CUCKOO (2024)

NEON has distinguished itself as one of the most experimental production houses in recent years. It has provided a platform for several filmmakers including Bong Joon-ho (Parasite) and Brandon Cronenberg (Infinity Pool) to challenge audiences with their unconventional storytelling. Arriving in the wake of the titanic marketing campaign for Oz Perkins’ Longlegs (2024), their latest venture feels like the next step of the distribution companies’ conquest to dominate the horror genre. Written and directed by Tilman Singer, Cuckoo immediately builds intrigue within the opening minutes. Focusing primarily on creating a haunting atmosphere and cultivating a sinister ambience, it joins NEON’s repertoire of audacious and entertaining stories that will keep viewers on the edge of their seats.

After suffering the devastating loss of her mother, Gretchen (Hunter Schafer) finds herself uprooted from her American home and reluctantly relocated to a resort nestled within the Bavarian Alps. This sudden relocation is orchestrated by her estranged father Luis (Marton Csokas), whose focus remains fixed on his seemingly perfect existence with his wife, Beth (Jessica Henwick), and their daughter, Alma (Mila Lieu). The family is infinitely more excited about their uproot because they have been commissioned to renovate a hotel by the resort’s figurehead Herr König (Dan Stevens). However, Gretchen feels no connection with her extended family and prefers retreating into solitude with her bass guitar. After König extends an invitation for her to work at the hotel’s front desk, she discovers there’s something very peculiar about the resort. As she navigates the unfamiliar terrain, Gretchen unintentionally becomes entangled in a labyrinthine mystery involving her father’s enigmatic employer and a series of increasingly unsettling occurrences.

Surpassing the constricted confines of her previous role in HBO’s Euphoria, Hunter Schafer emerges as a beacon of genuine talent and deftly showcases her remarkable versatility as an actress. Her remarkably nuanced performance as Gretchen undoubtedly anchors Cuckoo. After being forced to live with her estranged father in a remote village in the German Alps, she convincingly portrays the complexities and frustrations of navigating the increasingly surreal surroundings while tackling horrifying situations. The actress initially portrays her character as an emotionally detached rebellious teen with a hardened demeanour equipped with a trusty switchblade. However, there’s a suppressed anguish behind her mannerisms and expressions that subtly unveil the tumultuous emotions of a young woman grappling with terrible pain. Schafer captures her character’s raw vulnerability and strength as she navigates the horrifying secrets surrounding her. It’s a delicate balancing act that echoes the fragile psyche of Catherine Deneuve in Roman Polanski’s Repulsion (1968) while simultaneously channelling the steely determination of Maika Monroe in David Robert Mitchell’s It Follows (2014).

After delighting in the macabre excesses of Abigail (2024) and lending his chameleonic skills to Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire (2024), Dan Stevens continues to prove himself a charismatic leading man who refuses to be categorised. The actor relishes the opportunity to deliver an amusingly unhinged performance as the disreputable hotelier, Herr König. With a hilariously exaggerated German accent, he finds a maliciously offbeat middle ground between Ronald Lacey’s Arnold Ernst Toht in Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) and B.D Wong’s Dr Wu in Jurassic Park (1993). Whether he’s playing the flute like a demented Pied Piper or peddling duplicitous smiles, he effortlessly portrays an enigmatic unpredictability that makes the character both strangely affable and gleefully malevolent. Stevens’ sheer commitment and compelling presence inadvertently highlight how he has become one of this year’s underrated supporting characters.

