There are creators who, when offered an opportunity to remake a classic into a series, choose either to overstuff their scripts or to attach topical, socially and politically relevant plot points to them for the sake of "relatability." In both cases, the problem usually turns out to be an underdeveloped substance desperately reaching for brownie points. The creators gesture toward real-world events without grasping what they really mean. Things are generally neat, binary, and black-and-white. The problem, then, isn't topicality itself but the absence of genuine engagement with it. Mike Flanagan, thankfully, doesn't belong to this category of creators. All of his work usually seems to be the vision of a man who looked at the source material and asked himself two crucial questions: why am I adapting this, and what can I bring to this? The maker of critically acclaimed shows such as the "The Haunting" anthology and Midnight Mass generally brings a deep understanding of human fondness and folly, trust and tragedy, love and grief. Flanagan's worldview has been quite humanistic and affecting; it strikes a chord with those willing to engage with his work completely and emotionally.
It's good news, then, that this 48-year-old filmmaker was hired to make a new version of Stephen King's "Carrie." I might be wrong, but I think more people have watched Brian De Palma's supernatural horror than have read King's 1974 novel. Does anyone even remember Kimberly Peirce's not-bad "Carrie"? This is why many would be tempted to draw comparisons between De Palma's bloodfest and Flanagan's biting social commentary. But I think any comparison of this adaptation with either the book or the movie(s) would be futile. This "Carrie" is its own beast—or, if you prefer, its own prom queen. Flanagan smartly updates the story with modern sensibilities and technologies and presents a sharp criticism of contemporary society. What's immediately noticeable is the presence of smartphones and computers, Instagram and the Internet, all of which Flanagan superbly weaves into his narrative. His goal here is to hold a mirror up to society so that people can see what role models they choose for themselves and how they, too, are just as full of double standards as their social-media activists and celebrities.
The person who oppresses their own kid at home preaches kindness and compassion to other parents online. The people who send private photos of their teachers and schoolmates to a bully so that these victims can be trolled online are the same people who end up protesting against the bully. Flanagan clearly and patiently underlines the ridiculous irony. I don't remember the last time a mainstream project displayed such nuance regarding societal politics. But Flanagan doesn't look at the world and discover only one-sided, unidimensional villainy. Regardless of where a character falls on the moral spectrum, he brings out shades of grey from within almost everybody. The cruelty of a mean girl is grounded in familial and financial troubles that threaten to destroy her college dreams. She is Chris Hargensen (Alison Thornton), whose life is so troubled by an absent-minded father and a mother who no longer lives with them that she targets Carrie (Summer H. Howell) to vent her frustrations. Her family's troubles and financial circumstances make her college future feel increasingly uncertain, and so much goes wrong in Chris's life that whenever she faces a problem—her car is confiscated, or she receives terrible news regarding her parents—she feels as if she has been unfairly treated by the people around her and by the circumstances surrounding her. So she picks on Carrie to release her stress and tension. We have all met someone like Chris or might have even acted like her at some point—the kind of individual who believes they have been wronged by their friends, their family, their society, or a higher power. We have all, in other words, taken pity on ourselves by seeing ourselves as innocent victims.
There are moments when you catch Chris displaying regret over her decisions. But these are flickers of light in a soul that keeps getting consumed by darkness. Carrie, in Flanagan's adaptation, is seen almost similarly to her tormentor. This sweet child, with telekinetic powers, is also a kind soul who gets consumed by dark thoughts of revenge. The only difference between Chris and Carrie is one of degree—if Chris is 10% good and 90% evil, then Carrie is 90% good and 10% evil. Carrie's "evilness" is a product of how she's treated, which is something you can also say about Chris in some ways. These, of course, are rough estimates. The point is to paint a picture of some resemblance between the two characters without getting into specific spoilers. Flanagan establishes a connection between Chris and Carrie another way, and, for now, all I will say is that this involves something about their respective dads.
