By Turns Absurd and Earnest, Cuckoo‘s Giallo-Riffing Horror Is Madly Fun

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.