, Leonard says the actors are committed to fighting to the end, both for acknowledgment and for compensation. He is pessimistic, however, that Lionsgate will agree to their terms. “I don't think they're going to turn around and give us anything,” Leonard says, “unless it becomes easier for them to pay us, than to not pay us.”