Flanagan was born in Salem, Massachusetts, a town notorious for its witch trials that took place in the 1600s, which is probably why he "gets" supernatural spirits so well. He is also himself a father, and with "Carrie," he tries to better understand the world of high-school students, their teachers, and their parents. He attempts to figure out how a little child grows to become a tyrant. How does society shape her? How do teachers handle her? Where do parents prove themselves to be insufficient? Flanagan examines and unearths a broken system run by broken individuals who prove inept at understanding or accepting genuine kindness. All Carrie wanted was to satiate her curiosity about what's happening around her, and at the same time, she just wanted to make some good friends. This untarnished child, though, gets out of her small bubble and realizes that the outside world is filled with poseurs and their resentments. She is, more often than not, mentally beaten down, and her heart almost always ends up being broken by the people around her. She is broken to the point of unleashing complete carnage on all those who filled her with anger and disappointment. She burns everything with her rage—a rage that consumes even the innocent.
The story is told with such great clarity that it's a pity the writers decided to directly spoon-feed some of their messages through certain lines. But that's largely forgivable in the face of a more dismaying error: Flanagan doesn't fully go into Carrie's new experiences. Here is a girl who was homeschooled for a long time and who, only now, as a teenager, gets to learn what occurs and what exists outside the confines of her residence. Flanagan doesn't listen to her thoughts on matters like politics—does she have an opinion about Republicans and Democrats?—movies, or even climate change. Carrie has read many novels. But has she watched movies now that she gets to go outside? In one of the scenes, a character brings up a Star Wars reference, and Carrie, understanding the reference, smiles. When did she see Star Wars? Has she watched other movies as well? In one of the episodes, she tells Sue Snell (Siena Agudong) that Sue has a cool mom for allowing her to participate in various sports events. Now that Carrie attends a school that has many clubs and activities, has she found some of her own favorites among them? She is seen playing volleyball in one scene; did she like it? Or is there any other game or sport—for instance, basketball or running—that caught her eye? Is there a drama club at the high school? Did Carrie show any interest in it? What about cheerleading?
This is Carrie's first time on the Internet, where she sees that people her age use Instagram. Flanagan uses social media to make a timely comment on freedom of speech and its negative effects on other people, but what does Carrie make of this app? How does she feel when—avoiding spoilers—she learns about a meme page that's been created without her consent? She obviously doesn't know much about these accounts and handles, though Flanagan doesn't display curiosity about her feelings regarding her sudden "celebrity status." All he offers are a few confused expressions and a simple philosophical line about putting on a smile because there is enough badness out there. Still, someone as curious and excited as Carrie must have sharp opinions about what happens around her and what is being done in her name. Flanagan unfortunately doesn't explore that dimension. All he provides are serviceable hints, bits of dialogue, and suggestions.
He also doesn't really manage to infuse a sense of tragedy into a death by suicide. The Flanagan of Hill House, Bly Manor, and The Fall of the House of Usher would have mined touching, profound sentiments from this death. "Carrie," though, is surprisingly somewhat emotionally detached from this incident. The event is seen but not felt. Maybe the reason could be that Flanagan is not one hundred percent involved in this project. He gets the creator credit, and he has directed four episodes, but there are four other directors and different writers here. The result can sometimes feel like a series that's imitating the tropes and the heartbeat of a Mike Flanagan show instead of being the real product. Nevertheless, the keen insights, minute observations—such as the use of a VPN to cast multiple votes in the online prom-king-and-queen voting—and complex characters are reason enough to check out this latest adaptation. It has a wide scope, all right—a scope that leaves room for an even bigger second season. But this season of "Carrie" is truly carried forward by its excellent cast and Flanagan's view of a morally corrupt order, the perils of social media, and the irony and double standards present in the system. This show ultimately, despite its many flaws, is still quite interesting and a lot of fun.
Final Score - [7/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times
Note: All 8 episodes are screened for this review.
Premiere Date: October 7, 2026, on Prime Video