Editorials
Not Every Asymmetrical Horror Game Is a ‘Dead By Daylight’ Ripoff
Let me preface this with an important disclaimer: I’m a huge Dead By Daylight fan. In fact, the very first article I’d written for Bloody Disgusting is a piece highlighting its enduring success. I’ve been playing it since 2016, back before it even landed its first classic iconic horror character with Michael Myers, and I believe Behaviour Interactive is largely responsible for putting asymmetrical horror on the mainstream map. When most people hear “asymmetrical horror,” Dead By Daylight likely is the first thing they think of if they’re familiar with the genre. Despite this, I’ve become frustrated with what appears to be a cyclical trap that large swaths of horror fans fall into every single time a new asymmetrical horror game is released:
“It’s another Dead By Daylight ripoff!”
I remember noticing it as early as Gun Media’s Friday the 13th: The Game. Despite an extremely different gameplay format–seven survivors vs. one killer, multiple escape routes, the ability of the survivors to defeat the killer, a completely different tone–I saw discussions online about how it was “trying to be” Dead By Daylight, that it was a “less fun” Dead By Daylight, and “copying” Dead By Daylight’s formula.
And I have always been confused by it. Was it because Friday centered around one of the most iconic figures in horror with Jason Voorhees during the same time that Dead By Daylight was adding characters like Leatherface and Freddy Krueger to its roster? It couldn’t be that Dead By Daylight invented asymmetrical horror–after all, it wasn’t even the first well-known horror game to implement the genre. For many people (myself included), their first foray into asymmetrical horror was Left 4 Dead’s versus mode, where one team played humans trying to escape and one team played the undead trying to kill them. So why is it that Dead By Daylight seems to have a monopoly over the genre?
When a new multiplayer first-person shooter comes out, people don’t instantly brand it a Call of Duty or Modern Warfare rip off. There are myriad 2D fighting games being released that aren’t instantly referred to as Mortal Kombat rip offs. Even looking at horror in particular–games where you have a gun in a zombie apocalypse aren’t instantly referred to as worse takes on Resident Evil. So why is it that almost every single time an asymmetrical horror game is released, the masses descend upon it and immediately use Dead By Daylight as the benchmark of whether or not it’s “good” or just an unsuccessful attempt at copying it? It doesn’t seem like a beneficial discussion or comparison anymore–it just feels like people have decided for themselves that asymmetrical horror equals Dead By Daylight, and anyone who tries experimenting with the genre shouldn’t even bother.
I was especially confused when I saw the comparison being made between Dead By Daylight and Saber Interactive’s Evil Dead: The Game. Say what you will about Evil Dead, but it took asymmetrical horror and made some genuinely fun and innovative spins on it that I hadn’t seen in any other games at the time. In Evil Dead, you’re not even trying to escape if you’re on the survivor team–you’re going head to head with the player on the killer side, trying to be the first to destroy one another. It couldn’t be further from the gameplay format of Dead By Daylight, and yet the prevailing conversation, you guessed it, “Will it be enough to dethrone Dead By Daylight? Does it stack up to Dead By Daylight?”
The reason I get so frustrated by all of this is because I’ve been watching the asymmetrical horror space closely for years, and I’ve been keen to see how it’s been evolving and building upon itself. And it’s exciting! There’s an entire generation being introduced to characters like Pinhead, Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, and so many more that are being resurfaced in these games that may have otherwise fallen under the radar. You could argue that Friday the 13th: The Game even helped reignite–and shined a spotlight on–the infamous ongoing legal battle related to IP of the Friday franchise.
Yet when new asymmetrical horror games that center these characters are announced–take Gun Media’s The Texas Chain Saw Massacre for example–the excitement surrounding it is diminished by the crowds of people who implore “Well, it could be good, but it’s not Dead By Daylight…” Here you have a game with a beloved IP, with a character as prominent as Leatherface, crafted so delicately to not only be faithful to its roots, but also just be fun to play…and people can’t seem to get past the arbitrary parameters of how it stacks up against Dead By Daylight. I’ve invested hours that amount to entire days of my life into Texas, and I agree, it’s not Dead By Daylight, but I see where it has drawn its inspiration, and I can celebrate that it’s an innovative take on the genre. I still play Dead By Daylight, but I opt to play and enjoy Texas for different reasons–isn’t that how every other game in every other genre works?
The reality is that every game in the asymmetrical multiplayer space is looking at its peers and drawing inspiration from them to push the genre forward. Even with Dead By Daylight, I’ve noticed some great improvements and additions to the gameplay that I’d noticed in other asymmetrical horror games first–the fact that the survivor hud now shows the activities of other survivors (whether they’re healing, repairing, etc.)? I first noticed that in Hellbent Games’ Video Horror Society before it was eventually a Dead By Daylight feature. Even the new Prop Hunt mode in Dead By Daylight Mobile is exactly like FNTASTIC’s Propnite. Do I think it’s wrong that Dead By Daylight is drawing inspiration from its peers? Absolutely not! It’s exciting to see the genre build and expand upon itself. Yet when both Video Horror Society and Propnite were released, the usual crowds were quick to chalk them up to less successful takes on Dead By Daylight’s format. We should be able to extend some grace to other games in this space–especially when they’re implementing features that are moving the genre forward.
Asymmetrical horror will always be synonymous with Dead By Daylight–there’s no doubt about that, and I don’t dispute that it has been a trailblazer for the genre for good reason. I don’t think Dead By Daylight is going anywhere anytime soon, and I think because of that, we’re doing a disservice to a lot of really innovative and aspirational projects by not removing our bias and giving them a shot. I just can’t help but think of all of the meaningful critiques and discussions we lose out on by only using Dead By Daylight as our frame of reference. The genre will only continue to grow as much as we allow it to, and to that end, I encourage you to go into asymmetrical horror that isn’t Dead By Daylight with an open mind. Enjoy those games for what they are!
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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