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Carrie 

Down the road that I must travel

A near word-for-word remake—second credited screenwriter Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa must’ve added the internet stuff—of the 1976 horror classic, Kimberly Peirce's version of Carrie is an unnecessary update with its own charm nonetheless (and 100 percent less full-frontal nudity, thankfully). Chloe Grace Moretz is Carrie, the high schooler who gets her first period in gym class—with even more blood than the De Palma version, which was still too much—and thinks she’s dying because her Mom (Julianne Moore) is a complete nutjob who is just waiting for Jesus to fix everything. You know the rest: bullying, prom, pig blood, telekinesis, rampage. Moretz is more age-appropriate than Sissy Spacek (who was 26) but lacks the same ethereal weirdness; mostly she hunches to show her internal turmoil. Moore has witch hair, dead eyes and self-mutilates, a simmering, slow-boil crazy that’s scarier when it explodes. But Carrie's not really scary, anyway, it's a sad psychological torture story, an anti-coming-of-age tale, starring two women and directed by a lesbian. So it’s notable, if not entirely purposeful.

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