Editorials
The Early Aughts ‘Prom Night’ Remake Skewers The Original Slasher Formula For The Worse
Are 2000s horror remakes as bad as their Rotten Tomatoes scores suggest? Dark Castle Entertainment’s unfairly maligned Thir13en Ghosts sits at a 9%; Platinum Dunes’ fantastic Friday the 13th reboot is drowning under the puke-green threshold at 25%. Tomatometer critics of the aughts held a grudge against horror in general, especially horror remakes.
It’s a phenomenon I don’t shy away from discussing here in the column, but let’s be honest, some releases of the period deserved their beatdowns.
Nelson McCormick’s Prom Night (2008) is the kind of no-good horror remake that fuels biases against the practice. A 9% critics’ score is generous, based on who you ask (me). Maybe you’re thinking, it can’t possibly be worse than some of the remake swill that I’ve already analyzed here on Bloody Disgusting … right? Don’t get me wrong, it’s no April Fool’s Day. But it’s also an insult to Paul Lynch’s Canuxploitation original from 1980, in that it doesn’t even deign to be a slasher.
Title recognition gets fans through the door, but disappointment sets in early once audiences realize there’s no mystery to solve or backbone to brag about.
The Approach
Schlock peddler J. S. Cardone scripts an updated Prom Night that doesn’t care to indulge much of what makes William Gray’s initial blueprint, and therefore Paul Lynch’s source, a cult classic. It’s silly in a braindead Nu-Horror way, communicating all the wrong lessons learned from past horror creators. Cardone ditches whodunit suspense in the opener, and doubles down only a few scenes later. You know, from the beginning, who the killer is. Bodies start mounting WAY quicker (not around the hour-plus mark), but more action somehow produces a lethargic drag of a stalker picture.
Brittany Snow stars as Donna Keppel, an Oregonian teen who watches her mother get murdered in front of her eyes. The killer, teacher Richard Fenton (Johnathon Schaech), professes his hot-for-student love for Donna and swears they’ll never be separated. Fast-forward three years, and Donna is gearing up for every budding young adult’s dream: senior prom. Kids hoist kegs through multi-story windows; everyone arrives at a swanky hotel for a red carpet entrance. Donna, her nice-guy boyfriend Bobby (Scott Porter), besties Claire (Jessica Stroup) and Lisa (Dana Davis), football star Ronnie (Collins Pennie), and Claire’s drunk gnat of a boyfriend, Michael (Kelly Blatz), are ready to kiss this chapter of their lives goodbye.
But, wait for it, they’re not alone.
Guess who shows up. Richard! Before anyone can even obnoxiously shout-dance to “Sweet Caroline,” there’s a shot of a now clean-shaven Richard on the premises. For some reason, Cardone and McCormick think there’s value in having their villain be in plain sight for the entire movie. Detective Winn (Idris Elba) isn’t very good at protecting Donna, along with his partner, Detective Nash—a baby-faced James Ransone (RIP). It’s such an odd choice; a monumental risk that doesn’t pay off even for a second.
Does It Work?
It’s not just one decision that crashes Prom Night; blame is everywhere. However, the familiarization of Richard Fenton from square one cuts any slasher intrigue off at the knees. Goodbye, red herrings. Be gone, investigation tension. Richard waltzes to the check-in desk, Ronnie accidentally points the psycho to their floor, and he immediately snags a master key by killing a maid. There’s no struggle for Richard; he’s gifted his way back into Donna’s life. From here, it’s just a not-so-bloody waiting game as Donna’s friends venture one-by-one to the room for various reasons, and are killed by Richard in PG-13 approved stab attacks—big freakin’ yawn.
Frankly, McCormick approaches Prom Night (2008) more like a Fatal Attraction, evoking thrillers about obsession, danger, and lust. It’s a piss-poor slasher film because it doesn’t pay the subgenre any mind. Lynch has way more fun decapitating cafeteria bullies with mighty unibrows, keeping his glittery masked axe murderer in the shadows, where McCormick presumes there’s more to fear when staring down Schaech’s cold, fixated eyes. He’s wrong, unfortunately, because in revealing Richard, all expectations are now evident. Richard will knife innocents to death, Richard will encounter Donna, and either one of them will die—but let’s be honest, in a PG-13 theatrical Screen Gems package? We’re just waiting for Donna to exorcise her demon (the dead way).
