'Carrie' Review
Limited Series.
Aired On: Prime Video.
Release Date: 10/07/26.
Genre: Drama. Horror.
The Verdict: A Must-See
When Mike Flanagan sought Stephen King’s blessing to resurrect Carrie, the great American author initially scoffed at the request. King turned Flanagan down, insisting the director should “Leave her alone. She’s been through a lot.” Who would know better than her creator? However, the auteur storyteller worked his magic, and, with approval, the Flanagan-led miniseries has arrived. The maestro has proved once again that he knows what right looks like.
Carrie, the series, is the fourth adaptation of the 1974 novel Carrie, canonically the first published work in King’s expansive bibliography. This decades-old tale about a bullied high school girl with telekinetic powers has leaped beyond the panels of pop culture and into the land of moral parable. The values of justice, autonomy, and self-respect jut against the temptation of righteousness, vengeance, and murder, all with a delightful supernatural twist.
Once immortalized by Sissy Spacek in the classic Brian De Palma version, Carrie White and her mystical powers are handled gracefully by newcomer Summer H. Howell. Howell's performance pours out the required vulnerability, innocence, and naivete. After her father is killed on-site at his construction job, the state of Maine mandates that Carrie goes to public school, to the chagrin of her controlling, possessive, and self-righteous mother Margaret (Samantha Sloyan). Carrie’s integration into a high school ecosystem is uncomfortable and terrifying. Perhaps her mother was right?
Both revealing and explaining various plot details about the bones of Carrie’s story is unnecessary. Flanagan, the showrunner shepherding multiple writers and directors, steers Carrie into familiar territory, while also lifting his version into this new century. This move is a testament to Flanagan’s grasp on handling lengthy projects, as proven by his work on his two Haunting series, the ‘Salem’s Lot'-adjacent Midnight Mass, and the Edgar Allen Poe amalgamated adaptation The Fall of the House of Usher. The man can play the long game.
Thematically, the series touches on all the book's central themes, then adds an addendum relevant to this generation. Carrie’s core focus is what makes it relatable and accessible. Overlapping refrains of puberty, shame, abuse, ostracism, cruelty, revenge, bullying, female sexuality, religious fanaticism, and retribution bleed off the screen, as they did from the pages of the book. The relevant updates about technology, school shootings, social media, and mental health are timely and important. Additionally, these motifs are filtered through a contextual historical lens, with episodes opening on stories of supernaturally gifted women across time and the burdens their gifts brought.
Many familiar faces from Flanagan’s actor stable fill various roles, with a few shining additions. Joining Sloyan, Carrie includes alumni Matthew Lillard, Rahul Kohil, Katee Sackhoff, Michael Trucco, Crystal Balint, and Misses Horror herself, Kate Siegel. The new draft class is just as exciting, with Amber Midthunder, Siena Agudong, Arthur Conti, Alison Thornton, Thalia Dudek, and Joel Oulette. The standouts are who they should be: Howell as the eponymous victim, and Sloyan as her manipulative, antagonistic, smug mother. Sloyan, who I love to hate, is so deliciously great at her craft. Playing the villain not with a wink, but with terrifying earnestness, Sloyan slides into these wicked characters for Flanagan so easily.
But Carrie ultimately doesn't work without the right “Carrie” out front, who promptly floats through chaos and fire in her blood-soaked prom dress. Howell, already having some horror experience to pad her credibility, leans into the vulnerability and purity required. There is a strength in Carrie allowing her to absorb her pain and embarrassment that many others wouldn’t possess – handling moments where she is forced to revisit where her father died or being the subject of a fake Instagram account showcasing her most defenseless moments. This is not easy work; Howell handles it with vigor.
Carrie works as a miniseries, not without some imperfections. The strengths of this “Flanagan-ized” version far outweigh its flaws. Devotees of the novel might scoff at small changes. The level of social commentary bulldozed throughout the series can feel daunting and somewhat preachy, and it may offer trite justification for ballooning a 300-page-or-so novel into an eight-episode arc.
To those holding those critiques, they are valid, but I suggest going back to the novel. Many fans of King’s writing and Flanagan’s flair for blending horror and drama will find this timely iteration not only suitable, but absolutely gripping. I’m not a binging advocate, but there is no denying Carrie is an experience you want to consume as fast as you can click “Next Episode” on your remote.
With both subtle and overt nods to previous versions of this story, as well as other King works, Carrie demands that you keep your eyes peeled. This series hints at a larger world than the source novel provides; King’s “Constant Readers” will catch on quickly.
There is something to be said about the high volume of lousy Stephen King adaptations against the low number of remarkable ones. Only a few storytellers have adapted King’s work well, namely Kubrick and Darabont. I regard Flanagan as an auteur for his measured, polished, and precise directorial style. Flanagan stands alone in a class, having developed a knack for visually singing King’s words through his unique lens.
Doctor Sleep and Gerald’s Game were gorgeous dry runs; proofs-of-concept that worked beautifully. And The Life of Chuck is the best King adaptation in thirty years. In this moment, all roads have led to Carrie. Once again, the visionary Flanagan has asked us to put faith in him and his team to deliver. He’s earned that right. Carrie is a bloody, beautiful adaptation, a true horror story; Flanagan has kept his word.
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