Whose Crashout Is It? A Review of Carrie (2026) 

Warning: spoilers ahead! 

In an effort to be in the festive October spirit, I recently watched the Amazon Prime miniseries, Carrie (2026), a new telling of the Stephen King novel of the same name. While accomplishing the Halloween-vibe goal, I was ultimately left feeling as though something was missing. 

To be fair, it is listed as a reimagining, which I can get behind (if done well). Tales of teenage struggles and the impact of bullying and organized religion have only become more important since the 1976 film. But while the miniseries seeks to be its own entity, one cannot simply reimagine a classic horror story without there being some comparison to its original. 

One of the best aspects of Brian De Palma’s Carrie (1976) was that, to varying degrees, most of the characters are complex and flawed. Sissy Spacek’s deeply troubled and timid portrayal of Carrie White not only allowed for the character to be interesting and relatable, but for her actions to be understandable. It’s this very point that I found to be the biggest issue in Carrie (2026). In this version, Carrie White (Summer H. Howell) meets a new character, Emaline West (Thalia Dudek), who has supernatural powers and abilities of her own. Admittedly, I am still intrigued by Emaline’s character. She’s a bit of a wild card, and you’re never quite sure on where her intentions and motives lie. That alone has the makings of an interesting character. 

Nevertheless, Emaline’s function as a character is to support Carrie in a story where the latter is a victim who finally reacts to the abuse around her. In the 1976 film, there are arguably only three people who ever show Carrie true kindness. Therefore, we never see her have someone who befriends and truly understands her and her supernatural abilities. In comparison, the 2026 miniseries not only has Emaline beside her, but features her actively encouraging Carrie to hone her telekinetic skills. As the viewer, I found this diminished the impact of the bullying Carrie faces; if she’s being emboldened to retaliate with paranormal capabilities that give her an advantage, why should we feel that sorry for her? 

To me, it comes down to how easily we’re able to sympathize with Carrie even after the events at the prom. After everything, the 1976 film forces Carrie to retreat back to her religiously fanatical mother, Margaret White (Piper Laurie), the latter of which is responsible for most of the former’s problems. After her mother attempts to kill her, Carrie uses her telekinetic powers to save herself and kill her mother (in the style of a crucifixion, no less). The house suddenly catches on fire and caves in on both of them, and we are left both heartbroken yet accepting over Carrie’s death (she did just murder a bunch of people, after all). Her ending makes it clear that there was never anyone truly in her corner consistently enough to make a difference. 

The miniseries not only puts someone in Carrie’s corner, but also her mind. Emaline possesses Carrie’s body and is responsible for murdering everyone at the prom. This doesn’t benefit the latter’s character as much as one might think. While we don’t agree with what she does in Carrie (1976), we also understand that it was one of the few choices she was ever able to make. It becomes a defiant moment where Carrie makes her peers face the monster that they helped to create. With that decision given to Emaline, it loses that impact, and Carrie becomes a victim once again. 

The final scene of Carrie (2026) has Emaline and Carrie driving off in the sunset together. As Carrie’s face settles into a mix of acceptance and contentment, we realize this dynamic duo are suddenly heading down a path of villainousness.