I thought about this for a few days before writing, having read Carrie when it first came out, and stood in line for the original like an insane fanboy: this is a better movie ("Dems hard words in these parts, mister!")("Damn right.") What's better? The directing, the writing, the photography, the CAST. But nobody's gonna own that now, the shadow of the original looms too large. But once they see it at home, in their underwear, with their cats, or dogs, or kids nearby, at home in the dark, then they will see. A better movie.
The spin Knoxville and cohorts add to their adolescent shenanigans this time around is sort of a story about a grandpa and his grandson's cross-country road trip wherein they (and we) purportedly bond. Not to worry, the stunts (most built on the gag that we enjoy watching someone else in pain), are all there. A hit and miss concoction at best though, I slept through part of it, which most likely is the sum of my thoughts here.
The only lockdown escaped from herein is the obscurity given aging actors by the youth addicted and visually sensated addicted society we inhabit. To that cause these crafty dinosaurs punch and grunt mightily to remind us of who they once were in the celebrity scheme of things, to curmudgeon-y effect, sorta like ol'grand-dad insisting he be allowed to try to open the stuck lid on a jar of mayo. You'll find yourself smiling despite yourself. They'll need to do better than this for a full return but you can't fault the effort made.