You can fake an orgasm. You can fake interest in whatever boring-ass conversation you’ve been trapped in by a barfly who bought you a drink. You can even fake a spastic bladder and pee yourself a little bit to get out of a speeding ticket (none of these examples are taken from personal experience, of course… Noooooo, sir). But you can’t fake horror. The racing heartbeat as you round the corner in a pitch black hallway, the frantic race to escape death at the hands of a killer; the last words, last tears, last screams that echo in your mind long after the credits have rolled. Horror… The Original Gangster of cinema.
Carrie follows Carrie White as she navigates the murky and torturous waters of high school as a batshit crazy mom, an unexpected visit from Aunt Flo, burgeoning telekinesis, and the worst hair DECADE in the history of mankind threaten to claim her sanity, and the lives of all the future hipsters of America in town. Will she ever learn to twerk? Will she finally find solace in the bottom a conditioner bottle? Will I ever be as kickass as Betty White?
Hats (and other articles of clothing) off to the marketing team behind the remake of Carrie, because they KILLED the trailer. It was creepy, thrilling, haunting and built anticipation like a motherfucking champ. I went into this film fist pumping like Snookie fresh off a stint on Celebrity Rehab, I mean Teen Mom, I mean Jersey Shore.
Carrie was filled with slick visuals, nasty gore and an eye toward the thrills and chills enough to get you squirming in your seat… And not just ‘cause you got to second base during the Prom Scene (which was a delightfully vicious, if slightly over-blown, conclusion to the cautionary tale of a girl and her tampon).
Kudos also to Julianne Moore for running away with any scene, line, frame, or shot that she was in. The absolute, breathtaking, commitment Moore had in her role as Margaret White was by far and away the highlight of the film. Uncomfortable, and even disturbing to watch, Moore’s authenticity and sheer badassery were an unstoppable freight train of joy and joyness covered in blood and bloodness.
Like Rocky vs. Apollo Creed, the Carrie remake went toe-to-toe with one of the most iconic horror films of all time, 1976’s original Carrie. When you have a film named after, and based on, a title character, that lead actress better bitch-slap you in the face so hard with awesome you shit Grumpy Cat memes for a week.
To be fair, Chloe Grace Moretz (my cinematic lady crush) delivered a solid, if somewhat initially awkward, performance. From beginning to end Moretz performed well and I can’t find significant fault with her. But maybe do Kickass 3 before stepping in the ring with Sissy Spacek, who was a decade older, and awesomer, when she put on that pink-and-gore-stained prom dress to kill some motherfuckers and raise hell like a goddamned Picasso of Pain.
The original film still holds up (allowing for the admittedly cheesy 70’s vibe) well today, and remains a horror classic, a Halloween staple, and my go-to ode to gore even now. The remake of Carrie wasn’t bad, it wasn’t terrible; it was a good, solid, remake worthy of a ticket stub and a box of popcorn on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Overall, the film was a decent regurgitation of an iconic classic that failed to exceed expectations.
There was literally no reason I can think of to make this movie other than money. I get it, I’ll buy you lunch if you’re that hard up, amigos. The lack of creativity here is rivaled by anything Paris Hilton has ever done… Ever. I’m including breathing and “accidental” cooter shots. A few tweaked scenes (removing nudity and amping up finale gore) do not a “fresh take” make. Taking nudity out of ANYTHING is never a good call, amirite guys?
Add to that a lack of depth in the ancillary characters, and inconsistent supporting performances, and you’ve got yourself a winner. We’re all in agreement “winner” stands for “adequate waste of time”, right? Cool. Shout-out to the teenage arch-villain in the flick, who flaps her arms and flicks her ponytail with masterful suckitude, illustrating the point that pulling out is not always the best method of birth-control. And also, that banning someone from prom is a totally legit reason to dump gallons of pig’s blood on an unsuspecting bitch.
Carrie is a solid horror film (and not a terrible waste of your time) if you’re looking to cop a feel through the bottom of a popcorn tub. Ultimately, they gave this bitch a facelift… But they didn’t give her new tits. Two semi-erect nipples up.
Take a Drink: for every religious reference. Rent a liver.
Take a Drink: whenever you hear “Carrie White” or “Mama”.
Take a Shot: for every ginger/plot hole you see. Hint: Try texting, it’s faster and less death-y.
Take a Drink: each time someone stares in a mirror. Bonus Shot: If it’s cracked.
Take a Sip: anytime you see blood. Rent another liver. Maybe two.
Shotgun a Beer: For the best prom ever!