Carrie (1976)

 

Channel 4’s “100 Scariest Moments” list, #27:

 

 

Carrie

(1976)

 

Horror film is generally considered an ugly-step-child by cinema’s critical establishment, and not without good reason; most of it low-brow, and most of that really sucks.

 

Critically, things started to change in the 1980s, with the surprisingly positive response to “The Evil Dead” (1981), it was a landmark in the growing recognition that one could no longer ignore how even low-brow Horror had a relentless energy that was guiding remarkable story-telling innovations that could no longer (if the was no “Evil Dead” there may never have been the far more respectable “Blood Simple” (1984)). But the 1980s were a long time coming, and before then, the bulk of the film’s we Horror fans view as classics now were treated dismissively, if not with strong hostility, when they were first released.

 

To be fair to the snobs, there were Horror Classics of eras before the ‘80s that were recognized as classics from the very beginning (examples: “Nosferatu” (1922), “Frankenstein” (1931), “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” (both the 1931 and 1941 versions), “The Picture of Dorian Grey” (1945), “The Thing from an Another World” (1951), “Psycho” (1960), “Rosemary’s Baby” (1968), and “The Exorcist” (1973)). A notable element of these immediately admired films was not only the quality of the filmmaking and maturity in how their subjects were handled, but that other kind of maturity, now I mean the age of the majority of the characters. The Horror audience started getting younger in the 1950s, and the filmmaking reflected that, and while the critically acclaimed Horror films were pitched to older audiences, the majority of the movies were pitched to teenagers. The films for the younger demographics became, on a whole, dumber, and the both the reality and perception of the collective stupidity effected the critical consensus of nearly all the genre’s films.

 

That’s one of the many reasons why “Carrie” is such a landmark. Based of Stephen King’s novel (first published 1974), it is a great film, and a Horror film, but astoundingly, it is mostly about High School students, and yet, even in 1976, the youth of the leads didn’t distract anyone from film’s accomplishment. It made a huge number of that year’s “Ten Best Lists” and both Sissy Spacek and Piper Laurie earned Oscar nominations for their performances (Spacek’s is especially remarkable, she’s often referred to as the Best Actress Oscar nomination for a Supernatural Thriller, even though Ellen Burstein beat her to that distinction three years prior with “The Exorcist”).

 

The rest of the cast is strong as well. I’ve read a fair amount about Director Brian DePalma’s methods, and he’s not known for closely directing his actors, yet in film-after-film he gets excellent performances from diverse casts. DePalma’s guiding light was always Alfred Hitchcock, and one of Hitchcock’s many rules of filmmaking was that proper casting saved you a full reel of story-telling, so maybe DePalma’s greatest ally may have been his Casting Director Harriet B. Helberg (NOTE: possibly contradicting my statement is the fact that this was her only credited film with DePalma). Helberg seems to have not only have brought in Spacek (who had a solid TV resume and just achieved sudden stardom for her role in “Badlands” (1973)) and Laurie (better established still, but absent then from Hollywood for more than a decade) but also a number of completely- or nearly-unknown talents who would prove so good here that their careers would sky-rocket in its wake: Nancy Allen, William Katt, Amy Irving, and John Travolta.

 

DePalma’s career has been diverse but defined by a specific-and- narrow type of out-put during a very specific period of time. De Palma’s first seven features are extremely obscure, though a few comedies like “The Wedding Party” (1969), garnered positive critical attention. His first major success came with his first Horror/Thriller, “Sisters” (1973) and with it he committed himself to a long stretch of (mostly) Hitchcock-influenced Horror and Crime films; these made up the overwhelming majority of his next ten features, stretching all the way to the disastrous “Body Double” (1984). After that, his out-put became more diverse again. During that stretch, ‘73 and ’84, as he became more and more commercially successful, he slowly became also more and more critically disdained. His films were increasingly, and rightfully, viewed and misogynistic. Also, he annoyed many because there’s a difference between allowing oneself to be influenced by Hitchcock and slavishly aping, and that slavish aping became increasingly obvious the farther in time we move along. Marking this period was an apparently artistic decline and greater popularity, with some of his weakest films, like “Dressed to Kill” (1980), also being his most commercially successful.

