OTwo Head of Reviews Robert Flynn dives into the story development (or lack thereof) in director Tilman Singer’s Cuckoo (2024)
The idea of an insular yet idyllic community is always understood as a pretense in the horror genre. Nefarious and often disturbing secrets lying dormant beneath a convivial and joyous facade. In an efficient and effective film like M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village (2004) this horror trope is used to great effect. The dynamics and geography of the village are communicated clearly and economically, character is built as they navigate the presented challenges, and information is gradually unveiled in a fun and engaging manner that furthers the narrative and directly interacts with the protagonists. In Cuckoo (2024), writer and director Tilman Singer does away with basic character and story development and rather tries to convince the audience of something that they’re already aware of.
In Cuckoo (2024), writer and director Tilman Singer does away with basic character and story development and rather tries to convince the audience of something that they’re already aware of.
Cuckoo focuses on the character of Gretchen (Hunter Schafer), who has inexplicably found herself living in the towering landscape of the German Alps. Her distant and taciturn father (Marton Csokas) has brought her there against her will, along with his new wife Beth (Jessica Henwick) and Gretchen’s younger step sister Alma (Mila Lieu). They arrive at a resort that’s seemingly frozen in time; the cars are vintage while their owners are adorned in their finest 80s fashion. Upon arrival, they meet Mr. Köning (Dan Stevens), a family friend who is overly welcoming and disconcerting.
As Gretchen starts to settle into the new environment, she begins to hear the piercing call of a cuckoo, and experiences multiple interactions with a cloaked, scaled woman. Singer’s main interest lies in the film’s villain, Mr. Köning. His constant presence in the film; invariably appearing just over Gretchen’s shoulder as she begins to realise that his resort may be off-kilter. It becomes glaringly evident that Köning is the root of all of the idiosyncrasies that Gretchen has been observing in the resort.
Rather, to the film’s detriment, Gretchen gets repeatedly thrown into unrelated horror set pieces that fail to give any wider insight to what lies beneath.
Instead of building an intriguing dynamic between Gretchen and Köning, Singer leaves Köning’s intentions enigmatic, attempting to give him an air of ambiguity which falls completely flat. The film would benefit greatly if Gretchen were to fight against his imposing presence while trying to investigate his practices. Rather, to the film’s detriment, Gretchen gets repeatedly thrown into unrelated horror set pieces that fail to give any wider insight to what lies beneath. As a result, Gretchen is given barely any interiority or compelling attributes. Due to the events unfolding around her, she is narrowed out of any character development.
Thankfully, during the occasional horror setup, Singer is able to display some sense of intriguing cinematic language. The aforementioned call of the cuckoo manipulates the reality of those who hear it, endowing their vision with a vertiginous effect. The periphery of the frame begins to shake, and the centre comes into focus. Voices and sounds reverberate and become increasingly dissonant. Then, the scene cuts back in time by five seconds. The described effects only increase as the scene repeats once more. Singer can occasionally lose focus and re-use this effect to a debatably egregious degree but, it’s an undeniably ambitious and daring way of communicating disorientation on screen.
Nevertheless, the film is eventually able to tap into themes of traditional views being imposed on daughters, a male obsession with offspring perfection, and excessive parental control.
Due to the circuitous nature of how information and character intentions are revealed in Cuckoo, it makes describing the progression of the story inherently challenging and non-linear. Nevertheless, the film is eventually able to tap into themes of traditional views being imposed on daughters, a male obsession with offspring perfection, and excessive parental control. Frustratingly, its conclusion offers more questions than it does answers.
In the end, Singer’s insistence in building a never-ending mystique to Köning and his resort results in an overstuffed third act that continuously builds upon its own convolutions. Schafer proves to be the most noteworthy aspect of the film; being able to lend gravitas to a scene despite her underwritten character. Cuckoo has hints of ambition but lacks any semblance of basic yet essential character and plot development, making for a perplexing and, unfortunately, often dull experience.