I debated this past week whether or not I wanted to write a review for the Carrie remake. Because I hold Brian De Palma's original 1976 horror classic (based on Stephen King's first novel) so near and dear to my black heart, my feelings were strange even before the Kimberly Peirce (Boys Don't Cry) remake was released. First, a remake of Carrie is about as unnecessary as a remake of Jaws. Second, both Sissy Spacek and Piper Laurie's performances will be cemented in time on the horror wall of fame. So, if you already have cinematic perfection, why give it a facelift? Well, Peirce's version of Carrie does not even do that.
Chloe Grace Moretz (Let Me In, Kick-Ass) is a good teen actor, but she did not succeed in capturing the bullied and abused telekinetic high schooler's naivety and pain, justifying her rise to bloody revenge on prom night. Moretz's Carrie White is also much more vengeful than Spacek's, without accomplishing the believability that a pretty girl will likely be tortured so by her classmates. I came to see this movie for Julianne Moore, who nails it so hard that she can't get those crucifixes off the wall. Moore is what justifies this remake as tolerable. Her portrayal of Carrie's extremist, bible thumping mother is on par with Piper Laurie's Margaret White.
The Carrie remake was going for horror, and accomplishes laughs instead. While the story of a timid teen who is pushed to her telekinetic limits is a Stephen King story, the original is an endearing portrait of a girl. We not only feel that Carrie's actions are justified, but in the end, we still side with her. We understand Carrie. Peirce's remake was as expected: unimaginable, unnecessary, forgetful remake cinema. You pulled the strings and gave us a bucket of ketchup. Sorry Kimberly Peirce, but, they're all gonna laugh at you.
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