Despite technological and cultural shifts over the decades, the hells of being a teen remain largely unchanged by time. That begs the obvious question preceding the fourth adaptation of Stephen King’s Carrie (five if we’re counting The Rage: Carrie 2): why? Series creator, writer, and showrunner Mike Flanagan answers that question with a reimagining that not only brings the telekinetic teen into the digital world, but gives the entire town complex interiority that deepens the tragedy. In doing so, though, it loses sight of the core text by season’s end in its fervent bid to deliver compelling character arcs.
Flanagan’s Carrie adheres to the basic brushstrokes of King’s classic, but only barely. This vision of Carrie White, played endearingly by Summer H. Howell, is a doe-eyed sweetheart more outgoing than her previous counterparts. Her devoutly religious and misanthropic mother, Margaret White (Samantha Sloyan), isn’t a monster but a victim herself. Here, it’s her overly protective, motherly instincts while navigating a modern world that lead to missteps. A tragic construction site suddenly thrusts the sheltered Whites into society, where Carrie finds herself navigating the hierarchy of high school.
It’s here that Flanagan dedicates his focus; Carrie spends a lot of time with not just Carrie’s peers but the Ewen High School faculty as well. Flanagan explores the nuances of teaching during a volatile time, where social media wreaks devastating havoc upon the lives of students and teachers alike. Rita Desjardin (Amber Midthunder) isn’t just the supportive teacher attempting to protect the vulnerable Carrie from her callous peers. She’s also a young woman trying to find her footing in a new career and new town. Matthew Lillard endears as the earnest principal trying his best while dealing with unruly parents, though it’s Tim Bagley who shines as a beacon of warmth as Ewen’s unwaveringly kind guidance counselor.
While Sue Snell (Siena Agudong) becomes a more fully realized, morally complex protagonist more adjacent to Carrie’s story, it’s popular mean girl Chris Hargensen (Alison Thornton) who receives the biggest narrative transformation. Thornton is incredible at humanizing one of King’s most vicious bullies, helped by a troubled home life. Though Flanagan affords sympathy for this villain, it’s also one of the series’ biggest missteps. It’s a tall ask of viewers to witness prolonged torment inflicted over eight episodes, and Chris is suitably nasty. It’s understandable why the catty mean girl is lashing out, but it didn’t soften this viewer to her cruelty in any way. Not helping is just how effective Howell is as the unwaveringly pure and disarming is as Carrie; the iconic shower scene becomes even more barbarous in the age of social media.
As a Constant Reader and constant King adaptor, Flanagan also expands on the telekinesis thread teased by the novel’s ending. Likely banking on subsequent seasons, though, this important subplot is relegated mostly to the background as a mystery driver that only fully roars to life in the season’s rushed final two episodes. So much time is spent with these characters that Carrie nearly forgets to wrap up, rushing through the prom to deliver important developments for the series’ future.
Carrie is at its best and most compelling when focused on exploring the very human failures of adults and institutions. Carrie is put through the wringer, ensuring no shortage of heartbreak and drama, but Carrie paints a persuasive picture of a bustling town full of people so caught up in their own baggage that kids easily slip through the cracks. But in doing so, Carrie White winds up losing even more agency than before, making her calamitous story all the more painful to see unfold.
Telekinetic subplots involving mystery players and the fervent desire to explain her bully’s motives dangle Flanagan’s overarching vision, but by season’s end Carrie feels more passive puppet than tragically empowered. The cast is incredible, but Carrie‘s parts are stronger than its not quite cohesive whole.
This new adaptation saves its most radical departures for last, setting up a bizarre continuation not earned by the eight-ep first season. Flanagan’s trademark earnestness and empathy, combined with his talented cast and crew, ensure deep rooting interest in Ewen’s residents despite an inevitable outcome, but it’s not (yet) as radical a departure as expected. It’s way more effective as a teen drama than a horror show, though, and there’s no tangible sense of peace or closure after enduring an entire season of Carrie’s torture.
Carrie begins streaming on Prime Video on October 7.