It begs the age-old remake question—what value does your remake bring to the original’s concept? There’s nothing reminiscent of Gray’s oddball of a revenge massacre that, itself, calls back to dynamite Canadian slashers like My Bloody Valentine and Black Christmas. The concept of setting your horror tale during prom has been retread a billion times, to the point where there’s no uniqueness to revamping Prom Night if you’re not going to abide by its premise. The nostalgia backfires monumentally, inviting plot comparisons that would never be in the film’s favor.
The Result
Prom Night (2008), frankly, stinks. We’re held hostage inside a generic Hollywoodized school dance, complete with a corny DJ on a balcony stage, lifeless outlines of hallway stereotypes (sup, Kellan Lutz), and the gooniest affinity for prom night’s milestone afterglow. Cardone’s screenplay is incorrigibly sappy: if he can’t write any scares into the film, he’ll at least attempt lazy emotional pops before characters meet Richard’s blade. Bobby’s constant reassurances that he and Donna will survive their long-distance college relationship, Ronnie pulling an engagement ring from his pocket, or Lisa’s insistence that everyone will stay friends. It’s all rigid stereotypes crammed into tuxedos and a parade of meaningless deaths.
There’s more personality in Jamie Lee Curtis’ epic Saturday Night Fever-y dance number for 1980’s Prom Night than there is in the entirety of 2008’s Prom Night. Scenes play out like stock footage of “fun party dance floor” or “pretty teens prom night,” running through the same droll mechanics as Detective Winn scampers around, trying not to alarm anyone about Richard’s likely presence at the hotel. Cue Donna’s Uncle Jack (Linden Ashby) tearily reasoning with Aunt Karen (Jessalyn Gilsig) about why he didn’t pull his niece from the probably doomed event, because he didn’t want to ruin her therapeutic progress (Chun-Li and Mulan actress Ming-Na Wen plays Donna’s doc for a hot second).
Reason after reason keeps Donna in peril purely for the movie’s entertainment, which there is none to speak of—and then it keeps going. This movie is like being dragged across concrete at 2 miles an hour, and being told, in excruciating detail, about every bump and point you’re about to encounter because no one here believes in anticipation.
I can’t comprehend how someone could watch Prom Night (1980) and be inspired to regurgitate something so uninspiringly vanilla. You watch a movie with disco mania, car explosions, and scintillation … and the best you can do is a jealous serial killer deleting cute pics of Donna and the creatively named “Bobby Jones” on a digital camera? Prom Night (2008) doesn’t deserve its Bloc Party needle drop. Nor Brittany Snow, stuck with dialogue that makes me want to stab my eardrums with a shimmery tiara. It probably wouldn’t even take a half-assed argument to convince me Prom Night (2008) is AI-generated, it’s so tropey and algorithmic. Are we sure this isn’t a VH1 made-for-television horror movie? (I can’t even namecheck MTV since My Super Psycho Sweet 16 has more moxie and terror.)
The Lesson
The in-your-face lesson? Make a good damn movie. The deeper lesson, in terms of remake potential? Display even the most basic understanding of what makes the original you’re referencing tick. We just had this conversation in my The Strangers examination last month. McCormick and Cardone can’t luck themselves into even the slightest tingle of fear. I’m at a loss—My Bloody Valentine 3D was able to drop a bombshell reveal despite being based on a film that, itself, contains a nasty and memorable twist. You’ve got no excuse, Prom Night—you didn’t even try.
So what did we learn?
- Turns out slashers based on human killers aren’t all that fun when the bad guy is unmasked in the first scene.
- Not all 2000s horror remakes are underappreciated or unfairly criticized.
- Remakes by name invite unavoidable comparisons you’d better be ready to answer for.
- The Canuxploitation to PG-13 Americanized remake pipeline ain’t that impressive.
Woof! Maybe I’m just the jaded kid from a small suburban town who fled and never looked back, but Prom Night is some of the hokiest, most cringe-worthy prom-o-ganda I’ve endured in quite some time. It’s got a “Hello, fellow kids!” energy, like a teen flick written by a, well, senior citizen.
Congratulations to those who might feel the warm nostalgia of high school sweethearts beating the odds, or friend groups never losing touch, but for the rest of us? It’s not even the butter-knife-edge horror that possesses; it’s the diet Hallmark vibes that had me wincing the hardest.
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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