‘The Cuckoo’ Review: A Stylish and Enjoyable European Nightmare

Tilman Singer’s “Cuckoo” stands out as a unique horror film, defying conventional genre norms while paying homage to its cinematic ancestors. The German writer-director masterfully melds tones, performance styles, mythology, music, a reverence for nature, and contemporary allegory, crafting an unpredictable chaos. From this tumult emerges an intensely effective creeping dread. Audiences might find themselves perplexed by the narrative at times, but there’s no mistaking the emotional impact: a lingering sense of unease and vivid, unforgettable impressions.

Singer actively involves the audience in “Cuckoo.” The film’s title nods to Alfred Hitchcock’s iconic avian-themed horror. In a striking moment, co-star Dan Stevens breaks the fourth wall, addressing a character on the other side of a surveillance camera. At the same time, he implicates the audience, evoking that unsettling scene from “The Birds” where a character accuses the viewer of causing havoc.

The film’s cinematography, executed by Paul Faltz on 35mm, oscillates between shadowy dread and dreamy fantasy. The camera’s movements guide the audience, often creeping up on the protagonist, Gretchen (Hunter Schafer). An American teenager navigating grief, Gretchen is dragged to the Bavarian Alps by her father Luis (Marton Csokas), stepmother Beth (Jessica Henwick), and half-sister Alma (Mila Lieu) post her mother’s death. As her parents work on a resort plan for Herr König (Dan Stevens), Gretchen secures a job at König’s current establishment—a decaying mountain hotel with a penchant for bizarre happenings involving young women.

Gretchen embodies a refreshing take on the horror “final girl” trope. She quickly becomes wary of her surroundings and attempts to flee the eerie setting. In a harrowing nighttime bike escape, she’s pursued by a screaming woman, and even when her fears are dismissed, she strives to hitch a ride to Paris with a handsome hotel guest, Ed (Àstrid Bergès-Frisbey). But Gretchen finds herself trapped in a bizarre loop, each escape attempt leaving her more battered. Surviving a car wreck, she spends the rest of the film in bandages, constantly bruised, and ultimately resolves to unveil the mystery to liberate herself.

Throughout the narrative, it becomes evident that the sinister occurrences in the town revolve around the control of women’s bodies. While Singer doesn’t provide explicit explanations, the allegory of patriarchal control over reproduction is palpable, resonating strongly even as the film entertains multiple interpretations.

The social relevance anchors the film to reality, as do numerous film references that allow “Cuckoo” to embrace its inherently European fairy-tale surrealism. Schafer’s performance is her best to date, and the eclectic cast delivers distinct, peculiar portrayals. Despite the varied tones, they merge seamlessly through the movie’s resonant sound design and textural cinematography, creating an enthralling cinematic experience. Singer emerges as a cinematic alchemist, concocting a hybridized masterpiece of influences, imagery, and emotions that linger long after the credits roll.

Source: Tribune News Service