Carrie Review: Mike Flanagan Makes Stephen King’s Classic Feel Terrifyingly Relevant Again
Reel Perspectives
October 7, 2026
Sometimes a classic story just needs to be told in a way that makes us understand why it still matters. That is exactly what Mike Flanagan attempts with Carrie, Prime Video’s new eight-episode adaptation of Stephen King’s 1974 novel. And while there will undoubtedly be viewers who question some of the changes, Flanagan’s modernized take proves there is still plenty of life—and plenty of horror—in Carrie White’s story.
The biggest surprise about Carrie is that the series doesn’t simply race toward the famous prom night massacre. Flanagan takes his time showing us the girl underneath the legend. Carrie White, played beautifully by Summer H. Howell, is not introduced as a monster waiting to explode. She is an isolated, sheltered teenager who has spent most of her life being told what to believe, how to behave and what kind of world exists beyond her front door. After the death of her father forces Carrie into high school, she suddenly finds herself surrounded by people, womanhood, expectations and cruelty she has never been prepared to handle.
And that is where this version of Carrie really finds its voice.
The bullying feels painfully contemporary because Flanagan understands that cruelty has changed. In King's original story, humiliation happens in the school hallway, the locker room and the classroom. Today, it can follow you home, live permanently on a phone and reach an audience far beyond the people standing in the room. The series uses social media to amplify that cruelty, turning teenage humiliation into something that can spread almost instantly. It makes Carrie's search for friendship and belonging feel even more heartbreaking because the very thing she desperately wants—acceptance—is also the thing that repeatedly puts her in the crosshairs.
Flanagan also makes an interesting choice by giving more attention to the people surrounding Carrie. Alison Thornton's Chris Hargensen is more than simply the stereotypical mean girl, even though she remains absolutely vicious. Chris navigates her own set of personal issues while still making terrible choices, and Thornton gives her enough dimension to make her more than a cardboard villain. The same goes for Siena Agudong's Sue Snell, whose relationship with Carrie becomes part of the larger conversation about guilt, accountability and whether realizing you have done something wrong is enough to make things right.
Then there is Samantha Sloyan's Margaret White, and she is frightening for an entirely different reason. Margaret has always been one of the most disturbing figures in the Carrie story, but Sloyan brings a fascinating mixture of fanaticism, control and warped maternal devotion to the role. Margaret believes she is protecting her daughter while simultaneously imprisoning her. Every attempt to shield Carrie from the outside world only makes Carrie more vulnerable to it. Their relationship becomes a vicious cycle of fear and abuse, and Sloyan makes Margaret's presence feel suffocating without reducing her to a simple caricature of religious extremism.
That relationship is one of the strongest reasons this Carrie works. Howell is equally impressive because Carrie's power is not the most important thing about her. Her vulnerability is. There is an innocence in Howell's performance that makes the audience want Carrie to experience the normal teenage life she has been denied. We watch her slowly discover friendship, curiosity, anger, and eventually the conflicting realization that she possesses something no one else can control, which makes the inevitable collision between Carrie and the world around her hit harder.
Flanagan knows exactly where this story is headed and the legacy of Carrie is almost impossible to escape. Brian De Palma's 1976 film became an iconic piece of horror cinema, with Sissy Spacek's Carrie and Piper Laurie's Margaret White permanently embedded in pop culture. There have also been other screen adaptations, but Flanagan isn't trying to erase what came before. Instead, he takes a story audiences already know and asks what it looks like when the same cruelty exists in a world of smartphones, social media and heightened public scrutiny.
That approach may not work for everyone, and some of the changes will undoubtedly divide longtime fans. But that is also what makes the series worth talking about. Carrie isn't simply asking whether Carrie deserves revenge. It asks a much harder question: How many people have to fail a vulnerable young person before we stop blaming the person who finally breaks?
By the time the series reaches its infamous climax, the moment feels earned because Flanagan has spent eight episodes building the emotional foundation underneath it. The horror isn't simply the bloodshed. It's watching a young woman who desperately wants to belong become increasingly convinced that the world has no place for her.
That is what makes this Carrie more than another trip to a familiar story.
Flanagan has taken one of Stephen King's most recognizable characters and found a way to make her feel painfully relevant to a generation dealing with online humiliation, social pressure, isolation and the consequences of adults failing to protect children. This Carrie stands on its own as an emotional and surprisingly compelling reinvention of a story that has terrified audiences for more than five decades.
Verdict: Carrie is a bloody, emotional and timely reinvention that gives longtime fans something familiar while giving newcomers a reason to care about the girl behind the legend. Flanagan proves once again that sometimes the most frightening monsters aren't supernatural —they're the people standing right beside us.
All eight episodes of Carrie are now streaming on Prime Video.
Comments