Habit (1995). One must demur the the hint that this is a low-budget flick; it is more like handing the camera over to a film auteur and asking him to make a flick on the fly. Utilizing NY City as a character more than a backdrop, Habit takes the droll life of loser Sam and chronicles his desperate descent into an ambiguous demise. Using the mundane aspects of his life, far from being boring, these prosaic moments almost feel intrusive, infusing the viewer with an awkward intimacy that compels us to root for his pathetic plight. Not a horror flick proper, this was more a dark drama with an aspect of horror as an interesting sideline in the story of Sam. The acting was almost always inviting and believable, except for one small part where the whole enchilada threatened to implode but miraculously recovered. The script was intelligent, the direction solid. The camera work was all over the place, but in doing so revealed the Hell that our main character was stepping into. Even the drained out color of the film hinted at the dark cloud that seemed to be enveloping our wormy hero. The ending appeared to be going down the corridors of humdrum, but smartly checked its advance towards stupidity and rallied into a memorable scene whose subtlety marked the puissance of its ambivalence. Merci beaucoup.
Genruk
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Fate is my mistress, mother of the cruel abomination that is hope.
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