classicsoncall
In the annals of dirty deeds, what Chris Hargensen (Nancy Allen) did to Carrie White (Sissy Spacek) was one of the most vile, despicable acts anyone could possibly imagine. You have to wonder where that kind of hate and evil come from. That bucket of blood certainly wasn't commensurate to getting detention time for mocking Carrie in the girl's gym locker. Out of everything in the movie, that's the single thing that made the biggest impression on me, simply because it was such a monstrous act that it seemed impossible to come up with.Young Sissy Spacek did a commendable job as the severely chastised Carrie White. As her mother, Piper Laurie is virtually over the top in the way she demonstrates her religious fervor, to the point of creating a dysfunctional human being in the person of her daughter. The telekinesis angle used by Stephen King in his novel was an intriguing way through which Carrie exacted her revenge against a handful of scheming classmates. Margaret White (Laurie) called it Satan's Power, but we know it better as the power of Stephen King's written word.Of King's horror novel adaptations, this one stacks up as one of the better ones, owing to Brian De Palma's attentive direction and the effective screenplay by Lawrence Cohen. For it's hour and a half plus run time, it seemed much shorter to me, suggesting that the film had me pretty much focused on the story. The mid-Seventies time frame during which the picture takes place gives it a bit of a dated quality, what with the clothing and hair styles, but King's horror never seems to go out of fashion.
The Movie Diorama
If you haven't seen it, then you've atleast heard of it. The moment a timid innocent girl is titled prom queen before she causes catastrophic chaos nearly wiping out her entire year group. Best. Prom. Ever. Glitzy sequin dresses aside, there are subtle subtextual layers that really elevates this supernatural horror into classic status. A shy bullied girl named Carrie White is invited to prom, however she soon discovers that she has the power of telekinesis. The coming-of-age tropes outweigh the horror elements, granted there are scenes of gore and supernatural violence but these are incredibly dated now. It's how Carrie evolves as a young girl that truly captivates. Her first period, dealing with her fanatical religious mother and overcoming bullying, for its 98 minute runtime you see Carrie rapidly evolve as a character. The religious allegories that are presented, Carrie and her mother depicting Satan and Jesus respectively, works well the themes of maturity and motherhood. It's a spellbinding human portrait, expertly directed by De Palma. That prom scene was nothing short of genius. The five minute rotational dance sequence, the over excessive slow motion, cross cuts and excellent use of props. The whole narrative built up to that final act, and it did so with bravura. Spacek gave an expressive performance, intelligently using her eyes to capture the fury and anger within Carrie. But it's Laurie who steals the show, professing her adoration for God and repenting her sins by abusing Carrie. Their final scene together was poetic. Cohen's screenplay surprisingly embeds tongue-in-cheek humour, particularly with the character of Miss Collins, making the first act feel more like a teen high school film. The sudden shift in tone later on felt seamless. De Palma did use some detractors, his utilisation of slow motion stretched out the prom scene substantially yet adding nothing. Also further exploration into the motherly bond with Carrie would've made for a more sinister turn at the end. However this still remains a supernatural classic.
