Cuckoo

by Mike McGranaghan

The title Cuckoo totally preps you for what you’ll get when you see the movie. Writer/director Tilman Singer (Luz) throws convention out the window, choosing to favor in-the-moment madness over storytelling coherence. To the film’s credit, you can never predict where it will go next. To its detriment, you get a lot of really entertaining scenes that fail to add up to much.

Gretchen (Hunter Schafer) is a 17-year-old girl whose life has just been uprooted. Her father Luis (Marton Csokas), moves her, his wife Beth (The Royal Hotel’s Jessica Henwick), and their mute daughter Alma (Mila Lieu) to a resort in the Bavarian Alps. Luis and Beth are helping to redesign the place, which is owned by Herr König (Dan Stevens), a guy who couldn’t be more obviously sinister if he had a handlebar mustache to perpetually twirl. König takes an interest in Gretchen, giving her a part-time job at the front desk. Weird events begin happening not long after she starts, from female guests mysteriously vomiting to a screaming woman chasing her around.

Something suspicious is obviously going on at the resort. What is it? I’m not sure I could tell you precisely. Early scenes of Cuckoo effectively build a sense of mystery as Gretchen faces one inexplicable thing after another. All of them, especially the puking women, are eerie. Every indication exists that whatever König is up to is going to be bone-chilling. Schafer skillfully conveys Gretchen’s “WTF?” apprehension about being stuck in this resort under those circumstances. The terror she brings to the character is palpable.

A humorous quality runs parallel to the horror elements. Stevens intentionally (and enjoyably) plays his character in an over-the-top manner so that you chuckle at him while simultaneously acknowledging how vile he is. A couple of the film’s shock moments possess a darkly comedic edge, as well. They’re creepy, yet also sort of funny in their creepiness. You can tell that Singer is trying to keep you off balance, a feat he generally accomplishes.

The problem with Cuckoo is that it never satisfactorily ties together all the good stuff it introduces. Several exposition dumps arrive in the final 20 minutes, designed to explain what König has been doing and how Gretchen’s family figures into his plan. That exposition, however, leaves viewers with more questions than answers – partially because it’s delivered too quickly and partially because it still leaves certain matters vague. For that reason, the movie can’t avoid seeming anticlimactic.

Again, this appears to be an intentional choice on Singer's part. The approach is not unlike watching a David Lynch film, except that Lynch’s work replicates a dream, letting you know right away not to anticipate full closure. Cuckoo, on the other hand, sets us up for a big third-act revelation, so when one doesn’t completely arrive, the effect is underwhelming. This is not a bad movie, and it’s certainly fun seeing the excellent performances and the daring choices Singer makes. But there’s no denying that you walk away feeling confused and not fully satisfied.

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