This movie is in fact a magical bag full of symbolic folklore about werewolves, or, rather, their sexual connotation. Grandmother Angela Lansbury tells her granddaughter Sarah Patterson strange, disturbing tales about innocent maidens falling in love with handsome, heavily eyebrowed strangers with a smouldering look in their eyes; about sudden disappearances of spouses when the moon is round & the wolves are howling in the woods; about babies found inside stork eggs, in a stork nest high up a tree; etc., etc. Of course the story of Little Red Ridinghood is also present, with a very handsome he-wolf!(And of course this he-wolf consumes Grandmother, but 'consumes' Little Red Ridinghood). All the stories are somehow reducable to loss of innocence, and fear of/hunger for (a newly acquired sense of) sexuality; their Freudian character is mirrored in their dreamlike shapes. This movie is not really a horror movie; it's more a multiple tale about growing up into adolescence.
