The Addiction

It can be hard to imagine the cruelty man is capable of. We hear stories of Vlad the Impaler, of Nazi atrocities, of Nero, of the My Lai massacre, and we shudder – but it doesn’t sink in. “Why would someone do that?” we might ask, but then we go back to our iced mochas and iMacs and forget all about it. I could never do anything like that.

This is hypocrisy, and as Christians, we really should know better. We should know that man’s nature is to sin and commit cruelty. And if it weren’t for the grace of God, we could very well be just as bad.

In the first scene of Abel Ferrara’s The Addiction (1995), we see this in action. Kathleen Conklin, a philosophy student at NYU, and her friend watch gruesome footage from the aftermath of the My Lai massacre in Vietnam. They react in outrage – Kathleen says that more people should have been prosecuted for such atrocities. Her focus is in the wrong place; her outrage is merely that of a student interested in abstract justice.

This begins to change when, later that night, Kathleen is accosted and bitten by a vampire in an alley. She is sick for days, not understanding what happened – and slowly she begins to turn. Her eyes become sensitive to the light; her image disappears from the mirror. She is filled with a new hunger, one she can’t comprehend, and food doesn’t satisfy it.

Gradually, she realizes her craving for blood, and walks the streets, looking for a fix. She starts by injecting herself with blood pulled from homeless people, but shortly gives in and learns to kill and drain with her fangs.

Throughout, the film is filled with references to Kierkegaard, Neitzsche, and the various philosophers Kathleen studies at school. The writer, Nicholas St. John, seeks to make the truths (and yes, there are some truths in Kierkegaard!) relevant to a movie-going audience, and he does a good job. Kathleen learns to see herself, and all men, as depraved creatures: the only difference between vampires and humans is that the vampires can see their depravity more clearly. Next, she seeks to tear away the illusions of her friends, and attacks each in turn. “Am I going to get sick?” one character asks her. The answer is stark, but true: “No. No worse than you were before.” Humans are as addicted to such violence as vampires are.

One of the fascinating aspects of the movie is the way each person is attacked. Before she bites, Kathleen tells the victim: “Say no like you mean it, and I’ll leave.” She gives them the choice to stay or leave, but her victims are unable to refuse, or simply whine and beg to be set free. They are unable to save themselves.

Even if the writer left off here, the film would be worth seeing. But he takes it a step farther and introduces the saving power of God. Man may not be able to save himself, but God gives him strength. Interestingly enough, the only character who is able to refuse Kathleen’s advances is a man handing out tracts on the street. And the ending has such a starkly Christian message of redemption, it’s hard to believe it could be on film.

The Addiction is not for everyone – it doesn’t flinch from displaying graphic violence. It’s not intense or scary per se, but the mechanics of the killings are detailed enough to make your stomach turn. The gore is made that much more stark by the fact that the film is shot completely in black and white: the blood appears black, staining faces and clothes as darkly as it does souls.

In one of the final scenes, the vampire that first turned Kathleen sums it up: “R. C. Sproul said ‘We are not sinners because we sin, we sin because we are sinners.’” What other choice do they have? She exits the room, leaving Kathleen alone with nothing but despair.

But when only despair is left, we are ripe for the mercy of God, the only thing that can overcome our cruel, depraved natures. Thanks be to God.

Related Links:
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