pyrocitor
Quick – picture the scariest, most blood-curdling thing in the world. Don't think – just picture it. An image; a moment; a feeling of such utter mortification, disgust, and soul-chilling repulsion, even tangentially picturing it makes your skin clammy and fills you with dread. Have it? Good. Now, let's compare notes. I'll hazard a guess: it's not vampires, zombies, or ghosts. It's not clowns, axe-murders, or murderous children. It's not falling, being trapped underwater, or in a tight space. It's high school. Yes, it's a profound enough realization to catapult Stephen King from up-and- coming novelist to genre titan, pioneering decades of audiences realizing the true horror was not elaborate fantasies on screen – it lay in the people surrounding them in day-to-day existence, and just how perverse, vindictive, and creatively cruel they could be. And it's a guiding principle that helps Brian De Palma's seminal adaptation of King's fledgling classic persist as more than a schlocky '70s thriller, landing in The Exorcist camp of one of the most deeply disturbing but perversely, sheepishly enjoyable cinematic frights of all time. And that's not even factoring in the blood-drenched mass-murder by telekinesis. De Palma, a director largely acclaimed for style at the expense of substance, here finds the ideal wedding of the two, recognizing that King's parable is all the more gruesomely effective when seen through the heightened, hormonal dizziness of high school. At first glance, we're given the sense he's somewhat sold himself short, as the cheerfully gratuitous credits, featuring a gaggle of spectacularly naked coeds bouncing around a change room, suggest a jocular resignation to the comic book camp of B-horror (B for beeeeewwwbbs, naturally). A subsequent shot of Carrie ambiguously pleasuring herself in the shower, pelted by a playfully ejaculating shower head, is straight out of a porn parody. But then: a spurt of blood, and the shower's gone ice cold, as we're plunged into one of the most chilling openings to a horror film imaginable, as Carrie's histrionics, blindsided by her first period, are trumped by the scarring spectacle of her being pelted with tampons by her hooting, jeering cohort. And then the shoe drops: De Palma, cunningly, has cottoned on to the true horror inherent in King's treatise being the see-sawing of expectations being requited and rebuffed. Initially, horror takes the backseat to satire, as De Palma gleefully lampoons the genre's objectification of female sexuality, and tacks on a deceptively savage incitement of the school system's inability to properly address bullying and mental health concerns (here, Betty Buckley expertly riddles her do-gooder teacher's kindly exchanges with Carrie with pedantic clumsiness and subtle resentment), while sprinkling in visits from Carrie's horrifically deranged mother (and the most distressingly leering Jesus on a crucifix in cinema history) so unhinged they can't help but ring grotesquely emotionally true. The social commentary is tempered somewhat by the slightly out-of-touch 'male writer hypothesizing what it's like to be a high school girl' (not helped by a cast nearly as visibly inappropriately old as Grease), but the cruelty rings hauntingly true. But De Palma changes gears to to full-blown suspense building in the second act. Hardly subtle about his amorous Hitchcock influences (check out the sampling of Psycho's shrieking strings in Pino Donaggio's elegantly bombastic musical score), De Palma treats prom like Hitch's proverbial bomb on the bus - the anticipation, watching every last piece fastidiously click into place, is what makes it horrifying. With sadistic cheerfulness and perfectly steely, squirm-inducing pacing, he cross- cuts between Carrie, audaciously daring to hope she could still integrate with her peers at prom, and her classmates taking a late night jaunt to the slaughterhouse. It's almost unbearably cringe-worthy - pop culture infamy ensures we know exactly what the coup de grace is, but can't quite look away as it painstakingly runs its course. The final blowout itself - a maelstrom of dizzyingly circling cameras, whip- pan zooms, fast-forwards, and split-screens - toes the line of being distractingly stylized, but it's too guiltily, sordidly cathartic a payoff not to drink up. What we don't expect is a climax part II - even more distressingly batsh*t, as Carrie's mother requites the looming Psycho allusions before Carrie - literally - brings the house down. Tack on a jump scare coda that suggests De Palma, smirking, trying to outdo the heart palpitations from his buddy Steve's shark movie, and there's no question we've got a chilling classic on our hands. Sissy Spacek is almost achingly perfect as the titular telekinetic, and there are few cinematic images that convey the writhing claustrophobia of adolescent isolation as her pitifully slumped, dishevelled form. Watching her painstakingly build nuggets of self-confidence, conceiving that her supernatural abilities could be miracles rather than satanic curses, to her beaming, tearful euphoria at being crowned prom queen, are almost too adorable to watch, making her descent into bug-eyed murderousness as heartbreaking as it is chilling. Piper Laurie unquestionably steals the show with a grotesquely fever-pitched tour-de-force as Carrie's fundamentalist mother, all the more titanically detestable upon realization that, idly humming while dragging and locking her daughter in a closet, she genuinely believes she's acting in Carrie's best interests. John Travolta and Nancy Allen are each deliciously awful as Carrie's malevolent bully and her dopey, sadistically eager boyfriend, their caustic banter as funny as the underlying abuse is unsettling, while Luke Skywalker-wannabe William Katt and Amy Irving are each understatedly earnest as the two sheepishly trying to redeem Carrie's year (the ambiguity of Katt's oscillating enthusiasm as Carrie's prom date remains one of the film's most enigmatic touches). Carrie may verge on being overcooked at times, but its blend of visceral imagery, incisive social critique, and bonkers climactic payoff sear its place into the annals of horror history. So go ahead: take Carrie to the prom. You just might not be sorry that you did. -9/10
