Editorials
“Are You Even a Horror Fan?” On Toxic Fandom and Gatekeeping in the World of Horror
Fandom can be a funny thing. People become very protective of the things they love. As horror fans, most of us have likely had to defend our love of the genre a time or two…hundred, which can cause some jading over time. This is perfectly understandable considering the deep chords that horror has the ability to strike in each of us. Our passions are stirred by anything that appears to question or threaten the genre we love. Passion is not the problem. The problem is taking that passion to a place of exclusion for the sake of preserving some sort of “purity” in horror fandom.
So, what is a horror fan? What does a fan look like? Is there an ultimate expression of horror fandom? Horror is a big tent capable of housing a vast fan base and a massive variety of people. Collectors, cosplayers, and convention die-hards. Deep cut devotees, indie darlings, and those who only check out the big franchises. Edgelords, scaredy-cats, and everything in between. I count my own horror fandom as beginning before I could even see a horror film. I’m old enough to remember a time when the VCR was a fairly expensive luxury. But, in the years before my family owned one, I discovered and became obsessed with the Universal Monsters through library books. When I was about four, my mom bought me a Famous Monsters activity book, which I still own. When we finally did get a VCR, one of the very first movies I watched on it was the 1931 Frankenstein… and my fandom was cemented.
Truly, there is no one way to love horror. That is obvious, right? But if that is the case, why do gatekeepers so often come out of the woodwork? Of course, most fans are wonderful, compassionate, and welcoming people who form a diverse community of misfits. There are two kinds of fandom, however, that concern me. One is largely an annoyance while the other has proven to have a profound impact on movies and the creators behind them.
The first, the annoyance, are what could be called exclusionists or gatekeepers. These are the ones that try to prove their credibility by showing up in Twitter mentions to tell people they’re stupid for liking a particular movie or weak for finding a film (almost any film it seems) scary or disturbing. Recently, a video rife with misguided vitriol and laughable inaccuracies attacking a person who expressed how frightening a particular film was to them went viral. It was intended to be the first in a series called “You’re Not a Horror Fan.” I don’t intent to rub salt in the wound of that particular exchange (okay, maybe a little salt is warranted), but needless to say, the poster of that particular video was dragged over the coals. The problem with the video was not the passion behind it but the gatekeeping mentality; the “you’re not a real horror fan unless” of it all.
It is important to keep in mind that these guys (and yes, it is almost always guys) are relatively harmless. As aggravating as they can be, they have no real power. They can buzz around our ears and the internet all they want, but they can’t do anything to actually exclude anyone from the horror community. All they can do is buzz, not actually sting. Most of the time they just hang out in their corner of the tent and whine to each other. Have at it, bros, just don’t be surprised when most refuse to listen as we head to our dark web suppliers for copies of Cannibal Holocaust (or we can just go find it on Amazon).
Far more dangerous are the Annie Wilkeses of this world. When Stephen King created this iconic character, he may have had other things in mind, but she has become an apt metaphor of modern toxic fandom. Now, no one is saying that these “number one fans” are literally kidnapping creators, strapping them to beds, and forcing them to make art that conforms to their liking. There is a real-world version of this, however, that has become all too apparent over the past several years. Fan backlash has had an extremely powerful effect on the ways some movie franchises have been produced going forward. The biggest examples are the #ReleasetheSyderCut movement, the fallout after Rian Johnson’s The Last Jedi, and most closely related to the horror world, the controversy over Paul Feig’s Ghostbusters reboot.
Each of these situations pressured studio executives to change course. In the case of Justice League, the film, reworked and finished by Joss Whedon after tragedy compelled Zack Snyder to leave the project, was considered a critical and financial disappointment. In the past, that would have been that and life would have gone on. The fan-led hashtag campaign, however, eventually encouraged Warner Brothers to sink a great deal of money into allowing Snyder to complete his original vision, an unusual gamble which paid off. I don’t begrudge a filmmaker being given the chance to complete their film, but I was disturbed by the way it came about. Ultimately, rather than appeasing fans it emboldened them to start a new #RestoretheSnyderverse campaign.
Both Ghostbusters (2016) and The Last Jedi were praised by critics and performed well at the worldwide box office. It was the backlash by a particularly vocal element of the fanbases of these franchises, however, that caused huge fallouts for both at the studio level. At Lucasfilm, the original directors of both Solo and the final installment of the Skywalker Saga were replaced with “safer” bets, likely leading to far more bland results in both cases. Also, a planned new trilogy created by The Last Jedi director Rian Johnson was quietly cancelled. Ghostbusters made over $229 million worldwide, but was considered a failure, partly because of the fan backlash (plus that massive budget). Sequel plans to this reimagining were scrapped in favor of a second sequel to the original film, the just-released Ghostbusters: Afterlife. In the cases mentioned here, these filmmakers have generally landed on their feet, but what happens to the new or diverse voice who has not yet gained Hollywood clout and is silenced for good by fan backlash?
I have been very vocal in various places about my concern over creators being shackled and forced to bend to the demands of the fanbase. I feel the final result of this sort of “filmmaking by committee” or fan consensus almost always results in underwhelming, bland movies. We love these IPs because the originals were daring, often breakthroughs, in film. George Lucas’s Star Wars changed the face of cinema because it was different from anything else around at the time. Horror-comedy was never the same after the fierce originality of the original Ghostbusters. Yes, of course we want to experience that lightning in a bottle effect again, but it simply will not happen under the kinds of circumstances that have been created.
Luckily, horror has been largely untouched by this kind of fandom up to this point, but I fear it could happen at any moment. I plead with fellow horror fans that we resist the urge. Ultimately it only benefits movie fans when filmmakers are given the freedom to try something new. Sometimes it connects, sometimes it doesn’t, but occasionally it’s a home run. Innovative filmmakers need to be given the space and opportunity to take those wild swings. When they do, we all end up winning.
So, back to my original question, are you really even a horror fan? The term fan is, of course, derived from the word fanatic, implying a deep love for something. Ironically, the litmus test for true fandom in recent years seems to have evolved (or devolved) into how much you hate something. Maybe it’s time that we turn that around again, that we express our love for the genre in whatever way we see fit. Better yet, forget about keeping fandom “pure” and let others express it how they see fit as well. That is what I mean by this big tent community of horror fans. So, whether you fall asleep watching A Serbian Film or hide your eyes during the clown scene in Poltergeist, the criterion for horror fandom is simple and only requires answering one question: do you love horror? Whatever form your expression of that love takes, if the answer is “yes,” then you are a horror fan.
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.
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