Now it's 2013. Kimberly Peirce has picked up Stephen King's original material, and the potential seemed extraordinary: a female director dealing with visceral girl-on-girl crime at a point when the psychological abuse of bullying is constantly in the headlines and a character like Carrie can be presented as so, so outside of the tech-reliant, raunch culture norm. It's unfortunately quite easy to imagine the crimes that could be perpetrated against a repressed, uninformed, suffering soul like our new Carrie White (Chloe Grace Moretz); she's a creature from another time, a walking relic. Her fanatic mother has all but boxed her into an unending version of 1976, blocking knowledge, pop culture, and basic biology from corrupting her daughter's fragile soul. To be a girl that cut-off from society in a world where her peers thrive off constant connection sets her so far behind the curve that the potentials are limitless. In the rehashing of the first scene, Peirce seems aware of the possibilities: as Carrie gets her period for the first time in the locker room showers, Moretz morphs her from girl to animal, she is something wild, so outside of girl culture that she appears a writhing, monstrous thing squealing and shrieking with bloodied limbs as her peers press record and whip tampons at her. The difference is clear, there can be no catching up.
As a basic horror film, it's not terrible. Carrie may be, in fact, significantly stronger on the whole than most "scary" movies in a given year, and if I'd written this within a couple days of actually watching it, I may have been willing to give it a little extra benefit of the doubt. A little bit of extra time has further stripped Carrie of any color. It's a bland piece of work, forgettable and lifeless, occasionally frustrating. Most importantly, though, as a remake of a genre classic? It's an unnecessary mess.