The era of New Hollywood gave us many great films, and that includes a large number of great horror films. In fact, that period could easily be described as the Golden Age of Horror Films. So many horror films had bigger budgets, bigger stars, greater creative freedom, and higher artistic ambition—at least compared with the cheap exploitation trash that passes for the horror genre today. Perhaps the best example of such a grand approach is Carrie, the 1976 film directed by Brian De Palma, which is often regarded as one of the best horror films of all time.
The plot, based on the debut novel by Stephen King, deals with Carrie White (played by Sissy Spacek), a 16-year-old girl whose plain looks, awkward demeanour, and apparent lack of social skills make her the target of ridicule and bullying by her fellow students at the local high school. The situation for Carrie isn’t much better at home, where she is verbally and physically abused by her mother Margaret (played by Piper Laurie), a crazed religious fanatic who tries to prevent her daughter from doing anything “sinful”. Because of this, Carrie never learned about certain biological facts like menstruation; when she gets her first period in the girls’ locker room at school, she panics, only to be mercilessly mocked and tormented by a clique of students led by the popular and arrogant Chris Hargensen (played by Nancy Allen). The only person to come to her rescue is the gym teacher, Miss Collins (played by Betty Buckley), who punishes Chris by forbidding her from attending the prom. Carrie gradually gains some self-confidence, which coincides with her discovering telekinetic powers—powers that would ultimately serve her well when she finally stands up to her mother and goes to the prom against her wishes. Meanwhile, Sue Snell (played by Amy Irving), one of the girls from Chris’s clique, feels remorse over the bullying and persuades her boyfriend Tommy Ross (played by William Katt) to serve as Carrie’s date for the prom. Chris, on the other hand, is infuriated by her exclusion from the prom and plots revenge against Carrie with her boyfriend Billy Nolan (played by John Travolta). This revenge takes place at the prom in the form of a carefully orchestrated and utterly humiliating prank. When the prank happens, Carrie succumbs to the rage that has been accumulating for years and uses her telekinetic powers with apocalyptic consequences.
Carrie is known as the first adaptation of Stephen King’s literary work and the start of a very long and prolific cooperation between that writer and Hollywood. However, no one should mistake this version of Carrie as Stephen King’s. It is, first and foremost, Brian De Palma’s film. De Palma and his screenwriter Lawrence D. Cohen take a very liberal approach to King’s novel, which allows De Palma to play with his trademark “baroque” style of filmmaking, incorporating slow motion, split screen, monochromatic shots, and brilliant use of Hitchcockian suspense-building techniques. De Palma’s skills are best seen in a couple of brilliant scenes, beginning with one of the most effective openings in cinematic history. What starts as the ultimate male fantasy, in which the camera in slow motion follows naked, nubile girls, transforms into an ugly reality when the first blood appears; instead, we see a naked and helpless protagonist subjected to horrible abuse by her peers. De Palma does the same with the equally memorable prom scene, which starts as a dream for the protagonist only to turn into the ultimate nightmare—first for Carrie, then for dozens of people suddenly faced with unstoppable, incomprehensible, and utterly murderous rage. This is followed by the scene at the Whites’ home, which begins deceptively calmly only to end with another round of violence, resulting in a death clearly inspired by religious art. And, of course, there is the epilogue of Carrie, which provides an interesting twist but also represents the most problematic aspect of this film. Well executed yet rather unnecessary, this scene needlessly places Carrie in the realm of exploitation horror and provides a bad example to be used in countless other horror films, including De Palma’s own Dressed to Kill a few years later.
De Palma’s talent was well-matched by the talents of the cast. Sissy Spacek as Carrie played not only one of the best roles of her career but also one of the most memorable roles in cinema history. As a woman in her late 20s, she not only convincingly portrayed a teenage character but also conveyed a wide range of emotions—utter terror, absolute bliss, painful humiliation, murderous rage, and regret. Spacek succeeds in the very difficult task of creating sympathy for a character whose actions would ultimately result in the deaths of innocent people. Spacek is well-matched by Piper Laurie, an actress whose career was relaunched by this strong performance; she portrays an utterly disdainful character but gives Margaret a conviction and zeal that would ultimately lead to one of the most effective yet unusual death scenes. Nancy Allen (who later became De Palma’s wife) is also effective as a narcissistic, arrogant psychopath whose actions would ultimately lead to apocalypse, just as Amy Irving is very good as an imperfect character who remains one of the audience’s last links to normalcy. In many ways, Carrie is a women’s film, and it is hard to reconcile it with accusations of misogyny levelled against De Palma during his career. In this film, males are reduced to cannon fodder, and male actors don’t have much to do—Katt’s character is reduced to a useless pretty boy, while Travolta (who would soon become a big star) is nothing more than a second-class henchman. The talents of the cast are also matched by Italian composer Pino Donaggio, who wrote a simple but effective score, with a couple of nods to the great Bernard Herrmann (originally slated to work on this film shortly before his death), author of the music for Psycho, which is briefly used in a couple of scenes in this film.
Carrie is as effective today as it was during its premiere because, despite some fashion and music choices that might make it dated, it deals with universal themes, characters, and plots. Furthermore, it is a relatively short film in which an emphasis on style usually prevents unnecessary content. The screenwriter very cleverly keeps telekinesis as a subplot, a mere tool rather than the emphasis of the film; Carrie’s real powers are displayed at the very end, and only then does the film start to look like conventional horror. Until that point, it works mostly as a disturbing coming-of-age drama, where the real horror comes from real people doing mundane but very cruel and hurtful things to the protagonist. The telekinetic horror that comes at the end is only its reflection. Carrie very cleverly doesn’t dwell on the origin or true nature of Carrie’s powers; unlike so many horror films from the 1970s to this day, it avoids placing it within the framework of Christian—or, to be more precise, Catholic—theology. Instead, telekinesis is portrayed as a rare, mysterious but ultimately natural phenomenon, and Carrie learns about it by reading a book in the library rather than being taught by a priest. This unusually secular approach to horror is one of many elements of Carrie that makes this film stand out among other examples of the genre. And, like all great films, it has aged very well, easily consigning its imitations and pointless remakes (like the 2013 version) to well-deserved oblivion.
RATING: 8/10 (+++)
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