Both appear to have vague artistic ambitions, but they're too mired in ennui and disaffection to do much of anything but drink and riff on their ideas. After several highly charged sexual encounters with her, Sam is hooked, a junkie who also realizes that what's making him feel so good is exacting an incr easing toll on his health. Bites soon tattoo his body like track marks, the sores and scabs left by a heroin addict's needle. Finally Sam can do little more than fearfully acknowledge his own inability to extricate himself from Anna's grip. When she ma kes yet another abrupt appearance, at a memorial for Sam's father, one of his father's colleagues is visibly shaken to be introduced to her.
H e's already in the soup, flailing.
In the spin that Fessenden gives the vampire flick, we're all ultimately our own worst enemies, ushering in the agents of our own demise. Send us a message.