Stephen King’s Carrie has been adapted so many times that, at this point, I’m beginning to wonder if Hollywood has some sort of contractual obligation to dump a bucket of pig’s blood on a teenage girl every decade or so.

We got Brian De Palma’s classic film in 1976, a made-for-TV adaptation in 2002, and another theatrical remake in 2013. There was even a Broadway musical in 1988, although that’s probably a conversation for another day. Now, fifty years after De Palma introduced moviegoers to Sissy Spacek’s Carrie White, Mike Flanagan has brought King’s first published novel to Prime Video as an eight-episode series.

Did we really need another adaptation of Carrie?

Well, after watching all eight episodes, I’m inclined to say yes. Because Flanagan has done something I wasn’t entirely expecting. He’s taken a story that practically everyone knows, preserved the essential elements that make it Carrie, and expanded the world in ways that give us something genuinely different. And for the most part, I loved it.

SPOILER WARNING: I’m discussing the entire eight-episode series, including major character deaths, the prom massacre, and the ending. The show only premiered on October 7, so if you haven’t watched it yet and want to go in knowing as little as possible, this would be an excellent place to stop reading. Come back when you’re finished. I’ll still be here.

A Familiar Story With Room to Grow

One of the things I appreciate most about this adaptation is that Flanagan didn’t simply stretch the original story across eight episodes. That could have been a disaster. There’s only so much you can do with a familiar plot before the audience starts wondering why we’re taking the scenic route. Instead, he uses the additional time to explore the characters and their relationships in ways previous adaptations haven’t had the opportunity to do.

The familiar story beats are all here. Carrie White is a sheltered teenager raised by an overbearing, religiously fanatical mother. She’s mercilessly bullied at school, discovers that she possesses extraordinary telekinetic abilities, and eventually experiences the worst prom night in the history of prom nights. But this time, there’s considerably more happening around those familiar events.

Summer H. Howell is remarkable as Carrie. She captures the awkwardness and vulnerability of a girl who has spent most of her life isolated from the outside world, but there’s also a genuine curiosity about her. Carrie wants to experience life. She wants friends. She wants the ordinary teenage experiences that most of her classmates probably take for granted.

And perhaps most importantly, she wants to believe that people can be kind. That’s what makes this version of Carrie so compelling to me. Even after everything she’s endured, she hasn’t completely given up on the possibility that the world might be a better place than her mother has led her to believe.

Margaret White Gets a Modern Makeover

Samantha Sloyan has the unenviable task of stepping into a role forever associated with Piper Laurie’s extraordinary performance in the 1976 film. Laurie’s Margaret White was deliciously unhinged. Her religious fanaticism was so overwhelming that she sometimes seemed less like a mother and more like a walking Old Testament punishment. She was genuinely frightening, and I can’t imagine anyone taking on this role without knowing those comparisons would be inevitable.

Sloyan wisely doesn’t attempt to recreate that performance. Her Margaret feels like a woman who could exist in 2026. She’s still deeply religious and controlling, but the fanaticism isn’t nearly as pronounced. In many ways, she comes across as an uber-conservative helicopter mom who has convinced herself that controlling every aspect of her daughter’s existence is the same thing as protecting her. I didn’t find her as frightening as Laurie’s Margaret, but I did find her compelling.

And something I particularly appreciated about Sloyan’s performance is that I genuinely believed Margaret loved Carrie. That love is terribly misguided, of course. It’s expressed through manipulation, isolation, and control. But I never doubted that Margaret believed she was doing what was best for her daughter. That makes their relationship more complicated, even if it doesn’t make Margaret’s behavior any more acceptable. Which brings me to what I think is the central theme running through this adaptation.

Hurt People Hurt People

We’ve all heard that expression. It’s practically a cliché at this point. But that doesn’t make it any less true. And I think Flanagan’s Carrie offers a fascinating examination of what happens when people respond to their own suffering by inflicting suffering on others.

Consider Carrie and Chris Hargensen.

Carrie has grown up knowing almost nothing about the world outside her home. Her mother’s manipulation has shaped practically every aspect of her existence. Yet when Carrie finally gets an opportunity to attend high school and experience something resembling a normal adolescence, she approaches it with hope.

Chris, played by Alison Thornton, has enjoyed nearly every material and social advantage Carrie has been denied. She’s popular, privileged, and accustomed to getting her way. But as the series progresses, we discover that her life isn’t nearly as wonderful as it might appear from the outside.

We get a much more substantial look at Chris’s home life than I remember seeing in previous adaptations. We see her relationship with her father, and it becomes increasingly apparent that she’s a real chip off the old block. Initially, I wasn’t thrilled about this development.

I’ve grown tired of Hollywood taking classic villains and giving them tragic backstories in an apparent effort to make audiences feel sorry for them. Disney’s Maleficent and Cruella immediately come to mind. Sometimes it’s perfectly acceptable to let a villain be evil without constructing an elaborate justification for that behavior.

But as I continued watching Carrie, I realized Flanagan wasn’t necessarily trying to make me sympathize with Chris. He was helping me understand her. And those are two very different things. By the end of the series, I didn’t dislike Chris any less than I did at the beginning. I certainly didn’t pity her. She’s making her own decisions, and she’s responsible for the consequences. But I understood more about why she behaves the way she does.

