I came to the book through the 1976 movie starring Sissy Spacek. Something about that classic double-image VHS cover scared the everlasting shit out of me. I begged and pleaded until my parents finally relented and let me watch it.
I was in third grade.
I don't blame my parents for the blunt-force trauma the movie enacted on my brain. I mean, sure, I had nightmares for literally years afterward, but I kinda deserved it with the hell I had been raising over it. The thing is - I didn't even make it through the whole movie on that fateful first viewing. As anyone who is familiar with the story knows, it's 2/3 setup, 1/3 bloody payoff. I coasted through that setup thinking, "Wow, I'm so tough. This is a scary movie and I'm not even scared!" But then the blood came rushing down and everyone burned up, and well, ladies and gentlemen, pardon me while I take my leave of this room. The last image I remember, and it's one I'll never forget, is the double doors of the gym opening up on their own and Carrie, silhouetted against the inferno inside, seeming to glide out into the night, the doors closing behind her with a resounding "thwack."
I spent the rest of the movie in the bathroom, listening to everything through the bathroom door. That was probably a mistake on my part, as sounds without pictures freed my mind to concoct any number of different scenarios as I rolled them over and over in my head during the years to come.
Finally, in seventh grade, I very logically decided that the best way to overcome my fear was to face it head-on. I revisited the movie alone in my room with all the lights on and smooth jazz playing in the background. I survived that second viewing with my senses intact, and decided then that the next step would be to own it - to know it so thoroughly that there would be no shadows left in it for bloody hands to reach out of at night and strangle me in my dreams. So I watched the movie again and again. And I picked up a copy of the book, and read it again and again.
And, eventually, I managed to strike a livable balance with the poor, sad, lost girl who haunted both my waking hours and my dreams.
I have spent a lot of time contemplating what it is about the story, beyond my childhood trauma, that continues to intrigue me so much. I was bullied in high school (who wasn't?) and I often fantasized revenge on my tormentors, but I would never have wished to replicate the prom night massacre of the book. Critics often refer to it as "the ultimate high-school revenge fantasy," but (school shooters aside) who fantasizes about getting their entire class together in a huge room, locking the doors, and barbecuing everyone alive? That's not revenge - that's tragedy. And the scope of the carnage and the raw brutality of the book still shock me. It's like the Titanic sinking - so many people onboard the Chamberlain high school prom that night...so many people with their whole lives ahead of them and dreams in their hearts who didn't deserve to die.
There are bullies, and there are victims, but in the end they are all still just children.
The sharp savage shock I felt as a child has worn into a deep-set sadness that I can still recall in an instant, and which I'm sure will be with me the rest of my life. I get that the Titanic was real, and "Carrie" was invented in Stephen King's head, but I saw it so early that it felt real to me in the unique way that fantasy only can to the very young. And in the way I've read it is common for people to do, I have slowly become obsessed with the object of my original pain.
By 1997 (I was 14), I could pretty much close my eyes and play out my ideal movie version of the book in my head. The 1976 version wasn't it. Too much had to be left out due to budget constraints and the technology of the time. Where was the terrifying incident from Carrie's childhood with the neighbor girl's "dirty pillows" and the ensuing rain of boulders from the sky? Where were all the vivid flashes of bullying from Carrie's past? Where was the ending outside the roadhouse, bringing Carrie's life full-circle?
It could be argued that the deletions make the movie leaner and stronger, but I would argue that the ending is too rushed. The book has a real slow and steady descent into hell feel to it that the 1976 movie doesn't match. One epic set piece at the prom, the confrontation with mama, and then wham blam thank you ma'am hand out of the ground. The end.
The 2002 TV remake wasn't it, either, although it came closer. While it was nice to see some more material from the book included, I felt the movie was hampered by inclusion of some of the "documentary" materials that the book featured so prominently. The book is constructed like a case file of sorts, with bits and pieces of faux non-fiction material interspersed throughout the main story. The effect of this, coupled with the third-person omniscient main narrative, seems to make Carrie a voiceless victim even in her own story. We are always left on the outside looking in. It works in the book, but in the movie it just feels choppy.
Supposedly, the 2002 version was intended as a pilot for a TV show that never happened. So right up until the end the movie is pretty solid with sticking to the book but then abruptly jumps the tracks in a head-spinning WTF moment that leaves a sour taste in my mouth even today. But if you turn the thing off five minutes from the end, you end up with a pretty solid "Carrie." It even manages to transcend the limitations of its TV14 rating. In terms of hewing closely to the book, the 2002 version bettered the 1976 (at least until that damned ending). Technology had advanced to the point where more of the destruction could logistically be shown onscreen, and the post-prom section, quite lengthy and detailed in the book (Carrie destroys most of town) gets some real heft in this version.
But it still wasn't quite right.
So, it was with some great anticipation that I looked forward to the newest version (Carrie 2013), with Chloe Grace Moretz in the lead role.
The viral marketing campaign led to some great conceptual artwork:
The movie had a few more things going for it - an R rating, a maverick, feminist director (Kimberly Peirce), and an edgy screenwriter best known for his work on TV and in comics. But pretty early on some things started to get fishy. The movie, originally scheduled for a March release, was delayed for seven months to give it a release closer to Halloween. Okay, sure, I get it. But when it finally did come out a second screenwriting credit had been added - Lawrence Cohen, the writer of the 1976 original. Okay, I wondered, did Cohen actually work on this new version, or did they lift so liberally from his original screenplay that Carrie 2013 was legally obligated to credit him?
Uh-oh.
Don't get me wrong. "Carrie 2013" was a good movie, and it incorporated some new technology in effective ways. And it did take a few steps closer to the book in keys places - Carrie was back in control of her mega-meltdown whereas the previous movies made her seem catatonic during it (in the book she thoroughly enjoyed it). It included a memorable prologue featuring Carrie's birth that is unique to this version - but could have been fleshed out even more. It does away with the "after-the-fact" material that hindered the 2002 version. And it includes some cool footage of Carrie practicing with her powers. Which, I suppose, changes the character fundamentally from the previous movie versions.
But that is where it seems that Peirce's vision ends. I have nothing to base this notion on other than her history as a strong, independent filmmaker who I got the impression of would probably only want to take a project like this on if she could make it distinctly her own. That tremendous potential that filled me with rapt anticipation for over a year before the movie finally came out is an opportunity lost. It wasn't good enough - bold enough, inventive enough, close enough to the novel - to merit its existence. I tried to find evidence online that director Peirce was unsatisfied with the end result. That at some point the beast had been ripped from her hands and bastardized without her consent. But I couldn't. Either she's keeping her feelings tightly under wraps or this really is what she intended all along.
The movie made money, and I suppose that's why movies get made, after all. Three movies have been made in 37 years of Stephen King's book. If you average it out, it stands to reason that we'll see Carrie White again on the big screen in about 2026 or so.
In the meantime, I'll have to make-do with endlessly poring over the book and revising and revamping the version of the movie I've been filming in my head for the last two decades. Who knows - in 2026 the person to remake the movie may be me.
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