Habit (1995): Grim Addiction Horror and Creep Fest [Review]
Habit premiered at the Chicago International Film Festival in 1995, later receiving a limited theatrical release in 1997. This independent horror film, written and directed by Larry Fessenden, is an allegory of how addiction (and self-destruction) takes hold of a person, using the framework of vampirism.
With one week until Valentine’s Day, it makes for an unconventional seasonal watch: a story centred on a relationship between a troubled man and a woman who may—or may not—be a vampire.
Rather than romance, Habit offers intimacy as something corrosive. It presents a one-sided relationship that is unstable and difficult to escape. Though often overlooked, the film remains relevant for its haunting and jarring take on an all-too-human problem.
We’ll have a brief look at Habit’s plot (no spoilers), then dive into the review.
Habit (1995) Plot
Beatnik Sam (Larry Fessenden) drifts through a miasma of grief and heavy drinking in the wake of his father’s death and a recent breakup. Most of his days are spent frequenting New York’s bars, never quite committing to confronting the driver of his alcoholism.
At a close friend’s Halloween party, he meets gatecrasher Anna, a distant and unsettling woman who takes an overt liking to him. The attraction seems mutual, and their relationship settles into an uneasy rhythm of risky sex and dependence.
As time goes on, the more time Sam spends with Anna, the sicker he gets. But he can’t seem to shake her off, even though he becomes convinced that she is the cause. The lines between addiction, desire, and something supernatural start to blur.
It becomes obvious to the viewer that Anna is a vampire, though this becomes irrelevant. What matters is the downward spiral of a man already kicked to the curb by circumstance. Vampirism in Habit is an extension of Sam’s existing self-destructive habits. The question is not whether Anna is a vampire, but whether Sam can beat his addiction before it is too late.
Review
Fessenden paints a bleak picture of 1990s New York, a city marked by poverty, neglect, and decay. For Sam, there are pockets of warmth that come from the security of being around friends, but despite the crowds—New York, the parties, the gatherings—there is an undercurrent of crippling loneliness.
Sam’s unkempt appearance draws glares from others, reinforcing a constant feeling of being watched. This paranoia, paired with isolation, defines his experience as an addict. He is always seen, yet never truly seen. People notice the missing tooth, the wild hair, the way he staggers through the city. They see a drunk, but not the pain that drives him to the bottle.
Yet even Sam cannot fully explain why he drinks. Similarly, the film never definitively answers whether Anna is a vampire, a succubus, or something else entirely. That uncertainty matters little. Fessenden offers hints—learned behaviour from Sam’s father, poverty, trauma—but these explanations pale beside the reality of the life Sam is trapped in.
Anna subjects Sam to abuse and molestation, pushing him beyond his comfort zone with no regard for his principles. She becomes an extension of his addictive behaviour—another dependency alongside the booze, even as it makes him sicker. Everyone, including Sam, can see the cause of his further descent into the abyss. Yet he remains unable to pull away. It is this allegorical treatment of vampirism that gives Habit its haunting quality. You will not be able to shake this film off easily after watching.
If you can stomach the hard-hitting subtext, this is a film well worth watching. The cinematography is artful, the message lands, and the horror leans toward the perverse and unsettling rather than an outright gore fest.
The one element that may not be to everyone’s taste is the limited character development, particularly for a film dealing with such heavy themes. However, as with many allegorical stories, Habit communicates its ideas more through mood, narrative, and setting than through visible character change. That trade-off did not hinder my enjoyment.
