Carrie series review

Mike Flanagan’s Carrie explores the effects of cruelty on a teenager with telekinetic powers and shows how it snowballs into a broader societal issue. Like countless teen dramas before it, Flanagan’s series navigates the perennial high school problem with frustratingly little nuance. It depicts teenage bullying as a given, without grounding it in a layer of psychology while offering no explanation beyond the cliche that every child has their own trauma. Arguably, no further explanation is necessary for how teenagers behave, and that surface-level treatment is par for the course in the genre. But isn't this supposed to be Flanagan territory? And with Carrie, Flanagan tries something more ambitious than your run-of-the-mill teen drama. Blending horror and fantasy, the series argues that people with preternatural powers may have no place on Earth. Can a God have enough empathy and kindness to forgive mere mortals who hurt and enrage them? Flanagan poses this potent question in Carrie, but the series arrives at it in a meandering way that makes the payoff underwhelming.

Creator: Mike Flanagan

Cast: Summer H Howell, Samantha Sloyan, Siena Agudong, Matthew Lillard

Streamer: Prime Video

To his credit, Flanagan tries to enrich Stephen King’s classic story and modernises it for the social media age. Having lived under her overprotective mother for a long time, Carrie (Summer H Howell) has to fit in with a new community after her father’s tragic demise forces the county to mandate schooling for her. Carrie’s mother Margaret (Samantha Sloyan) feels it is a bad idea for the child and finds the world outside cruel to people like them, although her daughter views it as an opportunity to broaden her worldview. Just like Carrie, Margaret is also a victim of social conditioning through a toxic relationship. These angles are fascinating, and the series is at its best when it focuses on the relationship between the Carrie and her mother. However, every time it diverts to Ewen High School, Carrie trades horror for a standard teenage drama, revelling in its soap while offering very few interesting conflicts, and hardly any character to root for other than the protagonist. The brutality escalates until Carrie reaches her breaking point, unleashing her otherworldly wrath upon those at Ewen High School.

Carrie’s commentary on bullying feels rather stale, especially when a series like Adolescence brings less-explored ideas like the manosphere to the forefront. The series spends too many episodes showing how Carrie is forced to experience a traumatic act. It is also bizarre that an important character does not even bother to look into Carrie’s strange behaviour, despite landing a potentially incriminating piece of evidence against her. The prologue's general information about women with special powers only makes sense toward the end, and it feels pretentious rather than ingeniously provocative. The series also does not explore the intimate connection Carrie feels for her father. He comes as a mere figment of her overactive imagination, playing little active part in her emotional journey.

Such flimsy writing makes Carrie's ultimate transformation more an external manifestation of her anger than an internal arc. You feel Carrie’s fury but not quite the sheer depth of the agony that lies deep beneath her rage.

The visual depiction of the final act is certainly splendid, and the final portions tie up some loose ends and elevate the series considerably. Kudos to Flanagan and his visual and practical effects team for achieving a level of immersion in the climax that the writing fails to accomplish elsewhere. Yet, the laboured writing keeps Carrie from achieving its broader ambitions, and it is particularly disappointing that the ending is sequel bait.

None of its flaws are down to the actors, though. They keep the series reasonably engaging throughout. The screenplay might have let her down, but Summer Howell delivers a knockout performance, marrying Carrie’s insecurities, vulnerabilities, and powers. The actor is convincing throughout, whether Carrie moves a gigantic object with the sheer strength of her mind, has a mental breakdown from the inhumanity she endures, seethes with anger, or beams with joy. It is delightful to see a smile slowly emerge on Howell’s face, hiding pain in her eyes, when Carrie finds an opportunity to feel happy. We instinctively know it isn't the sort of joy that lasts, thanks to the actor’s internalised performance. On the other hand, Samantha Sloyan nails a complicated role with unassuming ease. Beyond her outwardly harsh semblance and controlling nature, Margaret has an unmistakable maternal affection for her daughter. Alongside the writing, Sloyan’s performance makes this distinction clear and palpable. The rest of the actors are also well-cast in their roles, with special notes to Siena Agudong as an empathetic high school student who socialises with Carrie and Matthew Lillard as the head of an institution who preaches values more than he performs them.

Ultimately, despite the spectacular visuals and performances, Mike Flanagan’s Carrie fails to make the most of its potent premise. At best, it is a reasonably engaging parable of teenage cruelty, but you expect better drama from a master storyteller such as Mike Flanagan.