There’s a secret hidden deep in the Bavarian Alps in southeastern Germany. The birthplace of myriad famous fables, the decadent mountain range also houses another piece of iconography: the cuckoo bird. Symbolic of new beginnings, it’s no wonder writer/director Tilman Singer centers his sophomore effort (after 2020’s Luz) around the metaphorical mythos of the winged creature.
Starring Hunter Schafer as the angsty 17-year-old Gretchen, Cuckoo finds its titular character reluctantly moving with her father Luis (Marton Csokas), stepmother Beth (Jessica Henwick) and mute stepsister Alma (Mila Lieu) to a secluded resort in the remote German region shortly after the death of her mother in the United States. As they arrive in the fairy tale land, Gretchen is quickly recruited by Herr König (Dan Stevens) as front-desk receptionist of his hotel. When König refuses the teen admittance to the grounds after dark, however, it becomes apparent that something far more sinister than singsong beauties are concealed by the shadows.
The first glimpse of Gretchen shows her already emotionally separated from her family. While her father, stepmother and little stepsister ride together in their own car to the resort, Gretchen sits disgruntled in the passenger seat of the moving van next to strangers, flicking her butterfly knife like an involuntary tic. Jagged elbows and bony knees jut defensively in every direction as she slouches deeper into her seat, correcting the driver that no, the maternal figure in the other vehicle is not Gretchen’s mother — that’s just Beth. Schaefer shines in her first starring role as the misplaced teen with a notably physical performance, gathering the weight of her newfound isolation in her shoulders while seemingly tethered to the ground.
Fairy tales have long been a staple of European culture, explored in stories as different as Madame La Ferche Alnoi’s Beauty and The Beast, Charles Perrault’s Cinderella, and Hans Christian Anderson’s The Little Mermaid. Different though they are, all are influenced by their surroundings, and Cuckoo is no exception. Its sequestered mountain location underscores Gretchen’s sense of abandonment, while fantastical scenery adds a touch of magical realism. Feelings of being positioned up, bird’s-eye-high in a nest, are paralleled by sharp, amber wood-paneled interiors, as if matching sticks and twigs, moss and bark.
Bird allegories start early in the film. From a “nestling” youth evading being held in the opening scene, to König teaching Alma about the uniqueness of owl calls, to the front desk’s bird statue, to the bungalow bearing the name “The Lover’s Nest,” the motif of feathered friends is ever-present. Just as winged vertebrates in Alfred Hitchcock’s 1963 classic The Birds act embody the locals’ unwelcoming attitude toward outsiders, so does Cuckoo’s bird imagery symbolize the family dynamics among its tangled human characters. Will the ostracized Gretchen’s strange flock help her soar, or clip her wings?
Impeccable sound design turns Cuckoo’s world into a literal aural nightmare. Screeching bird calls, rancid flicks of Gretchen’s knife, scratching claws upon a face, and strange sirens echoing in the woods all slowly build a sense of paranoid dread. One specific and alarming sound, which occurs whenever a certain foe is fast approaching, recalls the John Williams score’s signal to reach dry land in Jaws.
Unsurprisingly, an early survey of responses to Cuckoo indicate a polarized audience. Singer’s direction leans hard in favor of atmosphere over exposition, prioritizing the creation of a palpable sensory world. If that means certain loose ends never get tied up, so be it. Between Cuckoo and Luz, it’s clear a cut-and-dried, entirely linear narrative isn’t the point. The point is to scare you. To reach through the screen with sharp claws and make you feel something.
At that, it succeeds. Cuckoo boasts some of the most frightening scenes of 2024, a major accomplishment after standouts like Longlegs and Oddity. A proper fairy tale about finding your soul tribe, Tilman Singer’s wickedly cool second feature illustrates through wild absurdity, brutal scares, and incredible across-the-board performances how blood isn’t what makes you family.
