When I think about the evolution of animated storytelling, one thing that immediately stands out is how rarely we get to see the 'villains' of classic tales given a second chance. Netflix’s upcoming film Steps is a bold attempt to flip that script, and it’s being scored by none other than Kris Bowers, whose work on Hamilton and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel has always felt deeply human. But what makes this project particularly fascinating isn’t just the premise—it’s the way it’s being made, who’s behind it, and what it says about our collective hunger for stories that don’t just follow the same old arcs.
Let’s start with the obvious: Steps is the first fully in-house animated feature from Netflix. That’s a seismic shift in the industry, and I can’t help but wonder what it means for the future of streaming content. For years, animation studios like DreamWorks or Pixar have been the go-to names, but Netflix is now positioning itself as a player in this arena. This isn’t just about cost-saving; it’s about control. When you build your own house, you can design it however you want. And if Netflix’s ambition is to rival traditional animation powerhouses, this move feels like a calculated gamble. The question is, will audiences care about the difference between a film made in-house versus one outsourced? Or will they just care about the story? I’m leaning toward the latter, but I’m also curious to see if this signals a broader trend of studios doubling down on internal creative ecosystems.
Then there’s the music. Bowers, who’s described by director Alyce Tzue as someone who ‘draws a string of emotion from the characters,’ is tasked with turning a story about two sisters—one a villain, one a hero—into something that resonates through melody. His quote about wanting listeners to remember the entire film just by hearing the score is both ambitious and deeply personal. It’s the kind of goal that only someone who grew up with film scores as emotional anchors would set. And honestly, it makes me wonder: How many of us have sat in a theater, eyes closed, and let a score carry us through a story? Bowers isn’t just composing music; he’s trying to create a bridge between sound and memory. That’s a lofty aim, but if anyone can pull it off, it’s him.
What many people don’t realize is how much Steps is about identity and belonging. Tzue’s admission that she grew up feeling like an outsider—‘an awkward, artsy Taiwanese kid in suburban New Jersey’—adds a layer of authenticity to the film’s theme. This isn’t just a reimagining of Cinderella’s stepsisters; it’s a mirror held up to anyone who’s ever felt like they didn’t fit into a story that was written for someone else. The idea that a ‘villain’ could deserve a ‘happily ever after’ is radical, but it’s also a reflection of our current cultural moment. We’re tired of binary narratives. We want nuance. We want characters who are flawed but not irredeemable. And if Steps can deliver that, it might just be the kind of film that changes how we think about fairy tales forever.
The casting choices also tell a story. Bette Midler as the fairy godmother? Daniel Radcliffe in a royal role? Peter Dinklage as ‘The Muscle’? These aren’t just names; they’re choices that signal a deliberate effort to blend humor, heart, and a touch of absurdity. It’s a recipe that could either work brilliantly or fall flat. But given the team behind it—Tzue, Ripa, and Bowers—it feels like a calculated risk with a lot of heart. And honestly, I’m here for it. If nothing else, it’s a reminder that animation isn’t just for kids anymore. It’s a medium that can tackle complex themes, and Steps is proof that even the most familiar stories can be reinvented in ways that feel fresh and necessary.
So, what does this all mean? It means that Steps isn’t just another animated film. It’s a statement. A challenge to the status quo. And if the music is as emotionally resonant as Bowers promises, it could become one of those rare projects that sticks with you long after the credits roll. Whether it’s a success or a failure, it’s a reminder that storytelling is evolving—and sometimes, the most unexpected voices are the ones that change the game.
