Editorials
‘Bodycam’ and the Enduring Legacy & Evolution of Slender Man
Spoiler Warning: the following article contains major plot details for Bodycam, which is now available to stream on Shudder.
Ideas evolve over time, and horror fans are more aware of this than most. After all, Friday the 13th first began as an Americanization of whodunnit Giallo pictures and later turned into an episodic rival to Halloween – and who can forget how John Carpenter took Christian Nyby’s classic sci-fi flick about an alien vegetable man and transformed it into a paranoid piece of body-horror cinema?
My point is: while not every change is necessarily positive, narrative evolution has always been an inevitable part of human culture, and this process was only accelerated by the rise of the internet.
In fact, easily accessible online spaces have led to the creation of countless communities obsessed with establishing modern mythologies. These communities often condense entire generations’ worth of narrative adaptation into the span of just a few days, with some of these works of collective fiction (such as the SCP Foundation and even the Backrooms phenomenon) going on to influence mainstream genre fiction in increasingly curious ways.
This is what was going through my head as I watched Brandon Christensen’s Found Footage gem Bodycam during a special theatrical screening last week. While the movie itself is a highly entertaining piece of standalone horror fiction, using the titular bodycam gimmick to great effect as it places viewers in the unenviable shoes of a pair of morally questionable police officers who bite off more than they can chew when they encounter a supernatural cult, there was a certain familiarity to the experience that made it even more enjoyable.
Bodycam
You see, what stood out to me the most about Bodycam was how Brandon (alongside his brother Ryan Christensen) somehow made the best big-screen adaptation of Slender Man despite not actually including the faceless monster in their movie. This peculiarity then got me thinking about how the complicated legacy of Slender Man continues to influence the horror genre despite the once-popular entity now being mostly regarded as a dated relic of the digital past.
But what a past it was!
For those who aren’t aware, Slender Man was originally the result of a horror-themed Photoshop contest on the Something Awful forums. User Victor Surge came up with a series of eerie photographs and accompanying text describing children being abducted by a mysterious faceless figure, with these creative seeds soon blossoming into a terrifying urban legend that grew more complex as fans of the character began adding their own unique spins to the lore. This is how Slender Man became a meme, with the online folklore surrounding the entity inspiring incredibly successful web series (such as Marble Hornets) as well as a viral horror game that helped to revolutionize indie genre releases.
For a while there, it really seemed like the monster had joined the ranks of Dracula and the Wolfman as a folkloric nightmare that would continue to stalk movies, games, and literature for decades to come. Yet, this collective work of fiction would eventually come crashing down as overexposure began to reduce the meme’s scare factor, with this downfall being accelerated by a real-life tragedy involving Slenderverse fans using their obsession with the character as an excuse to hurt others. It soon became taboo to even reference Slender Man media altogether, with the urban legend’s uncomfortable associations even affecting Sylvain White’s cinematic adaptation from 2018 (an alleged good movie that ended up being butchered by the studio).
It now seems like enough time has passed for folks to begin to look back fondly on the heyday of collaborative internet mythology. Filmmakers like Alex Hera have waxed nostalgic about the rise and fall of the original Slenderverse creators, and even the team behind Marble Hornets returned last year with a meta sequel series about an alternate universe version of the main characters once again falling victim to the Operator after visiting an iconic filming location from the original series.
This brings us back to Bodycam and all the ways that the film appears to be connected to the Slenderverse. While there’s no need to do a deep dive into all of the film’s Slender Man references, I think it’s safe to say that these elements were put there intentionally. Not only does the ultimate big bad resemble Victor Surge’s nightmarish creation with its pale complexion and spindly tentacles (not to mention its hunger for children and the eldritch influence it exerts over its followers), but Bodycam even depicts the entity’s thralls almost exactly like the “Proxies” featured in the Slender Man ARGs that once dominated the internet.
The supernatural forces at play even make the cameras glitch out almost exactly like Jay’s footage in the aforementioned Marble Hornets, and don’t even get me started on the recurring graffiti that looks like an alternate universe version of the classic Operator symbol.
Details like these seem like they were deliberately placed by the filmmakers in order to pay homage to the stories that inspired their latest project, and from “The Demon of Memes” episode of Evil to the Rosswood miniseries, I’d argue that this reverence towards the early days of the Slender Man phenomenon is something of a recurring trend in modern horror. This makes a lot of sense, as we’re finally seeing a new generation of filmmakers who actually grew up alongside the mythos.
Sure, plenty of horror critics have (rightly) criticized the Slenderverse for its repetitive tropes and entry-level takes on Lovecraftian terror (and that’s not even bringing up valid criticism concerning the fandom’s questionable actions in the real world), but original projects like Bodycam serve as further proof that the Slender Man lives on as something of an unseen influence hovering over the entire horror genre – a position that I think is appropriate considering the entity’s description as a “living meme”.
At the end of the day, it’s doubtful that the Slenderverse itself will make a full recovery (especially since younger internet users are now more familiar with recent creations like Trevor Henderson’s Sirenhead), but it doesn’t really need to. The idea of a viral entity spreading through cult-like followers and pulling strings from behind the scenes continues to be a poignant parable for modern times, so it stands to reason that we’ll continue to see Slender-Man-inspired media for years to come. However, while I can’t wait to see how this new generation of filmmakers manages to update our favorite internet-borne monster, I think it’s worth looking back on the online scares of yesteryear as both an inspiration and a potential warning about the dangers of memetic horror.
After all, you can’t kill an idea – especially one with a mind of its own.
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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