Tilman Singer’s Cuckoo has been one of the most hyped horror films of 2024. No easy task considering this is the year of Longlegs, Trap, Alien: Romulus, and Maxxxine to name just a few. Back in 2018, Singer’s Luz was the darling of the festival circuit, a dreamy take on possession horror with a queer slant and an evocative arthouse sensibility. It’s thrilling, as a fan of that debut, to see Singer attract big stars and bigger budget for his latest film, Cuckoo.
Gretchen (Hunter Schafer) is a teenage outcast, dragged to live in the German Alps by her father, his new wife, and her step-sister. Taking a job in the resort reception, she tries her best to survive the forced exile but strange screams plague the night, women seem to react violently to the surroundings, and glimpses of an odd figure unsettle her further. With little help from her family and the influence of an increasingly intense resort manager (Dan Stevens) looming over her days, Gretchen sets out to unravel the mystery of the cuckoo.
In a lot of ways, Singer does well to stick to his guns as a purveyor of Avant Garde genre experience. One of Luz’s most potent weapons was its entrancing abstraction, its weaponization of sheer unbridled vibes and dreamy imagery. Though Cuckoo is often a head-scratcher, Singer is careful to never reach that level of impenetrability, instead offering up an often humorous, consistently heartfelt, and perplexing mystery.
This is the double-edged sword of Cuckoo though. Singer attempts to meld his ethereal arthouse core to a commercially viable production. It’s a strange cocktail of all the unique weirdo things you want from the director of Luz grafted to a mixer that doesn’t quite itch the scratch. The mystery; puking girls, deafening screams that induce memory loss, a strange predatory woman running through the dark, it can never quite be sated by the answer. Yes, the reasoning behind everything is applaudably batshit, but after a certain point, Cuckoo doesn’t believe in itself, as if each narrative choice was made half-heartedly. In an attempt to maintain the first half’s intrigue and surprise, Singer sacrifices his thematic and narrative backbone. He takes a magnetic box of mystery and unwraps it to reveal something almost pulpy and wholeheartedly daft.
Yet…it is a fundamentally enjoyable film.
Hunter Schafer makes for a savvy queer heroine wielding a butterfly knife and dolling out teenage angst more charismatic than it is cringe. Dan Stevens adds yet another wonderful villainous weirdo to his swelling gallery of rogues. Singer’s natural talents for engaging oddity and creative visuals win throughout, offering multiple sequences which will bamboozle and intrigue. There’s a particularly effective night-time bike chase which conjures a moment of visual horror so perfect you’ll want to applaud. It’s one of the best moments of horror this year.
For fans of Singer’s debut, Cuckoo could prove a bird flown too far from the nest. Yet, what it lacks in narrative cohesion it makes up for in quirk and heart. All in all, it feels more like a dark coming of age story as opposed to the out-and-out horror film that’s being sold. But if you can adjust expectations there’s no reason not to have a blast.
Dir. Tilman Singer
Stars. Hunter Schafer, Dan Stevens, Jan Bluthardt, Marton Csokas, Jessica Henwick, Mila Lieu,
