Amazon’s Carrie review: a cyberbullying nightmare

Do we really need a new version of Carrie? That’s the question that plagues any attempt to reimagine the classic horror tale. Stephen King’s 1974 novel remains one of his most iconic, and the film version from Brian De Palma and Sissy Spacek two years later remains unsurpassed, despite a handful adaptations that followed in the ensuing decades. Any new iteration of the story bears the burden of proving why it needs to exist in the first place. Mike Flanagan’s new Carrie series on Prime Video manages to do exactly that: It not only captures the terror and drama that has made the story so enduring, but updates it in a way that feels perfectly suited for 2026.

Carrie is also notable for coming from Flanagan, who has extensive experience both with King adaptations and limited horror series. He directed King-based films like The Shining sequel Doctor Sleep and The Life of Chuck, and became especially well known for putting out a string of shows on Netflix between 2018 and 2023, including the likes of The Haunting of Bly Manor and Midnight Mass. For years he helped Netflix own the month of October, so it was something of a coup when Amazon poached Flanagan with an exclusive TV deal in 2022. Carrie is the first project to come out of that partnership.

This version of Carietta White (Summer H. Howell), better known as Carrie, is a sheltered teenager who was largely isolated from the world until the death of her father. That event forced her and her mother Margaret (Samantha Sloyan) to reenter society for legal reasons, which for Carrie means attending high school for the first time. Despite a few changes here and there, Carrie tells the same basic story as its source material: A lonely young girl is met with the harsh realities of the world and is bullied to the point of awakening telekinetic powers that, ultimately, are unleashed with destructive force on a small town. The key beats remain in place, including Carrie’s most iconic scenes; Carrie is still pelted with tampons in a gym class shower when she gets her first period, and she’s still doused with pig’s blood at prom by a jealous bully.

But the Amazon show, by nature of being an eight-episode series, also expands on the story. And, much like Apple TV’s recent update of Cape Fear, some of the biggest changes are down to technology. When Carrie is embarrassed in gym class, the whole thing gets filmed, which then leads to the creation of an anonymous Instagram account — handle: “carriered” — that is used to bully her and, eventually, the whole school. Unsubstantiated rumors are given life by the account, including everything from teachers dating students to popular kids getting pregnant. What starts out as a bunch of mean-spirited memes turns into real-world consequences. Margaret, who in this iteration of the story is not only a religious zealot but also a conspiracy theorist, goes on to become a “parents’ rights activist,” fighting against the account with tactics that are eerily similar to those of right-wing influencers.

Flanagan is no stranger to using classic horror to explore modern issues. His final Netflix series, The Fall of the House of Usher, adapted various Edgar Allan Poe stories into a show that was ultimately about the opioid epidemic. Carrie’s modern twists feel much more natural, and smartly transform the story into one that explores just how nightmarish the high school experience has become with the advent of cyberbullying. It’s a kind of torment that follows you home, existing outside of the confines of a school, which in turn makes it that much more difficult for the school to police. Carrie is the perfect vehicle for this; she’s kind and unassuming and has little understanding of the outside world. Bullying is a confusing and terrifying experience for anyone, but its effects are heightened for an innocent kid like Carrie who simply doesn’t grasp why anyone would do this to her. She comes into the high school experience with hope and a little trepidation, and she leaves covered in blood as a town literally explodes around her.

The extra runtime in Carrie is also used to flesh out some of the characters outside of Carrie herself, most notably her mother and her main bully, Christine “Chris” Hargensen (Alison Thornton). Both have moments where they’re almost sympathetic. Margaret does want to help Carrie, she just goes about it in all of the worst possible ways, while Chris is portrayed as much more than just a rich kid lashing out. She’s dealing with an extremely troubled home life and doesn’t know how to handle it. She’s mean and cruel, but you also get the sense that she wants to change, even if she can’t seem to get over that hump. The show is helped by an excellent cast — which also includes school faculty played by Matthew Lillard, Amber Midthunder, and Rahul Kohli — that make these traditionally one-dimensional characters seem like real, believable people.

Almost all of the changes Carrie makes, which include some minor twists on the events of the story, are worthwhile. But there is one big exception. The show makes some heavy-handed gestures to the broader Stephen King universe of superpowered psychics — yes, at one point someone uses the word “shine” — which really starts to drag things down as it approaches its explosive finale. Not only does the addition feel unnecessary, and further complicates an already complex story, it also makes the grave error of taking away some of Carrie’s agency. I can’t say much more without delving into spoiler territory, but the change removes a lot of the punch from the finale.

Aside from that, Carrie manages to answer that difficult question about why it exists. It’s not only a largely great retelling of the classic story, but one that uses that familiar tale to dig deep into an important current topic. Its modern trappings aren’t superficial twists; they heighten what was already a dark and haunting tale. And they make this iteration as terrifying as any that came before it.

_{All episodes of Carrie will be streaming on Prime Video on October 7th.}