After the suicide of her only friend, Rachel has never felt more on the outside. The one person who reached out to her, Jessie, also happens to be part of the popular crowd that lives to torment ou...
The Rage: Carrie 2 rapidly frustrates with its unnecessary repetitious continuation of a classic. Approximately twenty years had passed since De Palma’s legendary adaptation of King’s high school horror captivated audiences. Twenty years of cinema evolving as an art form and the leading entertainment industry. Within that time, director Mandel had opted to start production on a sequel to Carrie, the infamous telekinetic outcast that obliterated everyone (aside from three survivors...) after being humiliated at her school prom. Creative differences with the studio had arisen, forcing Shea to haphazardly resume directing duties within the space of a week. The final result being this abnormally titled continuation that attaches the film’s predecessor as a suffix to ensure audiences knew what iconic piece of cinema Shea would be imitating, The Rage: Carrie 2.
Over twenty years later since the prom incident, Rachel, whom is yet another outcast for her grungy aesthetic, witnesses the suicide of her best friend which happens to be the result of popular football jocks rejecting girls after exploiting them for sexual interactions. An intriguing angle to proceed with, representing the absurdity of high school machismo and blurring sexual deviances with popularity contests. Police get involved, pursuing statutory rape charges, and Rachel continues her day as if nothing happened. Eventually, Sue (one of the survivors from the first feature), now the school’s guidance counsellor, attempts to resolve sudden emotional changes within Rachel after Lisa’s suicide, only to suspect she may exude the same telekinetic powers that Carrie once had. Despite the B-movie cheapness and begrimed musical aesthetic, with Harvey’s soundtrack questionably opting for smooth jazz pieces instead of Marilyn Manson or Nine Inch Nails (to which posters of these artists were fully displayed in her bedroom...), there was a seed of strength for Rachel and the perception of female empowerment during the first thirty minutes. Then she falls in love with popular jock Jesse, after her dog somehow survived being rampantly demolished by a passing vehicle, and familiarity begins to settle.
Shea, along with Moreu’s uncharacterised screenplay, mimics the exact same narrational beats as De Palma’s original. Popular students set Rachel up by showing falsified generosity and kindness, inviting her to a house party after the “game of the year”. Rachel is now content with life, completely forgetting about the suicide of her best friend within the space of five minutes. She’s then predictably humiliated in front of everyone before activating “Super Saiyan” rage mode and slaughtering everyone as she walks like a paralysed tree with thorns being “sharpied” onto her skin, supposedly growing from her best friend tattoo. Doors are suddenly opened and closed through her psychic abilities, fooling everyone with the obvious wires that were failed to be removed from the final edit (oops...). Ending the entire feature on a jump scare.
Why? Just why does this sequel exist? There doesn’t need to be one. At all. Shea clearly struggled to imitate the excellence of De Palma’s predecessor, focussing on the climactic gore-fest instead of crafting sympathetic characters. A chance for credible female superiority over the pride of excessive masculinity. The acting was wooden all-round, particularly London, exemplifying no emotional resonance whatsoever. The monochromatic filter whenever psychic powers overwhelmed Rachel was a disposable gimmick that laughably exerted pretentiousness. And, in all honesty, shrouded itself in an indescribable amount of pointlessness.
Therefore, the question remains. Why? What is the purpose of copying an entire adaptation, pretending it to be a sequel by incorporating flashbacks and only one character to link both features, and provide minimal narrative context through boring expendable characters? Much like Rachel, The Rage suffers from a colossal identity crisis that merely acts as an example for failed plagiarism. Predictable and forgettable. A cult following it may have, one that shan’t be receiving my full support.
