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Catherine Hardwicke, for better or worse, has largely defined what we have experienced, cinematically, for the past couple of years. Her influence might get lost in the shuffle, since every subsequent film has been helmed by a different director, but with the look and feel of the first "Twilight"' movie, she set the stage for a whole bunch of copycats and wannabes, which makes it all the more startling that she's returning to remarkable similar (hallowed) ground, with a revisionist take on "Red Riding Hood." While, mercifully, this new rendition isn't set in modern day high school, there are still hallmarks of the Hardwicke School of Brooding Adolescents - lots of pouts, meaningful glances, and poorly choreographed fight sequences. There's still considerable sizzle brimming underneath those bodices, but what the film badly needs (bite) it finds most lacking. And no amount of Gary Oldman showboating can convince us otherwise. Still, it's better than all the "Twilight" movies put together. "Red Riding Hood" begins with the camera gliding over glacial mountaintops, until we reach a village that looks like it sprung from a pop-up book, so phony it could be placed within Fantasyland at Disney World and no one would blink. This is a village that has been menaced, over the years, by a terrifying wolf, as our narrator, the wearer of the titular ruby shawl (Amanda Seyfried), gravely intones. We get glimpses of the villagers tying down the sacrificial goat, and our narrator Valerie as a young girl running away from her duties with a handsome young lad Peter (played by Shiloh Fernandez when we momentarily flash forward ten years, reminding us that styling mousse was a fairy tale mainstay).
You sort of wish that Hardwicke had pushed the character further, but Seyfried often subtly shows a winking knowingness. Behind those big eyes glimmer independence, and feminism slipped into fair tales is always a good thing, especially when it's got a soundtrack featuring throbbing new tunes from Fever Ray. You just wish that the smart stuff triumphed over the movie's obvious deficiencies, chiefly Hardwicke inability to stage a proper action sequence (a fight scene in a fire is almost hilariously incomprehensible) or even to lay out the spatial geography of the village in a way that we can easily digest. Towards the end of the movie, there's a sequence set up outside the parameter of the church (since it's consecrated ground, the hellish beast cannot enter) and you could feel the audience go, "Huh, so that's where the church is." Emotional beats, too, are dropped like lead zeppelins - for all the carnage, few characters actually feel anything, at least at a level we can register. Although, again, behind Seyfried's what-big-eyes-you-have eyes lies untold depth. Most of the actors seem to be totally game at taking part in the Renaissance Festival-style theatrics (even Julie Christie, who shows up as the slightly wiccan grandmother, her hair a tangle of flower-threaded dreadlocks). You just wish that Hardwicke, who keeps the pace nimble and the actors looking sullen and sexy, was more up to the challenge. She helped define an era of cinema, whether you like it or not (look no further than "I Am Number Four," playing across the hall at your local Cineplex); it can't help but feel like she's resting on her laurels here. "Red Riding Hood" is more clever than it should be, which is what makes it so depressing that it's not better than it is.
Does Valerie have a connection to the werewolf? Is it one of her two would-be lovers, someone else from the town, or is there another explanation entirely? On a visual front, this is a highly claustrophobic motion picture, with gratuitous aerial panning shots giving way to a cluttered and crowded small-town that feels like it was all shot on a couple sound stages.
