Mike Flanagan breathes new life into Stephen King’s horror classic with an ambitious eight-episode adaptation. But does Carrie White’s latest makeover do the original story justice?

There are certain horror classics Hollywood simply refuses to leave alone, and Carrie is one of them. By now, we all know the story: a sheltered girl raised by a religious fanatic, a cruel high school, telekinetic powers, and one very bad prom. Nearly fifty years after Brian De Palma’s iconic 1976 film, Stephen King’s troubled teenage outcast returns in an eight-episode television adaptation from Mike Flanagan, the filmmaker behind The Haunting of Hill House and Midnight Mass. This time, Carrie is a homeschooled teenager suddenly thrust into high school following her father’s death, where her innocence and lack of social experience make her an easy target for bullying.

The last adaptation I watched was the 2013 Carrie, which, in my humble opinion, is the worst of them all. So before watching this latest version, I would have argued that we certainly didn’t need another lackluster remake. But after watching it, I’ve changed my tune. So let’s get into the good, the bad, and the pretty of it all.

The Good: A Remake With Something More to Say

The strongest aspect of Carrie is undoubtedly its writing, particularly the way it handles the escalating cruelty of teenage bullying. Rather than relying on exaggerated confrontations and one-dimensional mean girls, the series allows the harassment to develop through smaller, seemingly ordinary interactions. A bitchy look, an offhand comment, or a cruel joke shared at someone else’s expense gradually becomes part of a much larger pattern of humiliation. It’s an approach that makes the bullying feel believable, especially because the people participating don’t always seem to recognize the full extent of their cruelty. Even the characters’ reactions to seemingly minor situations felt spot-on, and I have to commend the writers for capturing those subtle nuances in human behavior.

The infamous locker-room scene, in which Carrie experiences her first period without understanding what’s happening to her, is reimagined for a generation in which humiliation rarely ends when the incident itself is over. Smartphones and social media ensure that her most vulnerable moments can be circulated and turned into entertainment. But what impressed me most was how naturally the consequences unfolded.

The decision to expand the story across eight episodes also gives the supporting characters considerably more depth. Chris Hargensen, played by Alison Thornton, is still every bit the cruel antagonist audiences expect, but the series takes time to explore the circumstances and relationships influencing her behavior. Thornton, in my opinion, delivers an Emmy-worthy mean girl performance. Understanding someone’s motivations doesn’t excuse their actions, and thankfully, the writing doesn’t attempt to absolve Chris of responsibility. Instead, it demonstrates how personal insecurities, resentment, and social dynamics can contribute to increasingly destructive behavior.

Margaret White receives an equally compelling reinvention. Samantha Sloyan brings an unexpected vulnerability to Carrie’s deeply religious mother while managing to remain disturbingly dangerous. Margaret’s storyline also provides some of the show’s most entertaining character development.

Then there’s the world-building, which might be the biggest surprise of all. Flanagan introduces the possibility that Carrie’s supernatural abilities are part of something much larger, expanding the mythology without allowing it to overshadow the central story. Although these additions are a significant departure from previous screen versions, they bring an intriguing new dimension to the material. Keep in mind that I haven’t read King’s novel, so I’m judging these creative decisions primarily on how successfully they work within the series itself.

Most importantly, the eight-episode format feels earned. Each installment moves the narrative forward while gradually building Carrie’s confidence, frustration, anger, and understanding of her own abilities. The pacing allows us to experience her transformation rather than simply waiting for the inevitable prom-night disaster.

The Bad: A Little Too Much Stranger Things?

Honestly, I don’t have too much criticism because I really enjoyed the show. But I will say that somewhere around the middle of the season, things started getting a little Stranger Things-ish. The scenes of Carrie practicing her powers definitely reminded me of Eleven, and while that’s not necessarily a bad thing, I didn’t put on Carrie to watch another season of Stranger Things. Thankfully, the show handles those moments well enough that they never become a major distraction. Still, the shift is noticeable, and it’s the stretch where the series feels furthest from the story I came to watch.

Now, let’s get into the controversy.

The Pretty? Does Carrie Have to Be Beautiful?

Of all the creative decisions surrounding the new Carrie, one of the most debated has little to do with its writing or supernatural mythology. Instead, some longtime Stephen King readers have taken issue with the casting of Summer H. Howell, arguing that Hollywood has once again chosen a conventionally attractive, slim actress to portray a character whose physical appearance is notably different in the novel.

Book fans point out that in King’s novel, Carrie is described as an awkward, self-conscious girl with acne and a heavier build, although her appearance and her perception of herself change throughout the story. Yet across multiple screen adaptations, Carrie has consistently been portrayed by actresses who fit conventional beauty standards. For readers who have waited decades to see a more physically faithful interpretation of the character, the frustration is understandable.

And I think they have a point. Hollywood has never been particularly comfortable allowing young female protagonists to exist outside its preferred standards of beauty. Women can be awkward, unpopular, troubled, or socially rejected on screen, but there’s often an unspoken expectation that they must still be attractive. When a story specifically offers an opportunity to challenge that convention, it’s fair to question why filmmakers repeatedly choose not to.

But I also disagree with the suggestion that Carrie’s bullying becomes less believable simply because the actress playing her is considered attractive. A girl doesn’t have to be unattractive to be bullied. Anyone can be bullied for any number of reasons, sometimes because of their personality, their circumstances, their social awkwardness, or simply because someone has decided they don’t belong. Bullying doesn’t require a logical justification, and physical attractiveness certainly doesn’t guarantee acceptance.

In Flanagan’s adaptation, Carrie’s isolation is established through her upbringing and lack of social experience. She’s curious, optimistic, naive, and eager to connect with people. Howell convincingly portrays a girl who desperately wants to participate in a world she doesn’t fully understand. Her appearance doesn’t make that experience any less believable.

I do believe Hollywood still operates under an outdated assumption that audiences are more willing to sympathize with conventionally attractive women, which is precisely why I think it’s important to keep questioning these casting decisions. Both arguments can be true. Beautiful girls can be victims of bullying, and Hollywood can still have a problem with allowing women who aren’t conventionally beautiful to occupy the center of a story.

The Verdict: 8/10

So, did we really need another adaptation of Carrie? Probably not. But if filmmakers insist on revisiting familiar material, this is the kind of reinvention I’d much rather see. Instead of simply recreating the same scenes with a new cast and updated technology, Mike Flanagan takes creative risks, expands the emotional lives of the characters, and finds new ways to explore a story audiences have known for decades.

Carrie (2026) earns an 8/10 in my book. It’s a thoughtful, entertaining, and surprisingly effective reinvention of a horror classic, proving that even a story we’ve seen several times before can still have something new to say.

Season 1 available on Prime Video