“Carrie” Is An Effective Modern Update, But Far From Mike Flanagan’s Best

Given his extensive history with the works of Stephen King, it was perhaps inevitable that Mike Flanagan would one day take on the tale of telekinetic teenage trauma, “Carrie.” Flanagan has dipped into both King’s more famously frightening works with his masterpiece “Doctor Sleep” — the sequel to “The Shining” — and his less classically horrifying “The Life of Chuck.” And although Brian De Palma’s Sissy Spacek-starring movie version of “Carrie” has entered the realm of horror classics, it’s far from the only adaptation of King’s debut novel. There was the 2002 television film, Kimberly Peirce’s 2013 film remake (starring Chloë Grace Moretz and Julianne Moore), and of course, the legendary (underrated!) flop Broadway musical from 1988. Now, everyone’s favorite prom queen has made the leap to the trendiest form of adaptation: the miniseries. Gone are the frizzy hairdos and unfortunately patterned costumes of the 1976 film, as showrunner Flanagan has smartly moved “Carrie” into her scariest setting yet: a contemporary high school filled with social media-obsessed Zoomers.

If that sounds (to affect the parlance of the youth and risk feeling unc) cringe, worry not. The bullying that is so integral to the plot transposes quite cleanly to cyberbullying. After the infamous locker room incident that ends with Carrie (Summer H. Howell) being pelted with feminine hygiene products, mean girl blueprint Chris Hargensen (Alison Thornton) creates a Gossip Girl-style anonymous Instagram profile named “Carrie Red” – a play on Carrie’s last name, White. Soon enough, the account surges in popularity throughout the school, with students submitting embarrassing photos and anecdotes about many of their fellow learners and even some of the teachers. In this version, Carrie is but one of the many victims of Chris’s vitriol that superspreads through the school. Yet Carrie’s name and pained face in the account’s profile picture tie her inextricably to the account as the origin of the school’s emotional bloodletting.

But that’s not the only deviation from the details of King’s novel. The series begins not with Carrie and her mother Margaret (played by Flanagan favorite Samantha Sloyan) living in near isolation. Instead, we get a glimpse of Carrie’s father (Tahmoh Penikett) before he perishes in a workplace accident. This leads social workers to find the mother and daughter sheltered in their home and discover that the youngest White has never left the house for her first 15 years of life. One of the authority figures describes their living situation as “a cult of three.” As viewers will expect, Carrie was raised in a house of extreme religious devotion, having been led to believe not that the Bible is the only book worth reading, but that it is the only book that exists. (A friendly neighbor is shown to be responsible for Carrie’s voracious bookwormery as she grows up.) Upon their discovery, Margaret is informed that Carrie must attend the local public school, which leads to the inevitable culture shock between Carrie and her fellow teenagers, with whom the only thing she has in common is her age.

The series continues to tweak the specifics of King’s story, often to update them to reflect today’s high school experience. For example, Margaret remains overbearing, overprotective, and overzealous, but rather than the shrieking characterization that Piper Laurie brought to life wonderfully in the original film, this Margaret is intense and laser-focused in her mothering of Carrie. Here, she’s the bane of the modern educator: a so-called parental rights activist who is obsessed with controlling every detail of how her daughter is educated. To that end, Samantha Sloyan trades in the Bible-thumping and screaming condemnations for something more grounded. But don’t worry, she’s still the kind of person you wouldn’t want to be stuck talking to at a party (as if she’d even be seen at such a thing). She’s unafraid to tell anyone she meets about what she deems to be their moral degradation, including customers at her new, government-mandated retail job. Sloyan — as always, when working on Flanagan projects — brings a compelling fierceness to her role. Just one intimidating glance from her is enough to frighten anyone around her, and by extension, the viewers.

Summer H. Howell is no stranger to the world of horror. She made her film debut before she turned 10 in Don Mancini’s series-best “Curse of Chucky,” and reprised her role in its sequel “Cult of Chucky.” Here, she’s utterly sympathetic and completely charming as Carrie herself. Far from the meek girl we’ve seen before in previous adaptations, Howell brings a guileless confidence to Carrie, portraying her as a girl unblemished by a cynical world who still sees the best in people. During her more emotional moments, Howell has a tendency to default to a trembling vocal pattern and haltingly repetitious line readings, which are not the most inspired of acting choices. Yet it is impossible not to root for Carrie from her first appearance to the series finale.

Matthew Lillard — a new addition to the Flanagan family (the Flamily?) after a brief but memorable role in “The Life of Chuck” — plays the harried school principal Henry Grayle. For someone who made a name for himself as the kind of student who likely spent a lot of time in the principal’s office in “Scream,” Lillard makes for a surprisingly believable school authority figure. He’s calm and assured, even when facing the caricature of a bothersome parent that is Margaret White. As gym teacher Rita Desjardin, the other notable adult figure in Carrie’s life, Amber Midthunder is positively winning. It’s easy to root for the new teacher who seems only a few years out of school herself. But while her low energy might be inviting to students seeking a non-judgmental ear, it doesn’t make her the most compelling screen presence.

The true stand-out of the cast is Alison Thornton as Chris Hargensen. Her character benefits the most from the extended runtime of a miniseries; she’s given a fully realized character arc, where we see her go from a popular rich girl with few enemies to a girl who turns to bullying because she has nothing left to lose as her life continually implodes. The series doesn’t excuse her actions, but it does give them more context than ever before, even managing to make the character relatable at times. Who among us hasn’t participated in the modern antagonizing that Chris initially engages in, like sharing a social post with friends with the intention of making fun of the poster? It certainly helps that Thornton’s performance is fantastic. In one early scene, after Chris tries to include Carrie in a social plan only to be told that the new student doesn’t have a cell phone, Thornton asks her with a smile, “What am I gonna do with you?” She manages to pack a strange mix of social hierarchy-fueled contempt and genuine pity into this one line reading, and that layered energy permeates throughout the series. And later, when Chris pushes her bullying well past the point of acceptability, she carries out her villainous acts with a pained feeling of not being able to stop, as if it’s the only thing she has left after her life has otherwise completely fallen apart. Thornton is a revelation, turning what should be an unforgivable villain into a tragic figure brought down by her own hand. In an era where every interaction is approached with immediate suspicion and cynicism is wielded not as a reaction but as a preemptive protection, the children of today have become hardened and cruel as a default. Chris epitomizes this troubling social trend, and Thornton makes for the perfect singular personification of a generation toughened and damaged by their uber-connectivity.

As the series goes along, some newer story beats enter the mix with mixed results. The conclusion in particular takes some swings that are admirable for their existence but not entirely successful in their execution. And while “Carrie” has never been scary, per se, this adaptation barely even tries to delve into anything resembling horror. It’s instead closer to a supernatural teen drama. As far as Mike Flanagan projects go, it’s not the most memorable because it fails to tap into his best assets as a creator. Flanagan’s specialty is in constructing horrifying moments that are supported by deep pathos, and that quality is missing from “Carrie.” But thanks to new approaches to the story’s villains and an effective update of the tactics used to terrorize the titular character, the miniseries manages to find a worthwhile new angle to the classic story. And don’t worry: there’s still plenty of pig’s blood to be spilled.