22-23

Chapter 22: The Witch

“No, maybe there’s more to do than just wait!”

Given the current progress, neither *The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2* nor *Modern Family* can be completed overnight.

After all, the filming process for movies and TV shows in the real world isn’t like the [Script Evolution] feature in Allen’s system, which can manifest things out of thin air. Preparing a crew, scouting locations, and selecting actors all require time.

If Allen waited for everything to be ready and for filming to be completed, it would take at least six months, at best. This doesn’t even account for potential issues with *Modern Family*, such as negotiations with TV networks, or choosing a release date for *The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2*.

With so many things to manage, even the most patient Allen couldn’t tolerate wasting so much time.

Once you’ve experienced the ability to bring stories to life and shape entire worlds, it’s hard to let it go.

After some thought, Allen quickly made a decision.

In terms of the system’s scripts, he was limited by [Plot Points], which prevented him from moving forward.

But in the real-world Hollywood? He was free to act without such constraints.

---

**“It’s hard to imagine, Allen. After finishing the scripts for *The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2* and *Modern Family*, you still had the energy to create something new.”**

In New York, at Universal Pictures’ headquarters, Ron Meyer couldn’t help but marvel at yet another script from Allen.

“Even in Hollywood, it’s rare to see a screenwriter as prolific as you in such a short period of time.”

Writing scripts is a tedious process, often requiring countless revisions. But Allen simply smiled as he sat on the office couch, facing Ron Meyer’s praise.

“I just had a sudden burst of inspiration.”

“So, what have you brought me this time, Allen?” Ron Meyer asked, getting to the point after a bit of small talk. “Is it a TV show or a movie?”

“*The Blair Witch Project*,” Allen replied. “It’s a horror film about the legend of a witch.”

Hearing the title, Ron Meyer’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

“*The Blair Witch Project*?”

Ron Meyer looked at Allen with a thoughtful expression. “May I take a look at the script, Allen?”

“Of course.”

Allen handed over the script he had prepared. After all, that was the purpose of his visit to Universal. He handed it to Ron Meyer and stayed standing to observe his reaction.

“Thank you,” Ron said as he began reading.

As the Vice President of Universal Pictures’ Film Distribution Department, Ron Meyer was no novice when it came to evaluating scripts. However, as he read through *The Blair Witch Project*, his initial excitement began to wane.

From a script perspective, *The Blair Witch Project* didn’t offer much in the way of terrifying plotlines. Its horror elements were only slightly above average, especially compared to the shock and impact of *The Texas Chainsaw Massacre*, one of Allen’s earlier scripts.

By comparison, *The Blair Witch Project* seemed underwhelming.

“To be honest, Allen…” Ron Meyer finally spoke after finishing the script, shaking his head slightly. “I didn’t see anything particularly innovative in this script.

“Whether it’s the legend of the witch or the horror elements, there’s nothing that stands out.”

Ron Meyer’s reaction didn’t surprise Allen.

*The Blair Witch Project* wasn’t known for its plot. In the world Allen came from, the film’s success was due to its unique filming technique and groundbreaking viral marketing campaign.

“If we’re only judging by the script,” Ron Meyer said, “I’m sorry, Allen, but Universal wouldn’t be willing to invest in this project.”

“What if,” Allen began, undeterred, “*The Blair Witch Project* wasn’t a ‘normal’ movie to begin with?”

Ron Meyer’s expression shifted to one of curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“I plan to shoot this film entirely with a handheld camcorder.”

“A handheld camcorder?”

Ron Meyer hadn’t expected this response. “So that’s why the script mentions the ‘documentary’ element… I see now.”

Flipping back to the beginning of the script, Ron Meyer nodded in understanding. “Can you elaborate on your idea, Allen?”

“I plan to present the entire film in a ‘found footage’ style,” Allen explained. “The goal is to make it feel like a real event that happened in the world.”

“Found footage? Like the mockumentary style in *Modern Family*?” Ron Meyer asked, recalling the script Allen had recently shown him.

“Exactly. In fact, the mockumentary style in *Modern Family* was inspired by this script.”

Since both *Modern Family* and *The Blair Witch Project* were his creations in this world, Allen had no qualms about claiming the inspiration flowed in whichever direction suited him.

“It’s an intriguing concept,” Ron Meyer admitted. “I’ve never heard of anyone using this style for a horror film.”

His interest piqued again, Ron Meyer began considering the potential distribution challenges. Ultimately, though, he shook his head, voicing his concerns.

“Without a doubt, Allen, the found footage style is innovative. But how can I be sure that such an unconventional format will draw audiences to theaters?”

“Marketing!” Allen declared confidently.

He had just revealed the second key to *The Blair Witch Project*’s success: its revolutionary marketing strategy.

---

*(End of Chapter)*

Chapter 23: Taking the Director's Chair

“Promotion?”

Ron Meyer froze for a moment.

It wasn’t that Allen’s suggestion was unexpected—quite the opposite. It was almost too conventional.