 

“Carrie,” is early in the cycle, has abundant Hitchcock references, but more striking was DePalma’s own ferocious originality. This is demonstrated in the opening scene, a complex crane-shot of girls playing volley-ball. It was comparable to, way back in 1937, Hitchcock executed a history-making crane-shot in the film “Young and Innocent.” In the older film, the camera traveled wordlessly to reveal the identity of the murderer. Over time Hitchcock would refine and improve on this this achievement and these shots became one of the signatures of his genius. DePalma’s use of the idea certainly here evokes the Master, but while critics praised the volley-ball scene, few referred to Hitchcock, even though “Hitchcock homage” would be a phrase repeated in reviews of most of his other films that followed.

 

Moreover, “Carrie” features two more equally complex cane-shots that not only advance the story, the repeated use of the mannerism helped unify the film’s narrative. Hitchcock’s most important lesson is that any stylistic indulgence must serve to illuminate story, and DePalma often lost sight of this in his movies, but here he is solidly focused.

 

DePalma made other great films, but they were as far removed from this one as it is his most complained about outings. Among the distinctions of “Carrie” is that it represents his best handling of female characters. Though he is so often decried as being misogynistic, here he takes on a difficult and complex subject, female power politics, and gives us a work that is as compassionate as it is terrifying, and as incisive as it is cruel.

 

Immediately after the scene on the volleyball field, the High School girls move to the locker room and showers. The nubile bodies, fully or partially nude, the soft-focus photography and music, all deliberately evoke that era’s Soft-Porn, especially as the camera moves of Carrie’s (Spacek’s) body and slowly as a lover’s caresses -- but the is only the starting point.

 

Carrie starts to bleed, it’s her period, her very first one, and she has no idea what is happening to her. She screams in terror, and her classmates respond not with compassion, but cruelty. A crowd of enraged and mocking girls start throwing tampons at the cowering, naked, Carrie, chanting and screaming, “Plug it up!” The camera picks out two, Good-Girl Sue Snell (Irving), whose actions for the rest of the film will be shaped by how horrified she is that she participated in this abusive act, and Queen-Bitch Chris Hargensen (Allen), who will use this incident as a foundation for more and more imperious excesses, and when they backfire on her, launches a cruel plan of revenge against blameless Carrie, which in turn, unleashes a small-scale apocalypse.

 

This is our primary triad, and what these three girls do will shape the whole rest of the film. Each one’s actions are intertwined with the others, one triggering reactions by the other two that the first could not have predicted, and those reactions will unleash more serious reactions still. Sue and Chris are both popular, though at opposite ends of the moral and social spectrum. Both spend the film manipulating men, Sue for the cause of what she perceives as good, Chris to satisfy her craving to prove some self-righteous point I doubt she could coherently articulate. Meanwhile Carrie is alone in everything, doomed only to react, and before the climax she initiates nothing, but with her late-arriving sexual maturity, she also gained a PSI power the other two can’t imagine (though it is hinted at in the shower scene). While Sue and Chris move pieces on their imaginary chess-boards, Carrie is quietly trying to understand, and learn how to control, this power that was as unexpected to her as her menstruation.

 

There’s a secondary triad: again Carrie, again always forced to react; second is the strong-willed but still compassionate gym-teacher, Miss Collins (Betty Buckley) who is introduced during the shower-scene; and finally, Carrie’s fanatical mother Margaret (Laurie), who is introduced later. The authority figures try to shape Carrie in radically different ways, but they are not primary movers in the plot, though Margaret’s mental illness and abusive parenting defines Carrie’s life more than anything else. Strikingly, the power dynamic that includes adults echoes the one among only teenagers.

 

Collins, pragmatic and perceptive, but sadly lacking the information she needs to avoid tragic error, is obviously the woman Sue will likely to grow up to be. Collins acts tougher than she feels, threatening to strip the girls of their Prom Privileges while (unseen by the girls) she’s quietly negotiating with the Principal (Sydney Lassick) to protect the same. She takes Carrie under her wing. But she’s also unforgiving when her authority, and her concept of right and wrong, are challenged: Chris, after a tantrum, is barred from the Prom, a completely reasonable act that pushes this drama one step closer to irreversible tragedy. At the Prom, she misinterprets Sue’s actions, seeing her as a betrayer of her trust and as disruptive force as Chris, so tragically missed out at the very last chance to avoid the mini-apocalypse.

