Editor’s Note: This article contains spoilers for “Cuckoo.” It also references sexual assault: reader discretion is advised.
Hunter Schafer stars in “Cuckoo,” Tilman Singer‘s absurdist supernatural horror flick. The film starts with teenager Gretchen (Schafer) moving to a German resort with her father. There, a series of strange occurrences set her on a path to uncover a malicious scheme.
We understand that Gretchen is alone from her first moment on-screen. Traveling to their new Bavarian home, Gretchen’s father, Luis (Marton Csokas), her step-mother Beth (Jessica Henwick) and her mute half-sister Alma (Mila Lieu) ride in the family sedan; Gretchen rides in the moving truck. Grieving her recently deceased mother, her emotional state reflects this loneliness. Luis is all too eager to move on and shows preference for his younger daughter Alma, a point of resentment for Gretchen.
Upon their arrival, viewers are introduced to Herr König (Dan Stevens), the enigmatic owner of the resort. His appearances in the film seems to mirror his unpredictable personality, always intruding into conversations or appearing mid-action through startling jump cuts. Is it any wonder that he’s ultimately revealed to be the villain? His goal: to preserve the cuckoo species.
Released in theaters on Aug. 9., the German filmmaker’s sophomore feature film comes after his German film “Luz” back in 2018. Following the supernatural horror movie, his new and absurd film maintains his signature blend of horror genres – especially with Singer’s creation of the cuckoos.
The cuckoos here are not the bird — in this film, they are human-like creatures that tranquilize women with a sedative screech before impregnating them with a strange slime. They allow their offspring to grow up in a human environment until the time is right to reunite with their species. König’s resort is a popular honeymoon destination, the perfect cover for these creatures to spread their offspring, unbeknownst to the host families.
The introduction of the cuckoos raises numerous questions. How exactly does the slime work? How has the species stayed hidden for so long? Why does König even want to preserve them in the first place? None of these questions are answered, but it doesn’t really matter.
“Cuckoo” is delightfully and knowingly absurd. Its appeal isn’t in unraveling the origins of its bizarre antagonists, but in understanding Gretchen’s struggle through its lens.
“Cuckoo’s” absurdist approach permeates into every aspect of the film. In Singer’s world, the supporting characters are unwaveringly oblivious to their own peculiarity. Gretchen plays the straight woman during her interactions with them, conveying the audience’s bewilderment at what occurs on screen.
This hallucinatory energy is even incorporated into the movie’s structure. The entire film has a dreamlike cadence. Scenes end and new ones begin without much context as to what happened in between. Characters slink in and out of Gretchen’s life, often appearing later in new contexts. Even so, there’s just enough logical connectivity throughout which allows “Cuckoo” to walk the line between its surreal and more plotty elements.
Over the course of the film, Gretchen has multiple life-threatening encounters with the Hooded Woman (Kalin Morrow), the mother of the cuckoos. After meeting Henry (Jan Bluthardt), an ex-police officer, the two work together to unravel the resort’s mysteries. In a not-so-surprise reveal, we learn that Alma is a cuckoo and that König aims to reunite her with her mother, the Hooded Woman. An intense finale ensues as Gretchen and Henry work together to foil König’s plan.
As with all horror films, the sound design is incredibly important to maintaining tension; an excellent use of sound occurs during the final cuckoo encounter. Trapped in a large filing room with the Hooded Woman, Gretchen finds an iPod and plays the song “Il mio prossimo amore” in her headphones to prevent being subdued by the creature’s shriek. At first, we hear the song from the Hooded Woman’s perspective; an eerie and nervous energy envelops the film as the faint sound of music in headphones penetrates the silence. As Gretchen gets the upper hand, the music shifts to the forefront in a victorious crescendo.
In the best horror films, the monsters or antagonists often represent real-world fears. “Godzilla” is an allegory for the dangers of nuclear weapons. The Xenomorph in “Alien” is commonly interpreted as a metaphor for sexual assault. The cuckoos in “Cuckoo” are not so simple to pin down. At best, they’re a convoluted metaphor for the anxieties of something new and strange “invading” one’s personal life. At worst, they’re an exciting and creative addition to the horror creature canon. “Cuckoo” may not be the most cerebral horror film, but with its ingenuity and eccentricity it’s no doubt to be an entertaining time at the movies.
Drew Askeland is an Arts & Entertainment Intern for the summer 2024 quarter. He can be reached at daskelan@uci.edu.
Edited by Lillian Dunn and Annabelle Aguirre.
