From the day after his pivotal meeting with Helen, Ben Gosling plunged headfirst into preparations for The Blair Witch.
Even though the film was designed as a pseudo-documentary, with its success resting largely on marketing and publicity stunts, Ben understood that making a movie in Hollywood—any movie—demanded rigor and precision. There were no casual miracles here; every success story was paved with long nights, strategic thinking, and relentless execution.
The first major challenge was finding a suitable filming location. Ben began scouting for a small, out-of-the-way town near Los Angeles—somewhere remote enough to preserve the film's illusion but still logistically viable. Over the next three days, he immersed himself in location scouting, eventually selecting a town with a population barely exceeding two hundred. It was remote, isolated, and saw few visitors—a perfect backdrop for the eerie realism the project aimed to create.
Meanwhile, Amanda was handling casting. There were no demanding requirements for the actors—Ben didn't need dramatic chops or star power. What he needed was youth, affordability, and most importantly, believability. The story's power lay in its relatability. "They just need to be young enough," Ben had said more than once, brushing aside concerns about experience.
Still, Amanda pressed for his input during the casting of the lead roles.
"Ben, you're the director of the film. I need your opinion," she said, glancing up from her clipboard, which contained the items she would need to prepare in order to ensure the proper shooting plan.
Ben exhaled slowly, fingers gently drumming on the armrest. "First of all, we can rule out Black, Asian, or Latino actors for the leads," he said firmly. "They don't match the profile we need for the narrative."
Amanda raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.
Ben continued, "The characters have to be younger, with a petite figure and sweet or even vulnerable features. That way, they're more likely to trigger public sympathy. That's key to the marketing strategy."
It was a calculated choice—blunt, even brutal. But Ben wasn't trying to be politically correct. He was trying to craft a phenomenon. "The success of The Blair Witch hinges on how deeply the audience believes in the illusion. If the media and fans relate to the characters, if they feel for them, that's when we win."
Helen, sitting nearby and listening carefully, finally spoke. "Hollywood never lacks actresses with acting skills," she said meaningfully. "And sweetness and vulnerability? They're the easiest things to fake."
She wasn't wrong. The illusion of fragility was a second skin for many actresses in Hollywood.
As the morning went on, eight actresses auditioned. All young. All polished. All contracted through Star Talent Brokerage. And to Amanda's quiet surprise, Ben wasn't just going through the motions—he was reading them. Not for skill, but for type. For essence. She found herself quietly impressed.
Few young directors understood what North American audiences really wanted. But Ben did. That alone made him valuable.
Star Talent Brokerage, still in its infancy, had thrown everything behind The Blair Witch. Helen had taken over the responsibilities of production manager, leveraging her extensive experience from years around George Lucas and his inner circle.
Amanda, though officially a junior partner, was now spearheading the entire marketing campaign. The company had all but halted its other business to focus exclusively on this project.
They'd even enforced airtight secrecy protocols. Everyone involved—Ben, Amanda, Helen, and all potential cast and crew—had signed strict non-disclosure agreements, with hefty breach penalties. The veil of mystery was part of the film's DNA.
Ben returned from his location scouting on the third day and found Amanda had gathered more than a dozen young actresses on the third floor of the agency. All had arrived early. All had exquisite makeup and carefully styled appearances. All were dressed to impress—slender silhouettes, sharp eyes, polished shoes.
On appearance alone, every single one passed.
But Hollywood has never lacked beauties. Especially among actresses, the competition was cutthroat. From the way they sat—carefully spaced apart, avoiding eye contact—it was clear none of them were here to make friends. None touched the snacks and water Amanda had set out.
Ben didn't blame them. In this industry, diet paranoia and self-protection were common sense. Rumors and real-life stories about tainted food, sabotage, or exploitative casting practices had circulated in Hollywood for decades. Everyone brought their own water. Everyone stayed guarded.
Ben smirked slightly as he glanced around. "You know," he said to Amanda in a low voice, "I thought I'd walk in here and see a red sofa or a velvet casting couch."
Amanda's lips twitched into a grin. "If you're into vintage furniture, I can have the staff bring one in," she quipped. "Though honestly, I doubt these girls even know what the red sofa means anymore."
Ben chuckled. "Let's not. You're already busy enough. If I make more work for you, you'll murder me."
She laughed and shook her head, then motioned toward the casting area. "C'mon, time to get this circus started."
As they began the auditions, Amanda brought up something Ben had been wondering about.
"By the way," he asked, half-whispering, "any word on when we can meet the legend himself—George Lucas?"
Amanda looked up from her notes. "Helen went back to her parents' place for a few days. She's going to meet with George once while she's there. She took the Buried experimental tape with her. Figured it was the best way to sell the potential."
Ben's eyes widened slightly. "She took the tape?"
Amanda nodded. "She's playing the long game. And if Lucas bites—even just a little—Fox will have no choice but to take us seriously."
Ben smiled faintly. "Maybe we should even offer George a bigger cut, just to make sure Fox doesn't try to lowball us."
Amanda blinked. "That's bold."
"But smart," Ben replied.
As for the auditions themselves, they were nothing fancy. No cameras, no scripts. Just self-introductions and a few improvised lines. The simplicity was intentional—it helped preserve the secrecy of the project. Only Ben, Amanda, and Helen knew the full details of The Blair Witch's plot.
Ben didn't recognize any of the actresses. Most were extras—names no one remembered, faces that occasionally passed in the background of TV shows or low-budget films. But that was fine. In fact, it was perfect.
For a film like this, star power would break the illusion. What Ben needed was authenticity—realism. Unknown faces that could, if packaged correctly, seem like real people who'd disappeared in real woods.
He leaned back, watching the auditions unfold, already picturing the marketing campaign: missing posters, fake news clips, urban legend forums.
This wasn't just a film. It was a con.
And Hollywood had no idea what was coming.
As the second round of auditions began, Amanda stood near the doorway, arms folded, her eyes scanning each actress like a casting director with X-ray vision. She wasn't just looking for looks or delivery—she was evaluating potential. Fame. Media impact.
Ben noticed her intensity. She hadn't said a word in minutes, but her focus never wavered.
"You look like you're calculating stock options," he teased.
Amanda didn't laugh. "In a way, I am," she said quietly. "You may not think much of these auditions, but I do. The people we choose today—if this works—are going to be the faces of the company."
Ben raised an eyebrow.
"I'm serious," she continued, her tone sharper now. "If this film breaks out, those three leads—whether they're loved, hated or to death—will become the face of Star Talent. Even getting scolded or torn apart online is still a kind of fame. It's better than being unknown."
Ben nodded slowly. He hadn't thought about it quite like that. To him, the actors were puzzle pieces. To Amanda, they were the future.
"We're not just casting a film," she said, stepping closer. "We're building the next phase of this company around them. Helen and I have already mapped it out—if The Blair Witch lands, the three leads become our flagship talent. Endorsements, interviews, maybe a sequel..."
She trailed off, watching another actress walk in and introduce herself.
"I get it now," Ben said, quietly. "You care more about the casting than I do."
Amanda smirked. "I have to. You're thinking like a director. I'm thinking like an agent."
She tapped her tablet and made a note, not looking up. "And I'm not gambling our future on a bad read or a pretty face. This isn't just a movie. It's a launchpad."
Ben looked at her, the glint of admiration hidden behind a half-smile. She wasn't just smart—she was dangerous in the best way.
And for the first time, he felt a twinge of sympathy for anyone who might underestimate the team of Amanda Newhouse and Helen Solomon.
With his support, Star Talent Brokerage was bound to make a place for themselves in Hollywood.