 

Then there’s Margaret White, introduced last, a woman isolated herself from everyone except her daughter, whom she tortures with a punitive and sex-despising personal Christianity. She’d long been abandoned by her husband and explicitly telling Carrie she was born of sin. It is Margaret’s fault that Carrie was unprepared for her first menstrual cycle which Margaret, of course, blames Carrie’s sinful thoughts. Margaret is contrasted to Chris’ whorish behavior, these are two sides of the same coin, defined by their unhealthy relationship with their own sexuality, and desperate need to punish anything they can’t control. Chris starts the film as Queen, but by the end (though still wielding power) is rapidly moving towards outcast. Margaret is older, isolated in an otherwise tight-knit community. It is not hard to image crazy Margaret was similar to evil Chris when she was young.

 

Sue’s tragic mistake was to pressure her boyfriend, Tommy Ross (Katt), to take Carrie to the Prom instead of her. Though done with the best of intentions, it’s an absurd idea, equally patronizing towards Carrie as it is compassionate, but completely believable in context. When Collins learns of this, she’s appalled, but when she confronts Sue and Tommy about it, she sees herself in Sue, believes the virtue of her motives, and goes along with it. These two compassionate errors are two more steps on the road to hell.

 

Meanwhile Chris, barred from the Prom and eager for payback, is aware of Sue’s act, and that gives her the opportunity to execute her sick revenge, but her plan requires her to manipulate her boyfriend, petty criminal Billy Nolan (Travolta). Helping drawing the line between Sue and Chris is that Chris gets what she wants in exchange for sexual favors, while Sue plays on Tommy decent and moral nature.

 

As Carrie, Sue, and Chris rarely speak to each other, much of the plot mechanics are driven by gossip and an individual’s incompletely informed assumptions. This is a relatively complex thing to communicate economically, and the film excels here, giving great verisimilitude to the contrived mechanics.

 

The first half of the Prom is a beautiful experience for Carrie, Tommy proves an amazingly decent chap with no nasty agenda (Katt will find himself typecast in nice-guy roles for the next two decades) and the film deliberately evokes the magic of “Cinderella” (a folk-tale goes thar back to the 7^th c. BC, it is best known for from the Disney film from 1950) with great effect. But when the clock strikes in this version of the story…well…

 

The climax is one of cinema’s great nightmares. Suddenly provoked beyond endurance, and wholly unprepared in the shattering of what was probably the one truly happy moment in her life, Carrie unleashes her PSI powers, killing almost every member of the named cast and a goodly portion of the extras. DePalma chooses to shoot most of this scene in split-screen, a gimmicky narrative device that was already waning in popularity because it was often confusing to the audience, and even when it was well done, it transferred poorly to broadcast TV and (later) VHS. But here it is flawless and enrapturing, and we see Carrie, traumatized and vengeance-crazed, glancing this way and that, each eye movement a witch’s command, and simultaneously we see the havoc she wished is realized on the other half of the screen/other side of the room.

 

The split screen is abandoned as the scene climaxes with her setting the building on fire and walking alone away from the inferno. Carrie inside, standing on the stage in a blood-covered Prom dressed, and then her exiting the building, silhouetted against the blaze, are two of the most iconic images in Horror cinema.

 

And then she goes home for the final confrontation with her Mother.

 

Though I have talked about other characters more than Margaret, in this film, Piper Laurie in this role is undeniably second only to Spacek as Carrie. Their relationship is really the dramatic force of the film, representing a rare triumph for both novelist Stephen King and scriptwriter Lawrence D. Cohen (who would do more King adaptations in the future) in looking into common dark-sides of our society that are too often handled club-footedly.

 

King’s writing is praised for its realism in characterization and setting, and how when he violates normality with uncanny elements to expose the moral weaknesses of very conventional, untested, people. But “normal” has its evils as well, and though we’re not likely to encounter Vampires and Alien Invaders, we all probably know Religious Kooks and Domestic Abusers. These mundane evils are a concern of King’s, but he often handles them badly (he’s much better with Vampires). Margaret White was one of his triumphs, and the fact that he made a woman so unhinged, so real, is one of the reasons this novel is viewed as a classic. Laurie realized Margaret better than any actress in a later King adaptation who played a similar role. The most disturbing thing is that in small gestures, Laurie communicates that she has at least some sincere love for Carrie -- this doesn’t make her more sympathetic; it makes love, itself, seem a cancerous thing.

