Written and directed by Tilman Singer
The foothills of the Bavarian Alps are alive with something ominous and creepy in Tilman Singer’s Cuckoo, a horror movie with a sticky atmosphere, a touch for the eerie, and something mysterious lurking in the woods. Maybe too mysterious.
Hunter Schaefer is Gretchen, son of a German man who has remarried and now has a young daughter, Alma, with Gretchen’s stepmom. It feels strange for an almost 18-year old to have a sibling rivalry with a grade schooler, but here we are, as Grethen endures being transplanted away from all she knows back in the United States, every bit the sullen teenager pretty much grown up but not legally allowed to leave the nest.
Gretchen’s folks are here to build a new resort for a man named Herr König, who’s nice but offputting in the way only Germans can be, and Gretchen takes a job as a receptionist at the existing resort, which is boring but endurable. The tedium’s broken in shocking fashion, however, as she soon finds herself stalked by a woman in a trenchcoat, wig, and red glowing eyes behind 50s eyewear. Gretchen’s dad doesn’t believe her, preoccupied with Alma who has suddenly started having seizures. Is it all connected?
The dark is deep in Cuckoo and Singer’s movie likes to jump out at you the way monster horror movies do. It keeps you on your toes, and Singer builds a world that’s just askew enough to let you suspend disbelief as Gretchen investigates… something. She doesn’t quite understand what’s what, neither do we, and for a while that’s to Cuckoo’s strength as we happily follow her into the murk.
The energy with which Singer pursues his mystery is high and ultimately a saving grace. Movies of Cuckoo’s ilk are reticent intentionally, so assured of their allure and visceral punch that they don’t feel compelled to provide answers. Others are reticent because they don’t have much to say, and as the movie goes along, Cuckoo begins to fall in the latter camp as you realize its ideas aren’t fully fleshed out.
Fortunately, Singer throws the movie over his shoulder and soldiers on, providing the thrills even if your mind slowly disengages. Cuckoo lays it on thick with ghastly textures and unsettling sounds, then rubs your face in it with how close it gets to it all. Singer makes you regret having eyes and ears and a sense of imagination.
Hunter Schaefer proves herself a solid scream queen, game for the gruelling work battling monsters can be, dishing out petrified screams and angry yells with matching energy. She’s also spot-on as a grumpy late teen, clearly only an adult in appearance, making the ordeal of Cuckoo a twisted coming of age ritual.
Alongside her, Dan Stevens is terrific as resort owner Herr König, the varnish of German amicability and politesse thick on his skin. His smile is warm, his tone gentle, his outfit composed, and the total effect is total super villain.
Together, Schafer and Stevens hold Cuckoo aloft, but its story is too lightweight to truly bowl you over. Singer does show he has some ideas and the skills to realize them in this movie of his that brings both vibes and violence, and that’s enough to take a chance on for anyone who likes things a little gross and eerie.
Mikkel Frederiksen 