When Fairy Tales Grow Up: How ‘Steps’ Redefines the Villain’s Song
Fairy tales have always been about moral clarity—heroes wear white, villains lurk in shadows, and happiness is a fixed destination. But Netflix’s Steps isn’t interested in simplicity. By flipping the script on Cinderella’s ‘evil’ stepsisters, this animated comedy isn’t just subverting a classic; it’s asking a radical question: What if the villains were just people who never got a fair shot at the spotlight? And what better way to explore that ambiguity than through the music of Kris Bowers, a composer who’s spent his career turning emotional nuance into symphonies?
The Composer Who Scores the Unseen
Kris Bowers isn’t new to the art of making invisible feelings audible. From Green Book to Bridgerton, his work thrives on the spaces between notes—the pauses, the swells, the quiet moments where a character’s truth leaks out. So when he says he wants viewers to “remember the entire journey” through his score alone, I hear a challenge. Bowers isn’t just scoring a film; he’s building an emotional map for characters who exist in the moral gray. Take Lilith, the protagonist-turned-accidental-antihero. Her journey isn’t about good vs. evil but about being labeled a monster in a story that never let her be human. Bowers’ music, as described by directors Alyce Tzue and John Ripa, acts as a bridge between her fractured identity and the audience’s empathy. That’s not just clever—it’s revolutionary for a genre that still too often equates ‘villain’ with ‘unredeemable.’
Why Fairy Tales Need Therapy
Steps isn’t the first fairy tale remix—Wicked, Maleficent, and Shrek paved that road. But what sets it apart is its refusal to romanticize rebellion. Lilith isn’t a misunderstood genius; she’s a misfit who made a mistake. This feels deeply personal, especially for Tzue, who grew up feeling like an outsider in suburban New Jersey. Her story mirrors the film’s core tension: the desire to belong vs. the fear of erasure. I find this fascinating because it reflects a broader cultural shift. Gen Z doesn’t want heroes or villains; they want characters with therapy bills. By giving the ‘evil’ stepsister a redemption arc, Steps isn’t just rewriting a fairy tale—it’s deconstructing the very idea of ‘happily ever after.’
The Risk in Rewriting History
Here’s what many miss: Reclaiming villains isn’t just about diversity; it’s about accountability. If Netflix had made this film 20 years ago, Lilith might’ve been a caricature of female rage—angry, bitter, redeemed only by romance. But Ali Wong’s voice performance (and Bowers’ score) promises something messier. There’s a frog-turned-sister, a ‘dreamy troll,’ and Bette Midler as a fairy godmother who probably drinks wine straight from the bottle. This isn’t a sanitized reboot; it’s a chaotic, genre-blending experiment. And that’s terrifying. Studios often play it safe with IP, but Steps leans into its contradictions. Will audiences embrace a ‘villain’ who isn’t a misunderstood sweetheart but a flawed, impulsive mess? I’m not sure—and that uncertainty is what makes this project thrilling.
What the Future Sounds Like
Let’s talk about Abbey Road. Recording the score there feels symbolic—a nod to legacy while crafting something new. Bowers’ process, as described by Ripa, is almost spiritual: He ‘feels’ his way through characters at the piano. In an era of algorithm-driven soundtracks, this raw, intuitive approach matters. I’ve argued before that animation scores are the unsung heroes of emotional storytelling. A live-action film can rely on facial expressions; animation needs music to make a drawing breathe. If Bowers succeeds, Steps won’t just be a movie—it’ll be a masterclass in how sound can rewrite narratives. Imagine a generation of kids humming Lilith’s theme instead of Cinderella’s. What stories will they question next?
Final Thoughts: The Villain Was the Patriarchy All Along
Steps arrives in November, but its implications are already echoing. By centering outsiders and letting their humanity ‘ruin’ the fairy tale, Netflix is betting on a future where redemption isn’t a plot twist but a birthright. Personally, I think this is just the beginning. As animation studios gain creative muscle (this is Netflix’s first fully in-house animated film), we’ll see more challenges to the moral binaries of old. And when Lilith’s theme swells at the climax, I suspect we’ll all be asking the same question: Who else in our favorite stories has been quietly composing their own redemption offscreen?
