Carrie and the Cold War
By Brenda Gunnell
I’m not great at this Hallmark stuff, but Brennan, when I look at you now, I don’t want to kick you in the head quite as much.
— Adam Scott as “Derek” in Step Brothers, 2008
To say that my brother and I didn’t get along when we were growing up would be like saying Khan didn’t get along with Captain Kirk or Bette didn’t get along with Joan. We were mortal enemies until we both ended up at the same college (but that’s another story). Mom and Dad tried everything to get us to tolerate each other. But they didn’t understand the extent of my brother’s warfare: Barbie heads hidden under my pillows, ratting me out for hiding the peas on my plate, and scaring me sleepless with his dreaded ”Tales of Zonka,” an escapee from the local penitentiary who had a zipper neck for his detachable head—perfect for swallowing little girls whole. Given the emotional intensity of the battle, the best Mom and Dad could hope for was a Brother-Sister Cold War suffused with icy glares and frosty exchanges.
Fast forward to 1976. I had turned 13 and my brother was dating and asking for the car more often. Mom and Dad decided that if Brother wanted the car for a date, wouldn’t it be nice to take Little Sister—you know, the middle-school kid living upstairs that you can’t stand? At first Brother balked, but then he relented.
Sure! I’ll take Little Sister. We’re going to a movie about a girl who wants to go to the prom. It’s called Carrie.
The Cold War had just entered a new Defcon phase.
Carrie. “That movie about a girl who wants to go to the prom.” I was a young teen! Hanging out with my big brother and his girlfriend! At the Showcase Cinemas, not Alpha 1 (worst movie theater ever)! The Showcase Cinemas had framed art hanging on the walls, plush carpeting, the latest innovations in movie-viewing (Sensurround), and quality movie candy (Thingamajig!). The Alpha 1 had sticky carpeting, seats held together by the gum stuck underneath them and God-awful popcorn. Come on! How do you screw up popcorn?? Well, the Alpha had perfected cold, greasy, slightly burned corn. But we were going to the Showcase Cinemas! And, we were seeing a movie about a PROM!
A lot of firsts happened that night: my first Stephen King movie, first R-rated movie, first time seeing nudity in a film, first time hearing an audience scream in unison, first time hearing the audience yell at the characters onscreen, first time actually seeing someone throw their popcorn in fright … and a turning point in Cold War stratagem.
You’d think the movie theater staff would’ve been more diligent about who they let into an R-rated Stephen King thriller. But this was the Showcase Cinemas (remember, Louisville’s BEST movie theater) on a wild Friday night, battling huge crowds of teens & hormonal young adults. The folks in charge were frazzled and just wanted everyone out of the lobby and into their respective theaters—after they bought their tubs of popcorn, Thingamajigs, and extra-large Cokes. So, in I went.
The whole audience buzzed with anticipation. Sure, they were familiar with scary movies and maybe they had read Stephen King. But no one was ready for Brian De Palma’s in-your-face direction or a classic and fundamentally disturbing Stephen King plot coming alive right in front of them on the massive Showcase screen—surrounding them like a lucid nightmare. Carrie was King’s first movie adaptation, and no one is ever ready for their Prom Queen to be decimated with pig’s blood.
I was excited because I couldn’t wait to tell the obnoxious kids at school on Monday that I had been to an R-rated movie!! And that was probably my last cogent thought as the lights dimmed and the dreamy, hazily filmed movie began.
The film wasn’t the only thing that started—so did Carrie!
SHE WAS HAVING HER PERIOD!
I remember feeling shocked, looking around, wondering if this was a normal thing to see in a movie about a prom. Then, those mean-ass girls started throwing tampons and pads at her. I hunkered down into my seat and hid a little further behind my popcorn hoping the prom dress shopping scene would come soon.
Of course, that scene never materialized. What happened in the plot of the movie wasn’t as important to me as how the audience reacted. On this particular Friday night, the audience went berserk. I mean, full on CRAZY. People were screaming, throwing popcorn, and leaving their seats. People actually yelled at the screen as if they could help these celluloid images and change the outcome of the film. This phenomenon reached a frenzied peak after the prom when Carrie returned to a seemingly empty house lit completely with candles.
“Don’t do it, Carrie!! Don’t go in there, Carrie!! Your mom is CRAZEEEEEE!!” the audience screamed.
And when Carrie headed up to her attic bedroom, where candles lit each step, the theater became a horror house of audible gasps, groans, and dire but doomed warnings.
“Oh hell no!! Run away, Carrie!!”
The worst was yet to come. At one climactic scene, Sue Snell—the girl who set Carrie up with her boyfriend to go to the prom—visits the lot where Carrie’s house used to stand and gently places flowers beside a sign that says, “Carrie White burns in hell.” As Sue lays down the flowers, a gnarly hand rises from the earth to grab Sue Snell and pull her into hell. At that point, a woman sitting behind us jumped up and grabbed my brother around the neck as if he could save her from being sucked into Carrie White’s grave. When the movie ended, Brother was still massaging his neck while others were sobbing and trembling with shocked looks on their faces. I’m sure that more than a few Southern boys were thinking, Just wait until I meet Stephen King or Brian De Palma out on the street; I will kick his ASS.
I was numb. Not only had I just seen the absolute WORST prom in the history of movies, but Carrie made her own prom dress! No dress shopping or formal gown modeling montages…
We went back home, and my world came crashing down around me. I realized that my bedroom was almost exactly the same as Carrie’s attic room. It had a small attached bathroom and was accessible only by a narrow wooden staircase. I slept on the couch that night.
The Cold War resumed the next day. Mom and Dad were appalled that Brother had taken me to THAT movie. Brother was a smooth talker and deftly played the I-had-no-idea-it-was-THAT-movie card. Brother was off the hook, and I wanted to sleep downstairs permanently.
The next night I approached the steps to my room and saw that Brother had thoughtfully lit my way with little candles on each step.
In the midst of my own terror as I ascended that staircase, I had to admit…
Well played, sir. Well played.
Brenda Gunnell is a teacher and movie lover from Louisville, Kentucky. Growing up, she wanted to be Bette Davis, own a silver cigarette case and pearl-handled cigarette holder (even though she never smoked), and went into full mourning at age 12 when she learned that Errol Flynn died before she was even born.