I want to hate Red Riding Hood in the worst way. I really do. I want to pounce on director Catherine Hardwicke’s film and pummel it with accusations of zero creativity and kick it with the judgmental boot of milking the Twilight crowd for all they’re worth, but I just can’t muster the malice to point an accusing finger, mostly because I never found myself checking my watch during the 120 minute nouveau retelling of the classic Brothers Grimm folk tale. Trust …