The word “cuckoo” has many different meanings, and all of them come to bear in Tilman Singer’s gonzo, wildly incoherent body horror, Cuckoo. Set in the atmospheric, mountainous Alps, where more horrors should be set by the way, the film takes bird analogies and sheer lunacy to the next level. With a vein of dark comedy coursing through it and a pair of unhinged performances by Hunter Schafer and Dan Stevens, Cuckoo is delightfully off-the-rails and creepy as Hell, a combo of Suspiria-esque paranoia thriller and something from the fevered brain of David Cronenberg.
You can’t name your film Cuckoo and not have someone who is a total basket case. Schafer’s Gretchen would appear to be that character. She’s got a chip on her shoulder after being forced to live with her estranged father Luis (Marton Csokas), stepmom Beth (Jessica Henwick), and their young daughter Alma (Mila Lieu), a mute girl who communicates through a translator device. One might expect that moving to a gorgeous, isolated resort in the Bavarian Alps would cure any resentment, but not for Gretchen. Voicemail messages reveal that she’s deeply homesick and missing her mother, and also the bandmates who miss her creative input.
Dan Stevens’ Mr. König clearly has a screw loose, too. The guy exudes sinister intentions, from his aggressive mispronunciation of Gretchen’s name, his insistence that he’s a “preservationist”, to the flute he randomly breaks out of his pocket and plays like some mad Pied Piper. He owns the resort and has Luis helping to design another, but he’s got an Eddie Haskell thing going on, too. König is too welcoming to be sincere, however Gretchen, fearing extreme boredom, takes a job at his resort working the front desk.
Weird shit starts happening almost immediately. Women are vomiting in the lobby, nobody is allowed to work past 10pm and König seems desperate to make sure nobody does. There’s also a strange blonde woman with glowing eyes and a mouth that unhinges like a snake who is stalking Gretchen’s every move. Singer, masterful at crafting indelible images that will haunt you, captures the woman’s first appearance in speed, shadow, and moonlight. The hooded figure, who produces some sort of grotesque, impregnating bodily fluid and a hideous shriek, is someone only Gretchen seems to be terrorized by. Her parents believe she’s losing it, and the cops don’t believe her, either.
With a perpetual scowl and a switchblade in her pocket, Gretchen gives off “don’t fuck with me” vibes right from the start. Her parents focused mostly on Alma, who weirdly begins having seizures that necessitate the assistance of chronic disease expert Dr. Bonomo (Porschat Madani), Gretchen is left to deal with all of this insanity alone. As revelations emerge about her mother and the resort’s grisly practices, Cuckoo shifts into a demented parable on identity, autonomy, and parenthood.
Much as the common cuckoo is a brood parasite that lays its eggs in another’s nest to be raised by an unsuspecting host, Cuckoo has many different ideas hiding in plain sight. But Singer doesn’t let any one thing dominate; he’s got a lot more weird stuff on his mind, backed by a Euro synth score and dizzying visuals. When the hooded woman’s siren call is heard (it never seems to be truly gone) the screen rattles as if the world is being shaken apart at its core. That unsettled feeling continues as Gretchen befriends a mysterious guest, Ed (Astrid Berges-Frisbey), who she instantly sparks with…but we know their sexual chemistry will come with a terrible cost. An investigation into König by a rogue cop also seems doomed for failure because nothing normal can possibly exist in a place like this.
Much like her breakthrough role in Euphoria, Schafer is the embodiment of defiant fury as Gretchen refuses to be a victim. Continuing what has been a stellar year on the big screen, Schafer shows levels of resentment and vulnerability within Gretchen that are believable even with all of the unbelievable stuff happening around her. As for Stevens, he’s just having the most fun ever this year. His König, with pinpoint German affectation, is the kind of villain who hides his vile nature behind a mask of professionalism and civility.
The weirder Cuckoo gets, the better, but Singer could’ve ratcheted up the weirdness to another level. At times it feels as if Singer is struggling to figure out how far to take it, or exactly what kind of horror he wants his film to be. The uncertainty dulls some of the suspense during a laborious second act, but Cuckoo recovers during a final stretch that is calibrated to deliver maximum freakishness with an abundance of style.
Cuckoo opens in theaters on August 9th.
