Editorials
“This is Appalling”: ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation’ as a Commentary on the State of Horror Circa 1993
There’s a certain perception that the horror genre declined in the very late 80’s and very early 90’s. Whether you agree or not is irrelevant, the perception is there, and can arguably be attributed to the oversaturation of the genre by the endless sequelization of its highest-profile franchises. By the early 90’s Freddy had swung from the stuff of nightmares into full-blown comedy, Jason had been to Manhattan, and Michael Myers had veered into psychic chicanery. These were slashers that went from some of the most frightening material the genre had ever seen to cartoonish caricatures of themselves. And there’s no better example of this leap from profound art to laughable trash than the Texas Chainsaw series, which went from the heart-stopping original film to—well, to whatever Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation was.
Something has never quite lined up with these two movies, which were written by the same man, Kim Henkel, though to watch them you’d never guess. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is a seminal classic, while The Next Generation is almost universally derived. So what happened? Let it be submitted that Henkel – a film professor – deliberately wrote and directed an inferior sequel in order to say something about the perceived state of the horror.
For starters, the film begins with what would be considered a very traditional cast of Teenager Murder Victims-to-Be, headlined by Renee Zellweger as Jenny, AKA The Final Girl. Aside from Jenny, these characters were born to be murdered in the woods, and we’re made especially aware of it by the fact that one of them never shuts up about it. From the moment they end up on the side of a Texas back road, Heather forecasts their imminent demises because she’s obviously seen one of these movies before and she knows what’s up. This is the first of Henkel’s wink-wink-nod-nods to the audience letting them know that he’s in on the joke.
But the real journey into the back-pocket of self-parody begins with the new family themselves. The original family name of ‘Sawyer’ wasn’t on-the-nose enough, so now they’re the ‘Slaughter’ family. That’s right; in this movie, the iconic chainsaw-wielding maniac is straight-up named Leatherface Slaughter. And while much ado has been made (rightfully so) about Matthew McConaughey’s over-the-top turn as Vilmer, what is less-often discussed is the desperation pervading it. Vilmer is what the kids call a ‘try-hard,’ someone so eager to please his master (who we’ll get into in due time) he gives the game away at every turn. Where Cook and Hitchhiker toyed with their prey before veering into off-putting lunacy, Vilmer has no time for such subterfuge. When he encounters Sean, he immediately kills a man in front of him and then runs him down in a truck. He gives Jenny barely a moment after picking her up before he launches into a deranged rant and shows her the grisly cargo in the back of his pickup. Gone is any nuance or the slow burn of the original, replaced with the instant escalation more-often seen in cheaper slasher fare.
Then there’s Darla, Vilmer’s girlfriend, a participant in the night’s proceedings out of sheer obligation. She’s not exactly into what’s taking place around her, at one point recreating one of Chain Saw’s most unnerving scenes in the most half-assed way imaginable, awkwardly poking at Heather with a stick once or twice with all the force of a gentle breeze. Which leads into the way the movie haphazardly recreates many of the original movie’s aspects in ways that seem intentionally inferior.
Leatherface, once efficient, methodical and near-silent, now struggles to competently capture or kill his victims, all the while screaming like a petulant child.
The family, no longer backwater cannibals, dines on pizza instead of the fresh meat of their victims.
The dinner sequence, originally one of the most effective and horrifying scenes ever committed to film, goes so far off the rails it climaxes with Jenny turning the tables on her captors and scolding Leatherface into sitting down and shutting up.
The ineffectiveness of it all of this is intentional, and we know this because a man in a limo pulls up and openly acknowledges it.
Mr. Rothman, ostensibly part of the Illuminati and the mastermind behind the massacre, is undoubtedly the most controversial and debated aspect of Next Generation, which is understandable. This new element flies in the face of everything the series has ever stood for. So why is it there?
Twenty years before The Cabin in the Woods presented us with a shadow organization that created Horror for the sake of an ever-watchful audience, Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation did the same. And like in Cabin, this particular event has gone completely sideways and the big boss is forced to intervene. Mr. Rothman, the literal producer pulling the strings, shows up to scold the antagonists.
“This is appalling,” he says, echoing what we’ve all been thinking for the past hour and ten minutes. “I want these people to know the meaning of horror. Horror.” The script could have put a number of words in his mouth there. Terror. Dread. ‘Horror’ was a specific choice, a pointed observation that what we’ve witnessed so far is a subpar attempt at recreating one of the genre’s best works. And while his admonition spurs the movie into one last attempt at a go-for-broke climax that includes an homage to Chainsaw 2’s Leatherface-on-a-truck sequence and an out-of-nowhere airplane, it’s still a piss-poor attempt at creating anything worthy of Hooper’s legacy. As Leatherface swings his chainsaw around in another flimsy callback to a better movie, Rothman sighs, declares the whole thing an abomination and apologizes to the audience by way of Jenny.
