As reported by Variety, in the summer of '99, actors Heather Donahue, Michael C. Williams and Joshua Leonard found themselves in a surreal predicament. Their debut feature film, "The Blair Witch Project," had garnered immense success after premiering at the Sundance Film Festival, making it one of the most influential horror movies of the past 25 years. Despite its massive triumph with a mere $35,000 budget, the actors were still grappling with financial challenges while trying to navigate their newfound fame.
"We were all struggling to pay the rent," Leonard recalls, highlighting the arduous journey they faced despite their significant contributions to the film's success.
The actors, all in their early 20s, were trained to operate cameras and sound equipment by writers and directors Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sánchez. They were then left to improvise the entire film based on a series of story prompts, but were prohibited from discussing their experience. The fabricated narrative that the footage was captured by student filmmakers who vanished in the Maryland woods was diligently maintained by Artisan Entertainment, the film's distributor.
As the movie grossed over $248 million worldwide, the actors anticipated reaping the benefits of their hard work. However, they were left disillusioned when their only recognition for the film's domestic box office success was a fruit basket from Artisan. Donahue expressed her dismay, stating, "We were being cut out of something that we were intimately involved with creating."
The impact of "The Blair Witch Project" extended beyond just financial struggles for the actors. They endured online abuse, career changes, and legal battles, which lingered for a quarter of a century.
Their sense of relief was short-lived when Lionsgate announced a reboot of the film without consulting them, prompting the actors to release an open letter requesting fair treatment and compensation for their involvement in the original project.
The actors' plea for fair treatment is not uncommon in an industry where talent and studios often clash over profits and recognition. Their experience underscores the vulnerability of newcomers in the entertainment industry and highlights the need for more stringent regulations in independent filmmaking.
During an interview with Variety, the actors candidly shared their struggles and emphasized the importance of speaking out. Williams, visibly emotional, expressed his frustration, underscoring the financial hardships and personal anguish they faced despite the film's monumental success.
The actors' journey with "The Blair Witch Project" began in 1997 when they were cast in what was then titled "The Black Hills Project." Enticed by the opportunity to gain on-set experience and earn a modest income, they signed a deal memo presented by Haxan Films, the production company behind the project. Little did they realize that the seemingly inconsequential clauses in the agreement would have enduring ramifications on their careers.
Before cameras rolled, Haxan handed the actors a one-and-a-half-page deal memo. They remember scanning it hastily, except for one eyebrow-raising clause: if the project raked in over $1 million, the actors would get "a one percent (1%) participation in profits in excess of $1,000,000."
"We just thought, 'Wouldn't that be ridiculous?'" Williams recalls.
Another clause barely registered: Haxan could use their real names "for the purpose of this film," rather than the generic ones – Jane, Bill and John – originally assigned to their characters. The filmmakers explained they'd be shooting about 10 minutes of a fictional documentary about their characters' supposed disappearance while hunting the Blair Witch. Real names would add authenticity.
At the time, these details seemed trivial. The actors figured they'd get a VHS copy for their friends and demo reels.
Their focus was on pulling off the fully improvised shoot, where they'd not only handle cameras and sound but justify why their characters – especially Donahue's demanding director – would keep rolling as things turned sour.
It wasn't until about a year later that the cast discovered the filmmakers had expanded their footage into the full movie. Yet when "The Blair Witch Project" got into Sundance, the actors footed the bill for travel and lodging.
Haxan did put them up at their rented lodge for the festival's final two days. But the actors claim no one from Artisan met with them at Sundance or contacted them the following months. When Donahue visited the studio's New York office to speak with executives, she got swag and a brush-off.
After Artisan abandoned the "Are they really dead?" angle post-release on July 30, 1999, and the actors started doing press, their overnight fame spotlighted their meager bank accounts. "I told The Philadelphia Inquirer, I'm the poorest famous person in America right now," Donahue says. "Artisan told me I couldn't say that."
As the film's lead and sole woman, Donahue bore the brunt of the often misogynistic backlash. "Heather's portrayal of a fierce and relentless artist who wouldn't stop filming wasn't an acceptable archetype at the time," Leonard says. "She was fair game to be hated on, and they were using her real name."
"It was relentless," Donahue says. "Just that feeling of 'Wow, this is definitely not what I signed up for, and I have no money to protect myself from the onslaught,'" she recalled.
The movie's success did not translate into financial security for its actors. Following a modest "performance bump" in the late '90s, their careers stagnated, with casting directors believing they were simply playing themselves in the film. Moreover, the use of their real names meant there was no separation between their identities and the movie.
Donahue and her fellow actors were disheartened to learn about the various "Blair Witch" merchandise featuring their names and likenesses, as well as the use of their identities in the sequel, "Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2."
Concerned about the constant use of their identities, Donahue took action and rallied her co-stars to sue Artisan on the eve of the sequel's release in October 2000. After a three-year legal battle, they reached a settlement of roughly $300,000 each, significantly less than the estimated $35 million to $40 million earned by the film's directors and producers.
The film's creators reportedly declined to comment for the story, releasing only a joint statement: “25 years later, who would have thought we’d still be talking about ‘The Blair Witch Project,’ a film made by a group of total Hollywood outsiders? We’re hopeful Heather, Joshua and Mike find a satisfying conclusion to their conversations with Lionsgate. For us, this anniversary provides an exciting opportunity to celebrate the movie and its legacy with fans.”
The actors considered their settlement a victory, as it prohibited Artisan, and now Lionsgate, from using their names and images for profit. However, they claim that the companies continued to exploit their identities without consent, such as in the 2016 sequel "Blair Witch."
Despite Donahue's initial endorsement of the 2016 film, she revealed that she had pushed back against her involvement, ultimately deciding to walk away from the entertainment industry to maintain her privacy.
When Lionsgate used her likeness and screams from the original film in the 2022 movie "Tár" without authorization, Donahue again faced unauthorized exploitation of her identity, leading to a subsequent financial agreement.
Like Donahue, Williams also dealt with the unauthorized use of his image in the 2016 "Blair Witch" film, especially as he and his family were facing financial hardships at the time. Meanwhile, Leonard, who continued his career as an actor and filmmaker, stood by his decision to go public with his grievances against Lionsgate.
“I don’t need Lionsgate to like me. I don’t care that they know that I think their behavior has been reprehensible,” he says. “I don’t want my daughter to ever feel like anything is more valuable than her self-worth.”
The actors emphasize their pride in "The Blair Witch Project" and their work in it, but they have consistently advocated for fair compensation for the use of their identities.
"Is there value there or not?" questioned Donahue. "If there's value, compensate us accordingly, and if there's no value, then just stop using us."