The Unseen Magic Behind Netflix’s ‘Steps’: Why Kris Bowers’ Score Could Redefine Animated Storytelling
There’s something about animated films that feels like a time machine—they transport us back to childhood while simultaneously offering layers of complexity that resonate as adults. Netflix’s upcoming animated feature, Steps, is no exception. But what’s truly intriguing here isn’t just its twist on the Cinderella narrative or its star-studded cast. It’s the invisible force that will bind the entire experience together: Kris Bowers’ score. Personally, I think this could be the project that cements Bowers as a transformative voice in film composition, and here’s why.
The Composer as Emotional Architect
Kris Bowers isn’t just writing music for Steps—he’s crafting an emotional blueprint. In an industry where scores often feel interchangeable, Bowers’ approach stands out. He’s not just reacting to the visuals; he’s inhabiting the characters. Director Alyce Tzue’s observation that Bowers “draws a string of emotion from the characters behind the screen, through the screen, to the people watching” is more than a compliment—it’s a revelation. What makes this particularly fascinating is how rare it is. Most composers score to the action; Bowers scores to the soul.
This raises a deeper question: Can a score become a character in its own right? If you take a step back and think about it, the answer is yes. Bowers’ music isn’t just accompaniment—it’s a narrative force. His aim to create a score that, when listened to in isolation, evokes the entire film’s journey is audacious. It’s not just about melodies; it’s about memory. What this really suggests is that Bowers is redefining the role of the composer, turning them into co-storytellers rather than mere decorators.
A Cinderella Story for the ‘Villains’
Steps flips the script on fairy tales by centering the so-called “villains”—Cinderella’s stepsisters. Lilith and Margot aren’t just antagonists; they’re flawed, relatable humans. This isn’t just a clever twist; it’s a cultural shift. What many people don’t realize is that fairy tales have always been vessels for societal norms, and by reimagining them, Steps is challenging our definitions of good and evil.
From my perspective, this is where Bowers’ score becomes even more critical. A detail that I find especially interesting is how he’s tasked with humanizing characters traditionally written off as one-dimensional. His music has to carry the weight of their redemption arcs, their vulnerabilities, and their moments of triumph. If he succeeds, it won’t just be a win for Steps—it’ll be a blueprint for how music can elevate complex characters in animation.
The Collaborative Spark
One thing that immediately stands out is the synergy between Bowers and the Steps team. Tzue and co-director John Ripa describe him as a “dream collaborator,” someone who says “yes, and” to every idea. This isn’t just professional courtesy—it’s a mindset. In an industry often plagued by egos, Bowers’ willingness to merge his vision with others’ is refreshing.
But here’s the kicker: collaboration doesn’t dilute his creativity; it amplifies it. Ripa’s observation that Bowers’ process is “intuitive, honest, and raw” hints at something larger. What this really suggests is that true collaboration requires vulnerability. Bowers isn’t just bringing his technical skill to the table—he’s bringing his heart. And in an era where animation is increasingly driven by algorithms and focus groups, that kind of authenticity is a rarity.
The Broader Implications: Animation’s Evolution
Steps marks Netflix’s first fully in-house animated feature, and that’s a big deal. But what’s even more significant is how it’s pushing the boundaries of what animation can be. This isn’t just a kids’ movie; it’s a statement. Tzue’s personal connection to the story—her experience as an outsider growing up—gives Steps a depth that most animated films lack.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how Bowers’ score fits into this evolution. Animation has long been dismissed as “just for kids,” but Steps is part of a wave of films that are proving otherwise. Bowers’ music isn’t just enhancing the story—it’s legitimizing it. If you take a step back and think about it, this could be the moment when animation finally gets the artistic respect it deserves, with composers like Bowers leading the charge.
Final Thoughts: The Score as a Time Capsule
Bowers’ ambition to create a score that stands alone as a narrative is bold, but it’s also nostalgic. He’s tapping into something universal: the way music can transport us back to a moment, a feeling, a film. In my opinion, this is what separates great composers from good ones. They don’t just write notes—they write memories.
As Steps prepares to debut on November 20, I’m less interested in the visuals or the star power than I am in Bowers’ score. Will it achieve what he’s set out to do? Will it become a time capsule for viewers, a sonic reminder of the journey they took with Lilith, Margot, and Cinderella? Personally, I think it will. And if it does, it won’t just be a win for Steps—it’ll be a win for the art of storytelling itself.
