The Unlikely Heroism of Animated Villains — And Why Netflix’s 'Steps' Might Change the Game
Let’s be honest: fairy tales have always been a bit one-dimensional. For centuries, we’ve accepted that villains are simply born evil, heroes are predestined to triumph, and happy endings are reserved for those who fit neatly into their roles. But what if the real magic lies in dismantling those tropes entirely? Netflix’s upcoming animated film Steps — and its unconventional approach to music, storytelling, and identity — feels less like a retelling and more like a quiet revolution. And yes, the score by Kris Bowers might just be the most subversive part of the whole project.
Reimagining the Villain: A Tale of Two Sisters
At its core, Steps takes the Cinderella narrative and flips it sideways. Instead of focusing on the persecuted princess, we’re thrust into the chaotic world of Lilith and Margot — the so-called “evil” stepsisters — who stumble into a crisis of their own making. On the surface, this seems like a gimmick: a Wicked-esque attempt to cash in on villain origin stories. But director Alyce Tzue frames this as deeply personal. Growing up as a queer Taiwanese-American in suburban New Jersey, she felt like a real-life outsider in a world that prizes narrow definitions of “happily ever after.” This isn’t just a fairy tale reboot; it’s a manifesto about belonging. The twist here isn’t the frog-turning magic or the dreamy troll sidekick — it’s the audacity to suggest that villainy is often just a label for those who don’t conform.
Why Music Matters More Than Ever in Animated Films
When Kris Bowers talks about composing, he doesn’t mention melodies or orchestration first. He talks about emotions — about how a score should act as an emotional umbilical cord between character and audience. This philosophy feels radical in an era where animated films often treat music as either nostalgic wallpaper (hello, Disney remakes) or hyper-polished spectacle (looking at you, Spider-Verse). Bowers’ approach — described by Tzue as “raw and unfiltered” — suggests a return to the intimacy of scores like Spirited Away or The Incredibles, where music doesn’t just accompany the story; it breathes life into it. I’ll go a step further: Bowers’ work here might redefine how we perceive “villainy” sonically. What happens when a character traditionally scored with minor chords and dissonance gets a theme that’s… vulnerable? Melancholic? Human?
Netflix’s Animation Gambit: More Than Just a Streaming Strategy
Let’s not overlook the elephant in the room: Steps is Netflix’s first fully in-house animated feature. This isn’t just a creative milestone — it’s a chess move in the streaming wars. While Disney dominates theaters and Warner Bros. focuses on hybrid releases, Netflix is betting that its true competitive edge lies in redefining what animation is. By prioritizing stories about outsiders (see: Klaus, The Sea Beast), they’re carving a niche that feels distinctly modern. But here’s what most analyses miss: this isn’t just about diversity of characters. It’s about diversity of emotion. Traditional studios sell us joy, wonder, and catharsis. Netflix seems increasingly interested in the messy, unresolved feelings that don’t fit into a 90-minute runtime — and Bowers’ score, recorded at the hallowed Abbey Road Studios, might be the perfect vehicle for that.
The Bigger Picture: Why We Need This Story Now
One of the most fascinating threads here is how Steps weaponizes the concept of “kindness.” According to Tzue, a single act of compassion is the catalyst for change. In 2023, that sounds almost radical. We live in an era where cynicism is currency, and “kindness” is often reduced to corporate slogans. But the film’s premise — that even villains deserve redemption — feels like a direct rebuke to our culture of tribalism. Who decides who’s “beyond saving”? Why do we cling to narratives that divide the world into heroes and monsters? And could rethinking fairy tales be a backdoor way to reframe our real-world conflicts? This is where Steps transcends its genre. It’s not just a kids’ movie with jokes; it’s a Trojan horse for philosophical inquiry.
Final Thoughts: The Quiet Rebellion of Animated Storytelling
I keep circling back to Bowers’ quote about wanting listeners to “remember the entire journey” through his score alone. That ambition feels like a metaphor for the film itself. In a landscape where animated movies are increasingly judged by their merchandising potential or memeability, Steps dares to ask: What if the real magic isn’t in the spectacle, but in the quiet moments that make us feel seen? The film’s release in November — awards season territory — suggests Netflix isn’t treating it as disposable content. Personally, I think we’re witnessing the birth of a new animated film paradigm: one that’s less interested in escaping reality and more in confronting the messy, glorious complexity of it. Whether Steps succeeds or not, its existence alone changes the game. And honestly? That’s the kind of “happily ever after” I can get behind.
