The Scare Salon

German filmmaker Tilman Singer is a relative newcomer on the scene, previously responsible for two short films (in 2014 and 2016), and the 2018 full-length film Luz (which I saw a while ago and liked okay; we did a review of it here). His latest movie, though, 2024’s Cuckoo, has quietly been turning up on a lot of people’s “best horror films of the year” lists, and I’m going to have to agree one hundred percent with that ranking because I absolutely loved everything about this movie. As usual, it’s definitely not for everyone, is strange as fuck, and leaves some intriguing unanswered questions.

As with most films, but this one especially, I would advise going into Cuckoo completely cold; seriously, don’t even watch the trailer, because it spoils some of the best bits. Personally, I saw the trailer once or twice at the theater months back and thought the movie looked interesting and weird, but I didn’t remember enough about it to ruin my viewing of the actual film when I eventually got to it. That said, again as usual, I’m going to be discussing the setup of the plot in some detail, so if you want to get the full experience, please watch the movie first before reading this review; this is your only spoiler warning.

Cuckoo focuses on a seventeen-year-old girl named Gretchen (Hunter Schafer), who is grieving the death of her mother at some point in the recent past. Since Gretchen lived with her mother in the United States, and since she’s still a minor, she is sent—largely against her will, it seems—to live with her estranged father Luis (Marton Csokas), her stepmother Beth (Jessica Henwick), and the couple’s young daughter (so Gretchen’s half-sister) Alma (Mila Lieu), who is mute.

The entire family has moved to a remote resort in the Bavarian Alps, the same spot where Luis and Beth had their honeymoon eight years before. The owner of the resort, a clearly sketchy dude named Herr König (played by the great Dan Stevens, who was recently in the fun vampire flick Abigail as well), has hired Luis to work on a new resort he’s building at the site, so Gretchen is forced to live at this beautiful but subtly sinister compound in the middle of nowhere.

Sullen and withdrawn, Gretchen attempts to alleviate her depression by playing her guitar and calling her mother’s answering machine, just so she can hear her mother’s voice and feel as though she’s speaking to her. It’s obvious that Gretchen also feels like an outsider in her own family, as her father and stepmother have their own adorable child now in Alma and seem to have little patience for this awkward, hostile teenager they’ve become saddled with.

Herr König, conceding that there’s very little to do around here for a teenager, offers Gretchen a job working the front desk at the resort, trading shifts with another young woman named Trixie (Greta Fernández). Gretchen snaps the opportunity up, since she’s already planning on going back to the States the minute she’s earned enough money for a plane ticket. In the course of this job, she also meets a female guest at the resort named Ed (Àstrid Bergès-Frisbey), who she contemplates running off with.

This is where shit starts to get weird, though. Well, weirder, because it was obviously not all that kosher from the jump. While Gretchen is working reception, she notices a couple of women who are guests at the resort vomiting in the store for seemingly no reason, on two separate occasions. There are also unsettling noises coming from the thick forest surrounding the facility. Not only that, but Alma starts having seizures, one of which seems to be caused by a horrific, high-pitched screeching sound coming from somewhere that causes Gretchen to get really disoriented and live the same few moments over and over.

Gretchen also finds it sort of suspicious that Herr König always closes up the reception at ten p.m. This is a hotel, she figures, and don’t hotels normally have someone working reception twenty-four-seven? Herr König insists it’s not economically feasible, but Gretchen starts to believe he’s hiding something.

This suspicion is apparently confirmed when one night after work, Gretchen decides to ride her bike home in the dark instead of waiting for Herr König to drive her, as he always insists on. During the bike ride, she is pursued by a terrifying, screeching woman wearing a hooded raincoat and sunglasses; Gretchen is injured during the chase and ends up at the hospital. The staff there don’t see the woman and figure it’s all just a prank, but one police officer named Henry (Jan Bluthardt) gets wind of Gretchen’s story and contacts her since he’s also had some experience with the mysterious hooded woman.

As the tale goes on, Gretchen and Henry begin to get to the bottom of the bizarre shit that’s going on at this resort, which I won’t spoil but has something to do with the brood parasitism of the titular birds (as did the excellent 2019 film Vivarium, now that I’m thinking about it, although the two movies are otherwise not that similar other than sharing an overall unsettling vibe).

I’ve probably mentioned it before, but I just love weird-ass films like this, that completely commit to their out-there premise. There are hints of dark humor here, especially in Gretchen’s delightfully no-bullshit attitude and Herr König’s over-the-top, very obvious villainy, but these hints enhance the horror rather than diminishing it. The whole atmosphere of this thing, though largely set in sunny, luxurious surroundings, is very disquieting, as the viewer knows something is askew, but for a long time doesn’t know exactly what that is. While I saw some reviews that complained that the third act fell apart after the reveal of the shenanigans taking place at the resort, I didn’t feel that way at all; sure, the concept is audaciously peculiar, but that was one of the things I dug about it. The story also has a real emotional heft to it toward the end, especially in relation to Gretchen’s relationship with her half-sister, and this works so well because of Hunter Schafer’s outstanding and relatable performance.

The cinematography is also stunning, focusing on clean architectural lines with loads of natural wood paneling, minimalist white indoor spaces, and shots of the vast impenetrable woods enclosing the compound. The sound design is likewise on point, and goes a long way toward amplifying the unnerving nature of the narrative. And lastly, I would be remiss if I didn’t call out the excellent use of music in Cuckoo; since Gretchen is a musician, there are a number of places where she is listening to music on her headphones, and the songs are universally fantastic.

While not for all tastes, those with a preference for eerie sunlit horror who are comfortable with bizarre premises played mostly straight should find this right up their alley. I adored this from start to finish, and I wouldn’t hesitate to call it one of the best horror films of 2024.

Until next time, keep it creepy, my friends.