(2 of 6)
The reaction of moviegoers is no less schizophrenic. Scan their faces as they enter the theaters playing Blair Witch. The anticipation is electric; this could be a fantasy reunion concert of all four Beatles. Many in the audience are escorted by hipper acquaintances who have seen the film and are back not to watch it again but to watch their friends watch it. And though those in the know will urge people to see Blair Witch, they won't spill its secrets. (Warning: we will.) The film is a rite of passage, fraternity hazing and haunted-house trip rolled into 81 agitated minutes.
Theater owners will endure a dip in popcorn sales. During this film, almost nobody leaves. Except to be sick. Some viewers have vomited during particularly tense scenes. Others get motion sickness from the jerky camera style. At the picture's climax, a Chicago woman let out a full-throttle scream. She was still shaking as the lights came up. "I'm too upset to talk," she said as a friend comforted her with a hug.
When the picture ends, reactions vary wildly. Some customers are plainly smitten. "It was every scary story you ever heard as a kid coming to life," says Matthew Smith, 24, in Chicago. Smith isn't bothered by the film's no-tech grittiness: "If you want special effects, rent Titanic."
Several patrons try to shrug off the icy fear the film's neural refrigerator has locked them into. A trio of teens emerging from a screening in Alexandria, Va., refuse to walk to their car, parked near a woodsy area, because "that movie scared me to death," says Shawna Daniels, 14, "and I'm not ever going near the woods again!" A ticket taker graciously walks them to the car. When asked if he has seen the film, he replies, "Not on your life. I don't want to be that scared." For others, the thaw will take longer. Kim Bingham, 33, of Santa Cruz, Calif., says that a week after seeing the movie, her 14-year-old daughter "still can't sleep at night. She doesn't want to talk about it. She won't go outside to feed the dog because she has to pass by some trees, and they remind her of the movie."
Not all reactions are sacred or scared. Justin Renfroe, 27, an Atlanta exterminator, shrugs and says, "I guess I didn't get it." He will advise friends to "wait for the video." After a midnight show at the Angelika, the indie showplace in lower Manhattan where Blair Witch had its theatrical premiere on July 14, a vocal minority is shouting, like a high school football cheer, a chorus of "Bulllllsh__!" But a few persist in believing, even after the final cast and credit roll, that this clever fiction is for real--a documentary that ends in death. "You mean it's not?" asks stunned Chicagoan Paula Taylor. "The website made it sound as if it was. I can't believe it."
The website handsomely elaborates on the film's plot by presenting "documents" about the "Blair Witch Mythology, Aftermath and Legend." Anyone who wants to believe in the story or enjoys a smartly designed fiction can browse and learn.