Catherine Hardwicke’s new film “Red Riding Hood” at first glance doesn’t seem to have that much in common with the fairy tale after which it’s named. Sure, there’s a wolf, a grandmother and the titular crimson cloak. Here, though, the wolf announces his intention to eat up the young innocent, instead of hiding behind her grandma’s bonnet. And there’s another difference — the young innocent is not so innocent. “Red Riding Hood” is still part of a long tradition, though. People have been looking for — or inventing — sexual undertones to folk tales almost since they started being told. Anne Rice and Stephenie Meyer have made vampires sexy. Isn’t it wolves’ turn in the spotlight?

The story takes place in a medieval village, set off from a forest. As in the fairy tale, the civilization of the former is contrasted with the wildness of the latter. For two decades, the villagers have offered the wolf sacrifices to protect their people. But the creature suddenly has a taste for human blood again. And it turns out that the danger doesn’t dwell in the woods — it exists in the village itself. The wolf is actually a werewolf.