It’s this final sequence that best reads as a summation of Henkel’s view of the then-current state of the horror genre, or more specifically the slasher subgenre, or more specifically still, the Chainsaw series. Mr. Rothman’s grumblings sum it up well; All this effort to recreate a spiritual experience, only for it to end in disappointment and ennui.
So if Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation let you down, it’s possible that was the entire point, and would, therefore, make it more effective – and more cynical – a work than it’s ever been given credit for.
Mr. Rothman would be proud.
Five decades ago, Stephen King published the story of a bullied girl with telekinetic powers and forever changed the world of horror.
Carrie follows a high school misfit who seeks revenge for a hideous prank by psychically destroying her senior prom. The name Carrie White has become synonymous with the concept of a formal dance thanks to a flawless adaptation from Brian De Palma. Now fifty years after the film’s release, Mike Flanagan is putting his own stamp on the troubling story.
Rather than a feature film, the writer/director will expand King’s relatively slim debut novel into an eight-episode miniseries for Amazon Prime set to premiere on October 7.
Flanagan is no stranger to the world of Stephen King. A long-time Constant Reader, he first made waves with his daring adaptation of Gerald’s Game (2017), a novel many fans considered un-filmable. His underrated Doctor Sleep merges the disparate plot of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining with King’s original source material, and his 2024 genre-bending tearjerker The Life of Chuck faithfully executes one of the author’s most metaphysical novellas.
He’s currently mired in pre-production for an expansive adaptation of The Dark Tower series, keystone to King’s connected universe, and Warner Bros. recently announced that Flanagan will helm a new version of The Mist, King’s 1980 novella which sees a small Maine town overrun by otherworldly monsters.
Considering the vast array of the author’s previously unadapted material, an obvious question arises. Why reimagine Carrie in 2026? Noting the timeless nature of the content, Flanagan expressed his desire to bring the story of a bullied girl into modern times, mirroring his approach to Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House and Edgar Allan Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher. He explained, “The only way to approach it was to build something new out of the ingredients of Carrie. Otherwise, there’s really no purpose in trying to retread ground that’s been so beautifully walked before.”
His miniseries will maintain the novel’s bloody bookends while delivering “big surprises” along the way.
A New Prom Night Nightmare
The roughly 60-second teaser introduces Summer H. Howell as Carrie White just before the moment of catastrophe. Standing in a prom dress, she smiles at her applauding classmates with an ominous crown perched upon her head. Moments later, Carrie unleashes a rage-filled scream into the night air while promgoers rush for the exit doors. But careful examination of this scene shows Carrie wearing a different, albeit dirty dress as she seems to telekinetically punish her peers.
In an exclusive first look with Entertainment Weekly, Flanagan explains that in his version of the story, “the events of that prom are going to be completely different.” An open trunk emitting a crimson glow does hint at the pig’s blood dumped on Carrie’s head, but it’s likely Flanagan’s formal dance will be a different kind of horror altogether. Despite these changes, the series may end with the widespread destruction outlined in the source material. Unlike any previous adaptations, King’s novel ends with the near-total destruction of Chamberlain, Maine. A flaming street in Flanagan’s trailer promises similar carnage no matter what prank sparks Carrie’s deadly revenge.
The Monstrous Addition of Social Media
On the opposite end of this fiery conclusion is an extreme act of bullying that brings together the story’s main cast. King’s novel begins as Carrie gets her first period while showering in the girls’ locker room. Completely unaware of the concept of menstruation, the sheltered girl thinks she’s bleeding to death. Her classmates respond with vitriolic rage. Led by ultra-mean girl Chris Hargensen (Alison Thornton), they mock the terrified teen while pelting her with tampons. Glimpses of this disturbing event reveal that Flanagan has excised the scene’s nudity while adding a seismic update. As Carrie sobs in the shower stall, Chris and her friends film the breakdown with their phones.
Other scenes note the presence of social media, bringing King’s fifty-year-old story into the digital age.
Flanagan’s adaptation promises to explore the destructive power of social media, an often invisible entity with a potential for harm rivaling Carrie’s own powers. While King’s tormented heroine suffers in front of a small group of girls, Flanagan’s version of the incident will likely become a viral video, potentially circling the globe on social media. Similar to Katt Shea’s criminally underrated The Rage: Carrie 2, which includes elements of revenge porn exploitation, Flanagan’s modern retelling will distinguish itself by exploring the nebulous cruelty of online bullying, a force ten times more powerful than the irl pranks King first envisioned.
