Rating: R | Runtime: 102 minutes
Release Date: August 9th, 2024 (USA) / August 29th, 2024 (Germany)
Studio: Weltkino Filmverleih / Neon
Director(s): Tilman Singer
Writer(s): Tilman Singer

We’re dying to hear what you have to say.

It’s been six years since Tilman Singer’s Luz (a film I’m still astounded to know was his graduate thesis), but he’s finally back with a follow-up. While Cuckoo still takes place in Germany with characters speaking German, it’s definitely got a Hollywood polish both in casting and atmospherics (although it’s still shot on 35 mm, it’s less reliant on film grain textures). That the main German character is played by Dan Stevens only plays into this dual world juxtaposition considering he’s not leaning into his British-ness while speaking the language like he did (with intent) in I’m Your Man. No, his Herr König is Bavarian through and through.

The film centers on seventeen-year-old Gretchen (played by twenty-five-year-old Hunter Schafer). Still mourning the death of her mother, this teen has now been forced to move to Europe with her father (Márton Csókás’ Luis), his new wife (Jessica Henwick’s Beth), and their mute daughter (Mila Lieu’s Alma). The parents are on their way to help König develop his latest resort after meeting him years ago on their honeymoon, so Gretchen finds herself a stranger both in setting and family. Her hope is to scratch up the necessary money to head back across the Atlantic and live her life in her mother’s home alone.

This is, of course, easier said than done once the weirdness of her current situation turns from paranoia to true danger. First there are the sounds coming from the forest behind their property that cause Alma to have seizures and Gretchen to become stuck in a brief sort of time loop. Then there’s the discovery of puking women staying in the bungalows König owns at the foot of his preservationist mountainside. And, finally, an unnamed woman (Kalin Morrow) skulking about and chasing anyone in sight with murderous intent after 10pm—a woman no one seems to believe exists despite Gretchen narrowly escaping her wrath.

How everything connects is right there in the title for those who know cuckoo birds and have Singer’s warped mind to project certain details about them upon another species. While he does sprinkle in the context so we understand what’s going on, however, he doesn’t bog us down with explanations for every little thing. These are the players and this is the motivation, but all the strange occurrances are simply a byproduct of nature’s mystery. We don’t need to know the specifics of Singer’s mythology, just its impact on Gretchen. Cuckoo is about her surviving this horror. One mustn’t fully comprehend an evil’s origin to combat it.

So, we glean a timeline from supporting characters like resort concierge Trixie (Greta Fernández), local policeman Erik (Konrad Singer), and enigmatic guest Henry (Jan Bluthardt). We have fun with Stevens’ unhinged performance steeped in enough charm to fool those who want to be fooled (Luis and Beth) and launch red flags for those who don’t (Gretchen). And we excitedly wait for the return of the “Hooded Woman” to figure out what it is she seeks with her time loop aural reverberations that call to mind “Dr. Who’s” weeping angels. Because while those in her radius keep repeating themselves, her approach gets closer and closer.

The nightmare itself is worth a look. The story surrounding it isn’t perfect, but something in its messiness works considering the emotional impact comes from grief and despair. A pointed meaning exists in Gretchen refusing to call Alma her sister both literally and figuratively since this is a tale of nurture over nature and the idea that you can love someone regardless of whatever obstacles your immaturity puts in the way. Despite everything Gretchen endures that has been ignored by parents who obviously never truly wanted to bring her into their home until tragedy struck, someone is listening. Someone does care.

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Hunter Schafer and Kalin Morrow in CUCKOO; credit Felix Dickinson, courtesy of NEON.