Setting a story around a vacation has long provided an obvious way to subvert expectations. Comedies use the contrast between the desire for relaxation and the comedic chaos that follows to evoke laughs. Likewise, horror-thrillers elicit feelings of creepiness through the motif that things are not as they seem. This technique, particularly in the horror-thriller space, is not a new concept, but it does seem to be especially popular lately. Cuckoo is the latest film to follow this paradigm—though, despite its interesting setup, it ultimately falls short of its potential.
Cuckoo follows Gretchen (Hunter Schafer), an American teenage girl who, following the death of her mother, moves in with her father, Luis (Marton Csokas), at a ski resort he’s developing in the Bavarian Alps. Luis is joined by his new wife, Beth (Jessica Henwick), and their nonspeaking young daughter, Alma (Mila Lieu), and Luis’ friend and business partner, Herr König (Dan Stevens), introduces the family to life in town. From the start, the audience is wary of the serene village, and soon, women are seen wandering the town in confusion, random medical emergencies occur and Gretchen gets chased through the streets. We experience these events through Gretchen’s confused eyes. She’s aware that something weird and supernatural is afoot but is unclear of the details. Eventually, after we’ve struggled to piece together what’s going on, the plot is revealed through a heavy-handed exposition dump delivered by König. This is where the film shifts from a captivatingly confusing mystery to a straightforward cat-and-mouse horror.
The film declines the moment director Tilman Singer chooses to tell instead of show. It’s generally a good thing for a thriller to keep the audience guessing, but Cuckoo goes from being a little too ambiguous to over-explaining the whole plot through dialogue. This marks a change in several aspects of the film. One example is plot—in the first half, Singer uses themes of sexuality and reproduction to disturb viewers, but then tosses this thoughtful setup aside in the second act to instead rely on traditional horror elements like jump scares and chase sequences. The plot becomes reductive, as the once seemingly unstoppable monster—for lack of a better term—suddenly has an easily exploitable fatal flaw that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. From a technical perspective the film also struggles in its second half. At the onset, Cuckoo notably shows off a haunting and enthralling score that engages the audience. This contrasts with the sound effects produced by the monster, which become louder and significantly more frequent as the film progresses. Singer spares us no mercy in relentlessly playing the cacophony—along with its corresponding visual effects—which begin to feel tacky after a few appearances. And finally, the tone of the film degrades over time, with scenes of theatrical melodrama juxtaposed with nearly humorous absurdity. One reason this occurs is due to the disparity in performances between Stevens and his cast members. Whereas Schafer serves as the audience’s anchor, playing the relatable teenager who nearly breaks the fourth wall to acknowledge the strange people and happenings in town, Stevens hams up his evil German caricature almost to the point of parody. In each of these ways, Singer leaves the audience disappointed after an engaging setup.
It’s a shame that Singer fails to deliver, especially considering this is his second attempt at making this type of film. Singer’s first and only other full-length feature film, Luz, explores very similar themes but received tepid critical response. Some claim that, despite his creativity, Singer couldn’t bring the elements of Luz together into a compelling film. This is also the case with Cuckoo—though the story and technical aspects are strong, Singer falls very short in bringing it home.
Photo courtesy of NEON
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