There’s a particularly revealing moment when Chris accuses Carrie of ruining her life. Apparently, in Chris’s mind, being held accountable for bullying someone is equivalent to being victimized by that person. I’m sorry, but no. Carrie didn’t create Chris’s problems. Chris did that herself. And what makes the situation especially heartbreaking is that Carrie is willing to forgive her. All she wants is an apology. Two little words, and Carrie is prepared to let the whole thing go. Naturally, Chris can’t bring herself to say them.

Margaret certainly doesn’t help matters when she brings up Chris’s mother, effectively destroying whatever slim possibility there might have been for a peaceful resolution. But even that doesn’t excuse Chris’s refusal to take responsibility. Both girls are hurting. One is still reaching toward other people in the hope of finding kindness. The other is directing her anger at anyone she can hurt. Hurt people hurt people. But they don’t have to.

Carrie Finally Finds Her People

Here’s something I absolutely loved about this adaptation: Carrie actually earns the respect of her classmates. In previous versions, Carrie remains an outsider almost until the very end. When she arrives at the prom with Tommy Ross, her happiness is especially fragile because she’s experiencing acceptance for perhaps the first time in her life. Flanagan takes a different approach.

As the series progresses, Carrie becomes something of a hero to students who have suffered under Chris’s bullying. During the mediation, when students stage a walkout, a significant portion of the student body appears to support Carrie and demand consequences for Chris. They actually cheer for her. That changes the emotional dynamics of the entire story.

By the time we reach the prom, Carrie isn’t necessarily the universally despised outcast we’ve come to expect. She has people who genuinely like her. She’s earned their respect without having to intimidate anyone. Which makes Chris and Billy’s manipulation of the online prom queen vote seem a little redundant. Honestly, I think Carrie might have won the crown legitimately. And that possibility makes what happens next even more tragic.

Sue Snell Gets Lost in the Shuffle

Not every change Flanagan makes works quite as well for me. Take Sue Snell, played by Siena Agudong. I really liked her performance. Or perhaps more accurately, I really wanted to like Sue as much as I have in previous adaptations. Something about this version just felt strangely passive.

In King’s novel and the earlier films, Sue’s decision to convince her boyfriend, Tommy Ross, to take Carrie to the prom is one of the defining moments of her character arc. She’s participated in Carrie’s humiliation, recognizes that what she did was wrong, and attempts to make amends. It’s an imperfect gesture, but it’s a meaningful decision.

Here, Sue and Tommy have already broken up before the prom, and Tommy appears to ask Carrie of his own accord. That removes much of Sue’s direct involvement in the events that follow. And I think her character suffers for it. That doesn’t mean Tommy needs Sue to convince him to be a decent person. I’ve always liked Tommy Ross. Even in De Palma’s film, he demonstrates his kindness well before the prom.

Remember the classroom scene where the teacher mocks Carrie for calling Tommy’s poem beautiful? Tommy quietly responds, “You suck.” It’s a small moment, but it tells us a great deal about him. And during the infamous prom sequence, just before the falling bucket strikes him, Tommy is visibly furious about what’s been done to Carrie. He’s a good guy. He always has been. But Sue’s decision to send Tommy to the prom with Carrie traditionally gives her an important role in the tragedy. Removing that decision leaves her feeling more like someone watching events unfold than someone actively influencing them.

I also thought Miss Desjardin, played by Amber Midthunder, was underutilized compared with previous versions. On the other hand, Matthew Lillard’s Principal Grayle became someone I genuinely liked. Which, unfortunately, made his fate at the prom considerably more upsetting.

The Prom Night We All Know Is Coming

There’s something funny about watching Carrie for what must be the umpteenth time. I’ve read the novel. I’ve seen De Palma’s film, the 2002 television version, and the 2013 remake. I know exactly what’s supposed to happen. And yet, every single time we get to the prom, there’s still some ridiculous little part of my brain hoping Chris will have a change of heart. Maybe this time she won’t pull the rope. Maybe this time Carrie will get to enjoy her evening, go home happy, and remember her senior prom as one of the best nights of her life.

Of course, Chris tips the bucket. And my reaction is always the same. Aww… crap.

What makes Flanagan’s version especially tragic is that so many of the people who die have actually shown Carrie kindness or support. The students who stood up for her are now caught in the destruction. Principal Grayle, whom I’ve grown to like, becomes another casualty. And Tommy, one of the few people who has consistently treated Carrie with genuine respect, suffers the same terrible fate we’ve come to expect.

When Carrie electrocutes the crowd gathered on the gym floor, I found the massacre more heartbreaking than in previous adaptations. These aren’t simply faceless classmates who have spent the entire story tormenting her. Many of them have welcomed her. But there’s another major difference this time. And I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about it.

Who’s Really in Control?

One of the most significant additions to Flanagan’s adaptation is Emaline, played by Thalia Dudek. When she first appears, I started wondering whether she was even real. She seemed to show up whenever Carrie was alone, and the staging often made it difficult to determine whether anyone else could actually see her. As it turns out, Emaline possesses psychic abilities of her own, including astral projection. And her involvement dramatically changes how we interpret Carrie’s actions during the prom massacre.

