Revenge, Religion, and a Really Good Hair Straightener
Stephen King’s Carrie has been drenched in more fake blood than a slaughterhouse prom. First there was the 1976 Brian De Palma classic — a perfect cocktail of teenage cruelty, Catholic guilt, and supernatural payback. Then came sequels, TV remakes, and now, the 2013 version, directed by Kimberly Peirce.
And you know what? It’s actually pretty good.
This Carrie may not reinvent the wheel (or the bucket), but it polishes it with 21st-century angst, viral humiliation, and some shockingly effective moments of sympathy. It’s like the original’s angsty older sister — one who uses TikTok filters, believes in therapy, but will still burn down your high school if you cross her.
The Setup: High School Hell, Now in HD
Carrie White (Chloë Grace Moretz) is still the same shy, sheltered teen living with her religious zealot mother, Margaret (Julianne Moore, giving the term “bad mom” a whole new theological dimension). But this time, we’ve got smartphones, YouTube, and Wi-Fi — because in 2013, humiliation doesn’t just spread through whispers in the locker room. It trends.
When Carrie gets her first period in the school shower and panics, her classmates respond like the world’s most sadistic social media influencers. Instead of throwing tampons, they also record the scene, upload it, and make her go viral faster than a cat playing piano.
This update, while horrifying, makes perfect sense — because in today’s world, nothing says “modern horror” like the comment section.
The Mother of All Problems
Julianne Moore’s Margaret White is a masterpiece of religious mania and maternal mismanagement. She’s the kind of mom who probably thinks Netflix is demonic and that yoga invites Satan into your core. She’s constantly self-harming, quoting Bible verses that don’t exist, and locking her daughter in a closet that looks like Hobby Lobby’s idea of Hell.
But Peirce gives her a tragic edge. You don’t just fear Margaret — you pity her. She’s a woman so broken by her own shame that she’s raising Carrie to inherit her insanity. When she lovingly hits her daughter with a Bible, you can almost hear the pages whisper, “This is why people leave the church.”
Enter: Chloë Grace Moretz, the Telekinetic Teen of the Tumblr Era
Moretz is not Sissy Spacek — and that’s fine. She brings a new kind of vulnerability to Carrie, one that feels less “alienated outcast” and more “bullied girl you wish you could hug before she explodes everyone’s heads.”
She’s awkward, kind, and sweet — until she’s not. Her telekinesis is framed not as witchcraft, but as puberty with a nuclear power upgrade. She doesn’t just move objects — she controls her world for the first time in her life. If teenage self-esteem could move furniture, this is what it would look like.
The best part? Watching her practice. There’s a whole scene of Carrie floating books, spinning objects, and grinning like a kid who just found the cheat codes for life. It’s empowering, almost heartwarming — like Matilda but with more murder.
The Bullies: Mean Girls, But Make It Manslaughter
Chris Hargensen (Portia Doubleday) is still the reigning queen of high school sociopaths, the kind of person who’d shove a kitten into a blender if it meant more followers. Her boyfriend Billy (Alex Russell) is equally loathsome — a human Red Bull can with a driver’s license.
They’re not just cruel; they’re cartoonishly awful. But that’s the fun of it. This Carrie isn’t aiming for subtlety — it’s aiming for satisfaction. When Chris dumps that bucket of blood on Carrie, it’s the modern equivalent of pressing the self-destruct button on your entire generation.
Meanwhile, Sue Snell (Gabriella Wilde) gets a modern redemption arc. Instead of being just the token “nice girl,” she feels genuinely haunted by what she did. Her decision to send her boyfriend Tommy (Ansel Elgort, forever doomed to die at dances) to take Carrie to prom is actually kind. It’s just that in this universe, kindness is always repaid in arterial spray.
The Prom: A Night to Dismember
Let’s be honest — no matter how many times this story gets told, the prom scene always works. It’s cinematic poetry: humiliation, slow motion, a bucket, a gasp, and then glorious, operatic destruction.
Peirce nails it. When the blood hits, it’s not just gross — it’s tragic. Carrie looks betrayed, not enraged, at first. Then she breaks. Lights flicker, metal bends, and classmates drop like prom confetti. It’s a massacre choreographed like a ballet of revenge, with telekinetic choreography that would make Magneto weep with pride.
And yes, Carrie spares Miss Desjardin (Judy Greer), her kind gym teacher — because even murder machines have a code of ethics.
The gym explodes in flames, the bullies get crushed, and Carrie strolls out looking like a crimson goddess. It’s horrifying. It’s beautiful. It’s basically what every bullied kid has daydreamed about at least once during algebra.
The Gore: Controlled Chaos
Unlike the 1976 version’s dreamy, split-screen massacre, this one is full-throttle digital mayhem. Power lines snap, cars fly, and the prom turns into a Final Destination spinoff. It’s not subtle — but neither is teenage rage.
Carrie’s powers here feel like an extension of emotion, not just spectacle. When she lashes out, it’s not blind evil — it’s heartbreak. Watching her cry as she kills her classmates is weirdly moving, like watching a storm apologize mid-hurricane.
The Final Showdown: Mother Knows Stab
The final confrontation between Carrie and Margaret is as operatic as it gets — half horror movie, half Lifetime drama on bath salts.
Julianne Moore’s performance during the stabbing scene is pure unholy energy. She hugs her daughter lovingly while plunging a knife into her back — a perfect metaphor for maternal love if there ever was one. Carrie’s response? Sending every sharp object in the house flying into her mother like divine acupuncture.
When Carrie finally breaks down, sobbing and pulling her mother’s body into her arms, it’s heartbreaking. Then she makes the roof collapse in on them. You know — as one does after family therapy goes south.
The Ending: Don’t Forget to Scream for the Sequel
The epilogue adds an extra layer of tragic beauty. Sue Snell visiting Carrie’s grave, the white roses, the gravestone cracking — it’s pure gothic soap opera, and I love it.
Even the alternate ending, with the nightmare pregnancy jump scare, feels like a ghostly wink from the franchise: “We’ll be back, covered in blood and baby trauma.”
Peirce’s Direction: Feminism Meets Firestarter
Kimberly Peirce brings an interesting perspective as a female director. While De Palma’s version lingered on the voyeurism of humiliation, Peirce’s version lingers on the pain of it. There’s empathy here — a sense that Carrie isn’t just a monster, but a victim of systemic cruelty, parental abuse, and teenage psychopathy.
The horror isn’t just in the gore — it’s in the emotional truth of how women are punished for becoming powerful. This Carrie doesn’t destroy because she’s evil; she destroys because the world gave her no other outlet.
And she does it with perfect eyeliner.
Final Verdict: A Bloody Good Revival
Is Carrie (2013) necessary? Maybe not. But is it entertaining, emotionally resonant, and surprisingly empowering? Absolutely.
Chloë Grace Moretz brings pathos and menace, Julianne Moore is terrifying perfection, and the prom sequence is everything you want from a modern gothic meltdown.
It’s Mean Girls meets X-Men, with a body count and a moral about bullying that hits harder than any PSA.
Verdict: ★★★★☆
A stylish, savage reimagining that proves revenge is timeless — and red is always in fashion. The horror genre may be flooded with remakes, but this one still bleeds beautifully.
