Brian De Palma
Carrie

Over forty years after its release in theaters, this film might seem dated, poorly aged, too simple, slow. Indeed, from certain perspectives, primarily technical, De Palma's work certainly doesn't appear fresh. But setting aside the more superficial aspects and getting to the heart of the film, I think these potential criticisms, rather than finding faults with Carrie, are a perfect litmus test of a certain turn modern cinema has taken. Today's viewer is accustomed to certain forms now pervasively widespread and struggles to accept a film like this.

And what are these characteristics? A first part devoid of horror, entirely dedicated to building the scenario, to the psychological development of the characters, to positioning the pieces of a domino destined to collapse disastrously. A slow, very grainy cinema, which emphasizes almost deformingly the psychological complexes of the protagonist and the malice that surrounds her. De Palma, in a horror film, has all the necessary time to create a raw fresco of the school environment, very effective and dramatic. There's the teacher who takes Carrie’s situation to heart, the distracted principal, the handsome guy of the moment, the malicious mean girl, the one who instead repents and tries to do something for the poor companion. The view is very clear, though not excessively complex; the portraits of the characters are very effective, accurate.

But a horror film today certainly couldn't afford an entire hour to explain the characters, to make us love or hate them. Instead, De Palma could do it, there wasn't the excessive urgency — that is, a lack of patience — typical of much contemporary cinema. The premises for the unleashing of horror are built with great slowness and precision. In this film, there is no need for surprise: on the contrary, the catastrophe approaches little by little, inexorable and very painful, but not so much visually, as from an emotional point of view, even for the viewer. It's impossible not to care about Carrie's story, and it's impossible not to suffer as the dreadful moment approaches, when pig's blood stains its purity. And it's an extremely effective and real horror: that of being humiliated and mocked in front of everyone, just at the moment when one had been deluded into having a normal and even happy life.

And it's beautiful and strange in our eyes, accustomed to speed and amplification, to see how the final massacre unfolds without much rhythm, without the emphasis which, on the contrary, characterized the entire first part of the film. Why? Because Carrie does not kill with pleasure, she's not a killer; she kills out of pain, to completely erase the shame of being alive after such humiliation. There's no trace of brutality in her actions, just as the style of direction becomes markedly detached, bitter. And the final sequence, at home with her mother, is something even more painful. The annihilation of a family, bending on itself due to the pseudo-religious disturbances of a deviant woman. And the destructive charge of a girl who would like to live but can only die and take her mother with her.

Amidst all those crosses, candles, and religious symbols, Carrie's end is almost an inverted Passion of Christ, a death that does not bring salvation to the tormentors of the sacrificial lamb but drags them into the infernal abyss with it. And what remains in the viewer's mind is a completely psychological horror, a sense of the death of human feelings, not so much an aesthetic excitement. Indeed, the film's aesthetics are penalized by technical limitations, but in terms of constructing meanings through visual elements, nothing is missing. There are memorable things: Carrie's purity (not coincidentally White by surname) chromatically expressed by an almost entirely white dress, gradually absorbing the pig's blood until it becomes completely red. And then the bath, the purifying wash just arrived home, proving the absence of malice in her heart. The importance of symbolism, the position of the mother, crucified by flying knives, recalls the statue in the closet. And the black earth, sunk toward hell, of the house after the collapse. Chris's evil eyes, the exchange of glances between Sue and the teacher, Carrie's terrified — and almost distorted — looks, the broken mirror with which she puts on makeup before going to the prom. In short, there's a significant amount of aesthetically pleasing work.

The portrait of the protagonist is magnificent, delicate, and painful like few others in this genre, and it is bolstered by the magnificent performance of actress Sissy Spacek. Indeed, in her expressions, you can capture all the pain of an adolescence devastated by her mother's and classmates' harassments. But even the mother is superbly portrayed by Piper Laurie: her puritanical madness is among the most convincing elements of the film. The entire cast gives great acting depth: I think of Nancy Allen who perfectly represents the classic beautiful yet insensitive and cruel teenager. But Betty Buckley is no less in portraying the empathetic but not attentive enough Miss Collins.

Hurray for this type of horror cinema, hurray for the predictability and simplicity of the plots, when the emotional and existential impact is of this caliber. And therefore, certain criticisms that might spontaneously arise today, many years later, must decidedly be turned around and directed at contemporary cinema, often hypertrophic, pumped up, but lacking psychological and human depth.

A great film of inner terror, which manages to simultaneously be one of the best "high school movies" ever made. Not exactly an easy and obvious outcome.