A Completely Reimagined White Family
In addition to modernizing these canon events, Flanagan hints at updates to Carrie’s oppressive upbringing at the hands of her mother, Margaret White (Samantha Sloyan). Dead before the novel begins, we never meet Carrie’s domineering father Ralph, known to carry a bible alongside his gun. Flanagan’s White household will be an altogether different beast. In his version of the story, Carrie and her mother have been hidden away in the unassuming home, forced out of hiding by Ralph’s unexpected death. Perhaps we will finally meet this elusive man whose shadow hangs over his wife and child. Considering the White family’s fundamentalist lifestyle, this reimagining hints at tradwife culture and a home ruled by staunch patriarchal control.
Whereas King’s Carrie has been tormented by her classmates since Kindergarten, Flanagan’s Carrie will be a wide-eyed newcomer to public school, eager to make friends and engage with her peers. We glimpse Carrie cozying up to Chris and the equally popular Sue Snell (Siena Agudong) as she navigates a new social scene. Of course, we know this kindness is part of an elaborate plot designed to lull Carrie into a false sense of camaraderie, setting up an atrocious act of public humiliation. These brief moments of feigned compassion put Sue’s own complicity into question. Will Flanagan’s version of the character find the courage to defend Carrie from vicious bullies or will she succumb to peer pressure and join in the mob mentality?
Perhaps the biggest deviation from King’s original text is the relationship between Carrie and her mother. King’s Margaret White is a horrifically abusive religious zealot whose worldview has been hardened by internalized misogyny. She shames Carrie for menstruating, locks her in a closet to “pray,” and regrets not killing her child in infancy. She’s also responsible for Carrie’s social ostracization. Known to berate her neighbors for their “sins,” Margaret forces her daughter to live by an extreme code of conduct and disallows any potential friends lest they corrupt the girl with their worldly ways.
Flanagan’s version of the character is perhaps just as much a victim as Carrie herself. Also trapped inside her home, his Margaret is overly vigilant, her own trauma manifesting as strict control. Describing a more sympathetic depiction of the iconic villain, Flanagan explains, “Our Margaret White is a woman who fiercely loves her daughter and wants to protect her from this world … [She] doesn’t know how to do that and thinks the way to protect her is to close her off; not punitively, but to create this private utopia.”
Despite this potential softening, Sloyan’s Margaret may still have a sharp edge. Though she has appeared in many Flanagan projects, from Hush (2016) to The Fall of the House of Usher (2023), she is best known for her role as the abhorrent Bev Keane in the poignant saga Midnight Mass (2021). Perhaps inspired by King’s Margaret White, Bev is pious and sadistic, willing to punish anyone who does not adhere to her warped approximation of Catholicism.
Flanagan specifically wrote Margaret with Sloyan in mind, likely remembering the actress’s eerie ability to create deceptive empathy and shift our allegiances on a dime.
Expanding Stephen King’s Telekinetic Universe
While most of King’s story deals with an unthinkable prom night in Chamberlain, Maine, large sections of the semi-epistolary novel see experts debating the nature of telekinesis. Do Carrie’s frightening abilities represent a new phase in human evolution or is the prom night carnage merely a fluke? King settles the debate with a shocking denouement in which a young mother recounts her infant daughter’s ability to dangle her crib toys in midair. We’re left to wonder if she will become another tormented girl who surprises the world with metaphysical strength.
Flanagan plans to build out this brief scene while amplifying themes of female empowerment. After introducing our main cast of characters, episode two will open with an unrelated story in which we meet another girl with the TK gene. Each subsequent chapter will expand this world, building out a roster of telekinetic young women. Considering King’s fondness for stories about powerful kids, often described as possessing “the shining,” Constant Readers will no doubt have their eyes peeled for various Easter Eggs nodding to the author’s vast catalogue.
Giving Carrie Her Own Voice
Perhaps the most striking distinction in Flanagan’s new trailer is the extent to which we hear Carrie’s voice. The sneak peek is fully narrated by the titular prom queen as she demands accountability. “I want to know why,” she explains while detailing Chris’ elaborate plan. Aside from the aforementioned coda, King’s book essentially ends with the aftermath of the prom night tragedy, leaving little time for Carrie to reflect. His shifting narrative does bring the reader into her fragile mind, though not before she’s been cowed by relentless cruelty. We watch Carrie sink into bloodthirsty revenge, but never hear a considered desire for justice or repair.
Flanagan’s original monologue allows Carrie to voice her pain and mourn the life she could have had. We’re also treated to a mug shot-style photo of Chris with a bruised and bandaged face, implying that the mean girl will have to answer for her senseless sadism.
Flanagan is known for filling his series adaptations with heartwrenching speeches that cut to the heart of his thematic intentions, and this teaser seems to follow suit. After years of fans, critics, and scholars analyzing Carrie’s pain, perhaps his modern retelling will offer the titular anti-hero a chance to finally speak for herself.
You must be logged in to post a comment.