Absurd (and Absurdly Fun) Giallo-Riffing Horror

Having avoided any trailers or read any information surrounding Cuckoo—German director Tilman Singer’s follow-up to his 2018 debut, Luz—prior its release, I had not had any inkling the extent to which the film’s title is so plainly literal. But from the jump it was at least moderately apparent where the film was going to go: an opening sequence sees a young woman (donning pajamas and exhibiting strange, animalistic behavior) flee what, by all accounts, appears to be her home and disappear into the night. Referred to as a “nestling” by an off-screen voice, it was here I deduced that the woman had somehow been transmogrified into a human cuckoo bird, and that Hunter Schafer’s protagonist, Gretchen, would be planned as another cuckoo bird, too. Astute as I was so early on (though, I wouldn’t claim to be extraordinary here—it’s meant to be pretty obvious) the journey to this correct deduction was supremely gratifying and pleasurable. Cuckoo is a twisty, giallo-inspired, semi-body horror mystery that double acts as an impressive lead showcase proving that Schafer is more than just an “it girl.”

Gretchen, a moody American teen grieving the recent loss of her mother, is forced to move in with her father Luis (Marton Csokas), his much younger English wife Beth (Jessica Henwick), and their mute daughter Alma (Mila Lieu). Luis and Beth have relocated from the States to the Alps, where they had once honeymooned at a lavish resort and subsequently conceived Alma. Both architects, the couple has been solicited by the resort’s owner, the overly pleasant Herr König (Dan Stevens) to build him a new resort. Thus, their project leaves them, and now Gretchen, with an indefinite stay in Germany. This is much to Gretchen’s chagrin, to put it lightly. She resents her stepmother and half-sister in what is customary for this archetypal character dynamic: a new mother has laid eggs in Gretchen’s nest, stealing resources. So, too is Gretchen’s relationship with her father strained. She had previously been under her mother’s welcomed custody, but in the wake of her untimely passing, Gretchen is now required to encroach upon her father’s new, younger family whom he had willingly abandoned her for.

With nothing to do except circulate her bad attitude throughout her family’s expansive new home, Gretchen is offered a paid job by König to work the front desk at his resort. On her first day, she learns that guests regularly vomit in the lobby (chalked up to the altitude?) and König forbids Gretchen from ever working at night. So, inevitably swapping shifts one night with her coworker Trixie (Greta Fernández), Gretchen discovers why König might not have wanted her riding her bike home alone in the dark. After an evening in which a strange, pantsless woman heaves by the gift shop, Gretchen finds herself chased by a shrieking blonde woman in a pink coat and sunglasses, with blood-red irises peeking out through her darkened lenses. The pursuit lands Gretchen in the nearby hospital with a head injury, but her family has more pressing concerns than the staples now holding Gretchen’s skin together. Alma has begun experiencing seizures, which her parents seem to think are worsened by Gretchen’s behavior. Of course they don’t believe that a caterwauling, peacoat-clad banshee hunted Gretchen after dusk. It’s simply more proof of a teenager acting out against her unwanted living situation.

With his stripped-down, 71-minute possession caper Luz earning favorable comparisons to Lucio Fulci, Singer continues his giallo homages with more of a Suspiria or Phenomena riff with Cuckoo. A young woman sent to a mysterious, foreign institution uncovers a vast conspiracy sheltered within the establishment—and now they’re out to get her, too. 

Indeed, the plot is perhaps even more nonsensical and absurd than either film, if not quite able to capture the same stilted tone (and technicolor lighting) of a classic from Dario Argento. But Cuckoo uses a familiar outline with its own evocative camerawork from Paul Faltz, and still thrives as a throwback delight: a simple, effective horror story that makes very little narrative sense if you start asking even a couple questions. You never really learn exactly why Herr König and his “Chronic Disease Treatment Facility” want to achieve their odd ends. But if you’re willing to give in to the lack of context, it’s genuinely refreshing that Singer, who penned the screenplay, never commits to a full origin story. 

I was more than happy to sit back and watch Dan Stevens prance around menacingly in his little glasses, with his little German accent. And while not in the film nearly enough, it’s wonderful to see Stevens continue to carve out his niche as a handsome character actor who favors roles in genre films that see him embodying oddballs rather than stock hunks. Stevens moved fully away from Downton Abbey and went all in on The Guest, which suits the uncanny intensity of his deep-set blue eyes. In Cuckoo, Stevens peddles in duplicitous smiles and cryptic dialogue to Gretchen; it’s unclear if he wants to save her or hurt her. 

The film also manages a resonant emotional B-plot that neither detracts from nor overtakes the outlandish A-plot. Scenes in which a tearful Gretchen leaves unanswered messages on her mother’s voicemail just to hear her voice in the recording are sincerely moving. Schafer naturally sells the hurt and confusion of Gretchen’s experience—25 and still eminently adolescent-looking, she’s adept at portraying misunderstood teen angst—even as the character dodges compounded head injuries and bloodthirsty villains. Not to mention, the design, physicality, and deployment of the big bad is effectively unsettling. It lightly toes the line of body horror in a way that still manages to disturb despite never fully committing to the macabre. 

One could argue that Cuckoo’s chief failing is that it doesn’t allow its tone to lean into the pure, visceral absurdity of its narrative. But I’d argue back that the seriousness adds to a certain charm, in a way where it’s clear that Singer isn’t trying to be overly self-serious; certainly, Argento characters are still taking the graveness of their stakes to heart. That König is so dead-set in his absurd goals is delightful, because there’s still a little twinkle in his eye, and Cuckoo manages to imbue this vibe with an earnest terror that makes for an exceedingly entertaining horror film.

Director: Tilman Singer
Writer: Tilman Singer
Starring: Hunter Schafer, Jan Bluthardt, Marton Csokas, Jessica Henwick, Dan Stevens
Release Date: August 9, 2024

---

Brianna Zigler is an entertainment writer based in middle-of-nowhere Massachusetts. Her work has appeared at Little White Lies, Film School Rejects, Thrillist, Bright Wall/Dark Room and more, and she writes a bi-monthly newsletter called That’s Weird. You can follow her on Twitter, where she likes to engage in stimulating discussions on films like Movie 43, Clifford, and Watchmen.