This was a tried-and-true Hollywood tactic.

Seeing this, Ron Meyer couldn’t help but voice his disappointment. “I don’t think simple promotion alone can draw enough viewers to *The Blair Witch Project*. It might help somewhat, but it won’t change the overall outcome.”

As the Vice President of Universal Pictures’ Distribution Department, Ron Meyer was a veteran in the art of marketing and film distribution.

In Hollywood, movies rely heavily on promotion, and the bigger the budget, the higher the promotional costs.

However, promotion is ultimately just a way to lure audiences into theaters; a film’s success still depends on its content.

And as far as the script for *The Blair Witch Project* was concerned, it lacked significant appeal, as Meyer had pointed out before.

For a movie—especially a horror movie—this was a fatal flaw.

“What if the audience, from beginning to end, never believed they were watching a fictional film but rather an account of real events? A documentary about a witch legend. What if the terrifying incidents were real? Wouldn’t you be curious about the truth behind such a case, Mr. Meyer?”

Faced with Ron Meyer’s doubts, Allen countered with a question.

“If it were real, of course, I’d be curious,” Meyer admitted, momentarily surprised, before lowering his head to glance at the script on the table. Then he looked up at Allen, his expression gradually turning to astonishment.

“Don’t tell me… this is your idea, Alan?”

“To hype the movie as reality and make the audience believe it’s all true—how would you pull that off?”

“Don’t forget, Mr. Meyer, we are living in the age of the Internet.”

Looking at Ron Meyer across the table, Allen’s face lit up with a confident smile.

“With the power of the Internet, even the most obscure person can become famous overnight. Using the Internet’s efficient promotional channels, we just need to introduce a small audience to the terrifying legend of the witch and let them discover the existence of this ‘documentary.’ Whether or not they believe it’s real doesn’t matter—our goal will already be achieved…”

“Once news about the witch documentary spreads across the U.S., even if only a fraction of people go to the theaters, *The Blair Witch Project* will still generate enough box office revenue.”

“…”

Ron Meyer sat silently for a long time, digesting Allen’s marketing plan for *The Blair Witch Project*.

“An absolutely brilliant promotional concept, Allen.”

As a seasoned executive in Universal’s distribution department, Ron Meyer could immediately see the feasibility of Allen’s plan.

“Perhaps your true calling is in marketing, not screenwriting, Allen,” Meyer said with a touch of admiration before shifting gears.

“So, who do you plan to cast in this movie?”

Hearing this question, Allen knew the project was as good as greenlit.

Suppressing his excitement, he replied, “The less famous, the better. For a ‘mockumentary’ like *The Blair Witch Project*, using well-known actors would only undermine the marketing strategy.”

Meyer nodded, clearly agreeing with this point.

“Universal will handle the casting. In Hollywood, there’s no shortage of unknown actors.”

“They don’t need to be too professional.”

Allen gave Meyer a gentle reminder. A film like *The Blair Witch Project* didn’t require great acting; the amateurish feel was essential.

“And who do you have in mind to direct?”

Given that the script and promotional concept for *The Blair Witch Project* were Allen’s brainchildren, Meyer was willing to let him weigh in on the choice of director.

“What do you think about me?”

Pointing to himself, Allen looked at Meyer.

Meyer’s expression froze for a moment at this unexpected response.

Looking at the young man before him, Meyer replied diplomatically, “Alan, you’re an excellent screenwriter. But directing a movie isn’t a simple task. Even someone like Wen took years of experience before directing their first film. I can arrange for you to work as an assistant director on set, but as for the director’s position, perhaps we can find someone more suitable.”

Given the clear potential for *The Blair Witch Project* to turn a profit, Meyer couldn’t hand the reins to someone with no directing experience.

“You’ve misunderstood me, Mr. Meyer.”

Allen understood Meyer’s concerns but wasn’t willing to budge on taking the director’s role for *The Blair Witch Project*.

“As the script makes clear, *The Blair Witch Project* is a completely unstructured documentary-style film. The story unfolds through the handheld cameras of college students, with horror elements buried in the chaotic footage. Such a filming style doesn’t require a professional director. In fact, my inexperience makes me the perfect choice. Professional techniques would only expose the movie’s secrets.”

“…”

Allen’s reasoning was undeniably persuasive, especially when coupled with his role as the film’s screenwriter.

In the office, Ron Meyer was silent for a moment before letting out a wry smile.

“Fine, Alan. You’ve convinced me.”

“Let’s hope *The Blair Witch Project* turns out just as you say.”

“That, I can guarantee.”

Filming *The Blair Witch Project* wouldn’t be difficult. The original version took less than eight days to shoot, and its “mockumentary” style required minimal post-production—no elaborate editing or even a soundtrack. It was arguably the simplest film in Hollywood’s history.

And yet, this incredibly low-budget movie managed to rake in over $100 million at the box office, carving out a place in Hollywood’s horror genre and becoming one of the most profitable films of all time.

(End of Chapter)