When Valerie (Amanda Seyfried) first lays eyes on the Big Bad Wolf, they share a lingering glance. They’re probably both marveling at what big eyes the other has. The moment itself introduces a recurring motif in the film: whenever Valerie’s trying to figure out if someone she’s talking to might be the wolf, Catherine Hardwicke’s camera pushes in on that person’s eyes, as Valerie searches for any recognition.

Solving the mystery of the identity of the wolf is central to Hardwicke’s film, adapted from the classic fairy tale by writer David Johnson, because this isn’t the garden-variety talking wolf we’re used to. It’s a werewolf, and when it’s in human form, it lives among the denizens of the vaguely medieval village that serves as the movie’s setting. So says Solomon (Gary Oldman), a priest and werewolf-hunting sword of God fond of wearing razor-sharp solid silver Lee Press-On Nails. He arrives triumphantly to help the poor villagers rid themselves of the beast after it kills Valerie’s sister — effectively nullifying their years-long arrangement of putting out livestock at the full moon to sate its appetite.

Hardwicke must have been sorely disappointed to have been booted from the Twilight franchise before they got to the big werewolf action. Tonally, Red Riding Hood plays out just as one would imagine her version of New Moon might have. Angsty, annoying teens? Check. Heroine defined by inaction and tragically poor taste in men with ridiculous hair? Check. (On that subject, can someone please tell me where Valerie’s illicit love object, Peter (Shiloh Fernandez) manages to find hair gel in whatever pre-emo century this is meant to take place in?) Finally, can we get Bella’s mustachioed papa Billy Burke in here to play this heroine’s somewhat feckless dad, too? We sure can, though we’ll rob him, Samson-like, of his facial hair, which apparently gives him what limited sense and power he has in Twilight. Throw in a few sparkly vampires and an indie-rock soundtrack, and this is a lost Stephenie Meyer manuscript.