The Importance of Being “Carrie”

Brian De Palma’s adaptation of Stephen King’s first published novel is more relevant today than ever.

Spoiler Alert: The ending had the entire audience, including myself, jumping out of their seats and running for the exits.

It was that effective.

Amid cries of director Brian De Palma ripping off Alfred Hitchcock with his two prior suspense films — 1972’s Sisters with Margot Kidder, and 1976’s Obsession, starring Genevieve Bujold — those works nonetheless served to make him a particularly keen fit for the first adaptation of Stephen King’s classic. (The first adaptation of three, not counting the ill-fated The Rage: Carrie 2, a 1999 studio cash-grab.) De Palma’s cult-favorite during that period, Phantom of the Paradise (1974), was a hybrid of his dramatic efforts and his earlier, lighter fare, such as his acclaimed 1968 comedy, Greetings.

The Hitchcock comparisons reached their zenith, or nadir depending on one’s point-of-view, with De Palma’s post-Carrie releases of Dressed to Kill, and Body Double. In disclosure, I consider the former a classic, and the latter an entirely misogynistic romp that I enjoyed for its sheer nerve.

But 1976’s Carrie to me was a whole other something. I saw the film first, but prior to that examination, let’s look back at King’s original novel.

For those who are unfamiliar, Doubleday published King’s novel of the same name in 1974. It was the future National Book Award-winner’s first published novel, with an initial hardcover print run of approximately 30,000. King’s Carrie took place in 1979, but the bones were there for the then modern-day film adaptation.

The ending of De Palma’s Carrie “scared the shit outta me” as we used to say in Brooklyn when talking about particularly effective horror films. If you haven’t seen the original filmed version of Carrie as yet, there is no better time than now considering bully culture has reached the highest office in the land. If you want to play a practical joke on someone, tell them you’re going to show them one of the “great romantic dramas,” then cue the reaction once Sue Snell walks with a bundle of flowers to her old classmate’s grave.

That Sue, she had a heart.

Carrie, in all formats, was a bullied teen. The resonance there — we’re still talking about Carrie White nearly 45 years later — was King’s masterstroke. As a victim, she embodied a world of hurt. She did not turn the tables on her tormentors until she quite literally couldn’t take another moment of pain.

Nor did she finally turn the tables on her religiously fanatical mother until it was most timely. Her method was … ironic, to say the least.

Carrie was adapted for Broadway in 1988. Though it was considered a commercial flop, a 2012 revival was attempted and proved only moderately more successful. Perhaps one day we’ll be served yet another remake, or another creative take on the source material be it another film or a direct King-authored literary sequel.

(One can dream. Doctor Sleep was a pretty effective piece of business.)

But to De Palma’s film, to me it remains a masterpiece of horror. Poignant and truthful, with stunningly spot-on performances from Sissy Spacek, Piper Laurie, Amy Irving, Nancy Allen, William Katt, Betty Buckley and John Travolta, this particular version of King’s first novel was further served by outstanding direction and one of the finest ever film scores by Pino Donaggio.

David Carson’s ill-conceived 2002 television miniseries, though closer in tone to King’s novel, was notable primarily for an outstanding performance by Angela Bettis as Carrie. Kimberly Pierce’s 2013 remake with Chloe Grace Moretz as the titular character left behind a general sense of ambivalence. The film’s lack of De Palma’s stylistic flourishes and that stunning Donaggio score led to inevitable comparisons, despite Moretz’s heartfelt performance.

Frankly, however, regardless of iteration I find myself missing Carrie White today. I miss the character’s innocence. I want to hug her and swear to her there will be better things ahead.

Considering where the abuse had taken her, on the other hand, would she be considered a strong female character today, or simply dismissed as psychotic?

As a once-bullied high school teen myself, I contemplate “Carrie” now and then. That’s how this particular creation resonates with me.

So here’s my solution. If she really is burning in hell — see the damn movie (the first one) — I’m ready to grab Carrie by the hand and pull her back from purgatory. Then I’ll send her to the White House, soaking in pig’s blood and all, to stink-eye the guy with the small hands sitting behind the desk in the Oval Office who’s bullying the rest of the country.

If only…

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