by Jane Edwardes
2/24/1988

It always did seem like a bad idea to turn Stephen King's chilling horror-story novel into a musical and events have sadly proved one right. This is the kind of show that will drive people out of the theatre and into the cinema for years to come. Where dePalma's film capiltalised on the medium's resources to create an apocalyptic finale for the revenge of the psychic Carrie on her high school tormentors; this musical, with its banal lyrics and disco score, cops out on the horror, and presents a line-up of precocious chorus girls calculated to appeal to the tired businessman rather than an honest portrait of the agonies of pre-pubescence. It was apparently all right for millons of film-goers to watch Carrie at the onset of her first period being pelted with sanitary towels and tampons, but not for the Broadway and Stratford theatre-goers who have to settle for an outbreak of teasing that wouldn't discomfort a blushing bride. As Carrie's mother, poor Barabra Cook has switches uneasily between half-hearted monster and over-protective mum. Even so, her voice and that of Linzi Hateley's as Carrie are almost the only redeeming features in the show. The structure switches mechanically from thier melodic hymnal duets to the pelvic thrusts of the high school as kind-hearted Sue (in pink) arranges for Carrie to go to the Prom while wicked Chris (in red) persuades her boyfriend (in a white codpiece) to organise her revenge. Ralph Kotai has produced a spectacular white set climaxing in a flight of steps the full length of the stage and it is typical of Terry Hands inept production that he can think of nothing to do with them. And the pig's blood that we are waiting for? No dramatic drop, just a pail plonked on the poor girls head. Shame on the RSC for housing such a tawdry event.