Grandma, What Big Clichés You Have! ‘Red Riding Hood’ Desecrates Childhood

“Red Riding Hood” is supposed to be a dark reimagining of the children’s tale, but on the way to adulthood it crashes terrifically into the awkward angst of what can only be cinematic puberty.

Despite scantily clad women, cool werewolf hunters with even cooler toys, and a rich inspiration, “Red Riding Hood” (PG-13) squashes all of its characters and plotlines into embarrassing cardboard cutouts, which manage to make its Alma matter “Twilight” look complex.

[Mild spoiler alert]

Valerie (Amanda Seyfried) is the story’s questionably virginal version of Red, and she’s stuck in a love triangle between hottie-in-leather-pants woodcutter Peter (Shiloh Fernandez) and dull and dorky blacksmith Henry (Max Irons). Calling them characters, however, is overly generous. Peter’s main dialogue is misogynistic flirting with the village Valley Girls (jerks exist in fairytales!), and Henry isn’t much better, as his two modes are puppy-dog sad and kicked-puppy-dog sad.

The combination of stilted romance and medieval setting makes the entire movie seem like one long teen drama at a Renaissance themed school dance, complete with girls dancing to make guys jealous, and hooking up behind the bleachers (or, in this case, the granary).

So by the time the werewolf shows up, you resent this village of forced clichés so much that you find yourself cheering unhealthily loud as it gratuitously slaughters fleeing peasants. Flee, peasants, flee!

But then the werewolf starts talking, Peter’s lips get even more pouty, and everyone’s asking Valerie to “run away with me!” The movie descends into idiocy again.

There’re two redeeming aspects, though. The first is the gorgeously artistic shots of Valerie’s billowing red cloak against stark white snow (but that’s seriously saying something if the most exciting thing about the movie is a cape). The second is Gary Oldman (Commissioner Gordon of “The Dark Knight”) who plays a werewolf-hunting man of the cloth, but his few wonderfully sadistic scenes can’t drag the storyline forward.

Between the idiotic dialogue and the amateur set, I expected the entire production to collapse halfway, revealing that we’re actually watching a middle school play produced solely by 12-year-old girls who’ve had too much High School Musical and Sarah Dessen. It’s the only way such a fresh idea and creative premise could be driven so deeply into the ground.

Unfortunately, after sitting through the movie, I instead got an ending with strange Oedipal and bestial overtones. I cried a bit for a violated childhood when it was all done.

So if you find yourself in a movie theater with “Red Riding Hood,” remember that sunlight kills werewolves and go outside.