Editorials
The Horror of Interplay’s Brutal Post-Nuclear RPG Classic ‘Fallout’
It’s obvious to say that the Fallout series has come a long way since it first hit PCs back in 1997. The series’ appeal has grown considerably since that time, as has the RPG genre itself. Still, even with the modern entries and their appeal, there will always be something special about the original Fallout games by Interplay and their internal development division, Black Isle Studios. While not outright horror, there was enough grittiness in the original Fallout, not to mention the over-the-top violence, dark humour and horror elements, that appealed to those looking for something bleaker with their roleplaying games. It’s that bleakness that still keeps players coming back all these years later.
The events preceding Fallout had a global nuclear war devastating the world and destroying modern civilization in October 2077. Those who survived the war took shelter in underground Vaults. Nearly a century later, you are the Vault Dweller, a human born and raised in Vault 13, which is located in Southern California. Vault 13 has a crisis on its hands, as the controller chip for their water purification system has malfunctioned, resulting in the vault no longer being able to recycle its water. You have been elected by the Vault Overseer to travel to one of the other vaults to find a replacement. You only have 150 days in order to do so, before Vault 13’s water reserves run dry. Along the way, you’ll encounter other vaults and settlements, including the various factions found in Southern California such as the Brotherhood of Steel, the Children of the Cathedral, and the Super Mutants, led by The Master.
Even before getting into the gameplay, the thing that immediately hits many players upon loading Fallout is its presentation and atmosphere. It’d be a crime if you didn’t mention Ron Perlman’s narration during the opening cinematic with his iconic line about war never changing. The delivery of his exposition is enough to paint a harsh and unforgiving world before even starting the game. Delving into the game’s environments, the retro-futuristic art style of the 1950s merged with the grimy, broken feel of a world devastated by nuclear war to create a world that is fascinating as it is hostile. The game also drew upon films such as Mad Max 2 to add to its post-nuclear look and feel with the burned-out cars, leather jackets with and spiked shoulder pad, corrugated metal shacks for dwellings and so on.
Accentuating that hostile feeling is the brutal over-the-top violence in Fallout, which definitely fit the horror quotient for many. If juxtaposing The Ink Spots’ rendition of “Maybe” with the violent news footage of US forces executing a Canadian citizen during the opening cinematic wasn’t jarring enough, it was the violence in the gameplay. During the game itself, you had characters having their upper torso blown to shreds by a well-place shot from an SMG or minigun, exploding like a “blood sausage” (a phrase from the game’s advertisement, and a reference to Wasteland), having their flesh burnt off before their skeleton crumbles into a pile of dust, or being reduced to a pile of goo. Then you had the incredibly gory unique death animations for certain characters. If that wasn’t enough, Fallout allowed players the one taboo in many media, which was the ability to kill children. Of course, if you did it, you were given the Childkiller reputation, which resulted in huge penalties for your character.
Complementing all of this was Fallout‘s equally desolate-sounding score by Mark Morgan. Once again, here’s a soundtrack that perfectly enhances the atmosphere and visuals, creating a great sense of foreboding, while also upping the tension whenever you had a tough task ahead of you. It certainly wouldn’t feel out of place if it were used in a film like The Hills Have Eyes that emphasized the remoteness of its setting, while also hinting at the unknown danger that lay ahead.
Of course, none of this mattered if the story and gameplay weren’t up to snuff. And yes, it’s as potentially unforgiving and tense as the world of Fallout itself, with those horror overtones coming out on more than a few occasions. The obvious one starts with the Ghouls, the humans mutated by radiation who reside in Necropolis, also known as the City of the Dead. Given the viewpoint from which the game is played, you don’t actually get to see a Ghoul “up close” until you converse with Set, the leader of Necropolis. With the loss of skin, exposed muscle, heavy scar tissue and raspy voice, it’s pretty easy to see why they’re referred to as zombies by non-Ghouls (though they aren’t actually dead). The area’s set of related quests take you through Necropolis and into its sewer systems, which thanks again to the foreboding atmosphere and hostility of the locals (and their factions), makes it one of the more horror-filled places in all of Fallout.
And then there’s the Mariposa Military Base, home of the Super Mutants and their leader, The Master. Again, you don’t get an up close look at the Super Mutants until you meet the Lieutenant of the Master’s Army. While not as grotesque as a Ghoul, the appearance of the Lieutenant certainly fits the idea of a monster. None of that comes close to The Master, however. The amalgamation of flesh and technology, The Master’s appearance is appropriately over-the-top, but is still horrific. Matching The Master’s appearance is the way he speaks, with one robotic voice, two male and one female, teetering on the edge of ridiculousness while also being frightening. Equally frightening is the The Master’s ability to penetrate the mental defenses of others, preying on their fears. As a result, players would need to seek out a psychic nullifier if they chose to fight The Master. And should players fight The Master, they’re rewarded with another disturbingly violent and over-the-top death animation should they succeed.
The original Fallout didn’t rely solely on horror to appeal to gamers, but it was a vital component that made its way into several aspects of the game that helped turn it into the success that it still enjoys 25 years later. The later Fallout games, regardless of whether it was the original Interplay games or Bethesda’s current offerings, continued the same idea of courting aspects of horror without fully committing to them. Would a full-on embrace of horror make for a good Fallout game? That’s debatable, but the horror aspects would certainly be missed if they were dropped entirely, as it’s clear how much repeated trips to the wasteland benefit from slipping on occasion into the genre.
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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