 

As for Spacek, though she does not physically resemble Carrie as described in the book, I can’t imagine another actress in the role (apparently Melanie Griffith had auditioned, but that could’ve never had worked). She seemed almost born to be an ugly duckling who is just shy of being transformed into a swan, she’s a beautiful actress with paradoxically homely features. An intuitive performer, she understood Carrie’s intelligence and perceptiveness, and also that Carrie would never allow herself credit for either virtue. In her emerging rebellion against her mother (that’s how Carrie got to the Prom in the first place) and her flowering femininity in the early Prom scenes (before the magic turned evil) she’s inspiring, but still remained the shy and careful girl from the film’s very beginning. And, unlike the novel, when she unleashes her fury, she quickly is repelled by it, and reverts to something almost infantile -- the film lacks some of the novel’s emotional complexity, on this one point I think the film beats the novel. In the end of the film, she’s vulnerable to victimization again, this time by her mother, her first, and always primary, abuser.

 

There is an epilogue, a final shock scene involving the only surviving member of the main cast. This shocker “proves” to be a dream sequence, except that DePalma doesn’t play it for a cheap trick, he’s trying to convey that the events of the film will carry on in the psychic trauma of those who survived it, so he indicates it’s a dream sequence up front. That shows respect for the audience’s intelligence and story-telling maturity lacking in virtually everyone who would later imitate it (notably “Friday the 13^th” (1980)).

 

DePalma was blessed with exceptional support in all aspects of this film. I’ve already discussed the Cast and Script, additionally there was Mario Tosi’s Cinematography which ironically mimicked soft-porn in the early shower scene, then easily switched from the well-lit world of this upper middle-class suburb, then to the nightmare in the shadows of the White house. In the Prom-apocalypse, there’s a shift again, moving from romantic blues during the Cinderella fantasy to ominous red when all Hell breaks loose.

 

Pino Donaggio was among the era’s most gifted film composers and he manages something that was at turns romantic, then dark. Many scenes the only sound is the score, while elsewhere it is effective by being unobtrusive. It’s a great piece of music to listen to even without the film, and the choice to reference Bernard Herman’s theme for “Psycho” (1960) in key scenes does not take away from Donaggio’s own creativity. In many other DePalmas, the scores are annoying because they are applied like thick butter on toast, but that complaint does not apply here.

 

Paul Hirsch edited the film, and his work is strong throughout, but especially in the climax where split-screen is the story-telling tool, which so many others proved incapable off.

 

Both Donaggio and Hirsh would prove be frequent collaborators with DePalma.

 

In the wake of “Carrie” almost all involved had enviable careers. The film is held up as not only the first, but still very nearly the best, of the adaptations of King’s work (in 2018 the website IMD recorded 242 adaptations, that number included 25 that had yet to be completed/released). Much of King’s in TV and cinema are disappointing, which is surprising given that his fiction is so grounded in the recognizable contemporary in context, and his Horrors generally pull from familiar cinematic sources. The lesson of “Carrie” that so many others ignore is that King is less a fantasist than student of realism, or at least “naturalism,” who chooses to exploit fantasy to make moralistic points. DePalma understood that; one sees that in only some of his films before this, and nearly as much in even in his best movies that follow.

 

“Carrie” became its own, awkward, franchise:

 

There was a stage production, bizarrely a musical, produced in 1988, which received some praise in England, but upon its arrival on Broadway, became the most notorious bombs in the history of the Great White Way.

 

There was a film sequel in 1999 that was not well received.

 

There were two remakes, TV movie in 2002 and a feature film in 2012, neither of which were hated, but both of which were judged “unnecessary.”

 

There has also been attempts to launch a new, separate, musical stage version and a TV series, but nothing came of either, for which I am not disappointed.

 

I’ve seen none of these, my opinion is that DePalma got it right, so I see no reason for the horse to return to this trough.

 

Trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSF6WVx_Tdo