Carrie (2026)

The young cast are outstanding, and the benefit of having eight episodes to play with is that their backstories can be built. .... But the series belongs to Howell.

Not all of the additions work, with some new characters nearly pushing the scope of the plot past capacity, but with smart accommodations for the social media age, Mike Flanagan and his team have successfully made the case for why Carrie’s story needed to be retold.

It doesn’t necessarily improve on the author’s original (or De Palma’s gem), but it’s a worthy reinvention that carves out its own unique identity in fire and blood.

Howell will make you feel the urge to wrap Carrie White in a hug to shield her (until she ignites a deadly blaze, of course). Even if Carrie stumbles along the way, it at least makes a solid case for why today’s generation could use a drama like this one.

Though not immune from the bloat of his previous adaptations — a subplot about a toxic meme account that sparks a high-school riot goes on way too long – Flanagan’s Carrie makes the best argument yet that her story doesn’t have to end with the blood-soaked Prom from Hell.

Kudos for its topicality and its performances, especially that of star Summer H. Howell, but this Carrie is finally less distinctive and far less scary than it should be.

If Howell lacks Spacek’s ethereal creepiness, she comes into her own wearing a tiara while covered in gore. .... [Mike Flanagan] displays a tin ear for the source material by making its implicit feminist message preachily explicit, and keeps changing his mind about whether Carrie’s mother is a monster or a misunderstood heroine. Worst of all, Prime’s karaoke Carrie isn’t remotely scary.