The moonlight filters through the half-drawn curtains. Ben sits on the edge of his bed, the faint buzz of L.A. in the distance. A worn notebook rests on his lap. He's alone with his thoughts, the room quiet except for the soft ticking of a nearby clock.
Ben couldn't help but recall the steps he had taken to reach this point.
"I was the guy nobody wanted to sit next to. The film kid with a shaky tape and a head full of ghosts from a past life. I still remember Forrest Gump—being chased off the lot like I was some deranged fanboy. Trying to show Bob Zemeckis and the crew that little experimental short I called Buried. They didn't just ignore me. They laughed. Security laughed too when they tossed me out the back gate."
"Then CAA showed me the door. My agent Kate practically hung up on me when I botched up at Forrest Gump. She treated me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had. Said it sounded like a scam. Said I sounded like a con artist. She wasn't wrong—not entirely. I was desperate. Hopeless. Alone."
He glances over to his desk, where a small framed photo of Naomi—snapped candidly during their indie film shooting time—rests beside a few screenplay drafts.
"And then Naomi... She didn't tell me what I wanted to hear. She told me what I needed to. She told me I'd burned every bridge and I either had to swim or drown. That kind of truth... it doesn't just slap you, it sticks with you."
That I'd either take the leap, or I'd be another sad story in a coffee shop with a screenplay and a bitterness habit."
His eyes shift as memories flash—Michael Connery from the Forrest Gump set giving him a nod and a number. A strange gift from the universe.
"And then there was Michael Connery. The one guy from the Gump crew who gave me the time of day. Gave me Helen's number. That call changed my life. Michael Connery introduced me to Helen. And the rest... It feels like another life."
He leans back, closing his eyes.
"Amanda Newhouse. A Newhouse. As I entered their Talent Brokerage Company. She could've ignored me. She should have pushed me out. But she didn't."
"Helen. Amanda. God, I was a mess when I met them. But they didn't just give me a shot. They gave me a war room. We built The Blair Witch Project from nothing. I wrote it, shot it, edited it with Chris Paul at Lucasfilm. Helen ran logistics like she was commanding troops. Amanda cast the faces that would haunt people. Marketed it like a myth. And George... George Lucas didn't need to say a word. His presence alone was thunder."
"Between Helen's terrifying sense of precision and Amanda's ability to play chess while I was still figuring out checkers… we made it. We shot Blair Witch. I held the damn camera. Amanda cast and marketed it. Helen ran us like a military operation."
His fingers tap the cover of his notebook.
"And George Lucas. The phantom player. His name alone moved mountains. We walked into 20th Century Fox with nothing but a reel, a name, and a plan. And we walked out a million dollars richer. Well, they did. I got eight hundred thousand after paying off everyone. But to me... that's everything."
"Sixty thousand dollars. That's what I owed Helen. Every camera, every night in the woods, every instant noodle I ate while pretending I wasn't broke—it was all riding on that debt. She even covered my rent. In 1994, sixty grand might as well have been Mount Everest. And yet, here we are."
He smiles, eyes glassy now.
"The copyright sold for a million dollars. After everything, I walk away with eight hundred thousand. That's not counting the box office ladder share. I'm not rich. Not yet. But I'm free. And I've got enough for one more big move."
"This time, I won't be desperate. I'll be ready. The kid who once got kicked off the Forrest Gump set… he's gone. I've got eight hundred grand, a story, and a star. I'm not just chasing Hollywood anymore. I'm building it."
He rips the page from his notebook and tacks it to the wall. Below it, he writes: Next Movie Release Date: Halloween 1994.
I'm not reinventing the wheel. I'm just spinning it early. A Halloween 1994 release. Minimal cast.
"Now, I need to prepare the script and sketch the shot-by-shot sketches of how I want it to be filmed."
"We need to wait for the payment now to start with the prep work. I will need at least a month and a half to shoot and another half a month to edit."
"This time, I'm not pitching dreams. I'm selling nightmares. And Hollywood's going to buy."
"But first, I need to wait till the end of January for settling the initial payment from Fox and dividing commissions and repaying the loan. Only then would I be able to focus on the next steps of my life ahead."