Those familiar with Tilman Singer’s burgeoning career will undoubtedly be familiar with his penchant for the outlandish and macabre. His visually arresting feature-length debut, Luz (2018), is an intoxicating and nightmarish odyssey into the realm of demonic possession. Informed by the visceral aesthetic of Lucio Fulci (The Psychic) and Andrzej Żuławski (Possession), it showcased the writer-director’s inartistic ability to eschew conventional reasoning and force viewers into entering a labyrinth that would question their sanity. Cuckoo amplifies and expands similar motifs found within his previous work but exhibits a newfound rigour and unapologetic intensity. Manifesting the malevolent atmosphere of horrors such as David Cronenberg’s The Brood (1979) and Dario Argento’s Phenomena (1985), it operates in a territory where the boundaries between stark realism and feverish nightmares merge with unsettling fluidity. It’s easy to be captivated by the idyllic allure of the German Alps and the seemingly quaint Alpschatten Resort. However, simmering beneath the hospitable veneer is a pervasive malevolence that insidiously creeps into every frame.

Once Gretchen begins working at the retreat, she is confronted with a series of peculiarities running rampant throughout the resort. She’s haunted by residents wandering around in a dreamlike stupor, omnibus figures lurking in the periphery, and an unsettling screech that induces disorientating time loops for anyone within earshot. Singer’s audacious commitment to crafting a somnambulistic and uncomfortable ambience pairs beautifully with Paul Faltz’s (Luz) cinematography. As Gretchen’s reality begins to perilously balance on the edge of madness, he deploys ominous wide lenses to amplify the persistent sense of isolation and encroaching paranoia. He frames his subjects in the centre of his compositions, leaving the vast space around them empty. This negative space is used to great effect and conveys a disquieting otherworldly quality to the resort that discombobulates the viewers as much as Gretchen. It’s relentless foreboding and continues to burrow into the audience’s subconscious long after the credits roll.

While skillfully navigating a tightrope between arthouse vagary and mainstream ambition, Cuckoo never outright terrifies its audience. However, Singer showcases his ability to craft a deeply unnerving experience by punctuating his production with some moments of gripping intensity and unsettling body horror when Gretchen encounters danger. As the young heroine accumulates bruises, lacerations, and bloody scars, our fear for her safety becomes palpable. One particular sequence that finds Gretchen riding her bike home after reluctantly working a night shift raises the tension to an almost unbearable level. While pedalling down a desolate road, an overhead streetlight reveals a menacing silhouette chasing her. The intelligent use of lighting and shadow play happening beneath the evenly spaced streetlights intelligently communicates the closing distance between predator and prey. It’s a refreshing classical approach to building suspense that harkens back to the elegant dread of Argento’s The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (1970).

There’s a confidence in Singer’s filmmaking that promises a long career of mystifying audiences, but his preoccupation with visual artistry and atmospheric intensity overshadows the more nuanced exploration of character depth. It’s disappointing how quickly and definitively Cuckoo collapses under the weight of its ambitiousness. Singer’s increasingly convoluted screenplay could be interpreted as a contemporary allegory on patriarchal control over bodily autonomy. However, the disparate threads that form the fabric of the 102-minute runtime fail to coalesce into a cohesive tapestry. The climatic third act suddenly becomes filled with nonsensical expository monologues that seem designed to obfuscate rather than illuminate. There are allusions to reclaiming nature and brood parasitism, but König’s nefarious schemes remain ambiguously overwrought and somewhat underwhelming. The audience never learns about the particularities of the supernatural creature or what the Chronic Disease Treatment Centre wants to achieve. Ambiguity can be wonderful, and the unexplained is oftentimes more terrifying than the truth, but the script ultimately creates more questions than answers.

Cuckoo will likely resonate strongly with audiences who appreciate horror that challenges conventions and pushes boundaries. For those willing to embrace the surreal story beats and genuinely unnerving atmosphere will be rewarded with a perplexing and transcendent experience. However, the confusion surrounding the mystery will undoubtedly frustrate many viewers trying to find reason and logic. Regardless, Tilman Singer’s confidence as a filmmaker promises a long career mystifying audiences.

GERMANY • USA | 2024 | 102 MINUTES | COLOUR | ENGLISH • GERMAN • FRENCH • AMERICAN SIGN LANGUAGE

Cast & Crew

writer & director: Tilman Singer.
starring: Hunter Schafer, Dan Stevens, Marton Csoksa, Jessica Henwick & Mila Lieu.