In De Palma’s film, I’ve always viewed the massacre as Carrie completely losing control of herself. She’s overwhelmed by humiliation and rage, and her powers become an extension of that emotional breakdown. When she eventually returns home and climbs into the bathtub, it feels as though she’s finally coming back to herself and recognizing the terrible things she’s done. That loss of control is central to the tragedy. Flanagan introduces another possibility.

When Emaline offers to take the driver’s seat, Carrie relinquishes control. And suddenly we’re no longer watching Carrie simply lash out in a moment of uncontrollable rage. We’re watching someone else influence what happens through Carrie’s powers. After Billy and Chris are crushed in their car, Emaline releases control, and Carrie is horrified by what she’s done. Then Emaline takes over again, and we see Carrie dancing in the street.

It’s disturbing, but it also raises a significant question. Would Carrie have reacted so violently without Emaline’s intervention?

Personally, I prefer the original approach. I think Carrie’s loss of control is more powerful when she’s responsible for her own actions, even if she’s temporarily overwhelmed by emotions she can no longer manage. But I appreciate what Flanagan is exploring. Because there’s a fascinating parallel between Emaline and Margaret White.

Carrie has spent her entire life being manipulated and controlled by someone who claims to know what’s best for her. And now, just as she’s beginning to discover her independence, she’s found another person willing to make decisions on her behalf. I don’t particularly like Emaline. But I absolutely like what her presence adds to the story. Carrie may have escaped one controlling relationship only to find herself entering another.

A Bigger World Beyond Chamberlain

And then there’s the ending. Unlike King’s novel and the 1976 and 2013 films, Carrie survives. This isn’t entirely unprecedented. The 2002 television adaptation also allowed Carrie to live, with the possibility of continuing her story beyond the familiar tragedy. But Flanagan seems to have something considerably more ambitious in mind.

Throughout the series, we’re introduced to mysterious individuals who possess psychic abilities of their own. Adelaide, played by Kate Siegel, appears connected to a larger organization of gifted people. And at one point, she specifically uses the word “shine.” Now, any longtime Stephen King fan knows that word carries a little extra weight. Suddenly, the possibilities become much more interesting.

Could Carrie’s abilities connect her to the larger supernatural world we’ve encountered in books like The Shining and Doctor Sleep? What other people might she encounter? And what exactly does Adelaide have planned? There are plenty of unanswered questions.

Who shot Emaline? What’s the full story behind Amanda, played by Katee Sackhoff, and her daughter? Could Amanda’s daughter and Emaline actually be the same person? Their apparent abilities involving astral projection certainly make that an intriguing possibility. I also can’t help wondering whether Emaline is someone Carrie should trust at all.

Flanagan has discussed the possibility of continuing the story beyond these eight episodes, although additional seasons haven’t been confirmed as I’m writing this. And I’m genuinely hoping he gets that opportunity. I’m glad the first season reaches a reasonably satisfying stopping point. The central events of Carrie have played out, and the story doesn’t feel like it simply stopped halfway through. But there’s clearly enough unexplored territory to make another season worthwhile.

So… Did We Need Another Carrie?

Apparently, we did. I thought Mike Flanagan’s Carrie was great. Was it particularly scary? Not to me. But I don’t consider that a criticism. The story was compelling, the performances were strong, and the pacing worked remarkably well across eight episodes.

Summer H. Howell deserves particular praise for making Carrie White feel vulnerable, hopeful, and genuinely human. Samantha Sloyan gives us a Margaret White who belongs in the modern world without simply imitating Piper Laurie. And Alison Thornton makes Chris Hargensen more psychologically interesting without making her any more deserving of forgiveness.

I have my criticisms. Sue Snell deserved a more active role. Miss Desjardin could have been better utilized. And I still prefer the original story’s handling of Carrie’s responsibility for the prom massacre. But I appreciate that Flanagan took chances. Most importantly, I love that he allowed Carrie to experience genuine acceptance before everything fell apart. Because that brings us back to the idea that has stayed with me throughout this adaptation. Hurt people hurt people.

Chris takes her suffering and turns it into cruelty. Carrie spends much of the series trying to overcome her suffering by reaching toward other people. Margaret convinces herself that controlling her daughter is an expression of love. And Emaline offers Carrie protection while potentially denying her the independence she’s been seeking all along. Every one of these characters has been shaped by pain. But the choices they make in response to that pain are what define them.

I’ve long thought Carrie would make an excellent subject for high school discussions about bullying, empathy, and personal responsibility. This adaptation only reinforces that belief. It’s a reminder that cruelty has consequences, that kindness matters, and that understanding why someone behaves terribly doesn’t mean we have to excuse their behavior.

And perhaps that’s why, no matter how many times I revisit this story, I keep hoping things will turn out differently. I keep hoping Chris will make a better choice. I keep hoping Carrie will get the happy ending she deserves. This time, at least, she gets the chance to have a future. And I’d very much like to see what she does with it.