Cuckoo
Cuckoo
After reluctantly moving to the German Alps with her father and his new family, Gretchen discovers that their new town hides sinister secrets, as she's plagued by strange noises and frightening visions of a woman pursuing her.
jackmeat reviewedJune 21, 2025
My quick rating - 6.0/10. Tilman Singer’s Cuckoo is a moody, surreal psychological thriller that dips its toes into horror but never quite submerges. It’s an atmospheric slow-burn with stylish flair, oddball characters, and a strong lead performance from Hunter Schafer, though it stumbles a bit in deciding exactly what kind of movie it wants to be.
The story follows Gretchen (Schafer), who moves reluctantly to a remote resort in the German Alps with her father and his new family. Almost immediately, things feel off. She starts experiencing eerie noises, strange visions, and the unnerving presence of a mysterious woman who appears to be stalking her. The town feels like it’s hiding something sinister—and, of course, it is.
Buried on my watchlist for a while, I’m glad I finally got around to this one. It’s a film full of quirks—unusual supporting characters, jarring tonal shifts, and an experimental approach to structure and cinematography. Some of the camerawork is quite creative, lending the whole piece a dreamlike (or nightmarish) quality that works in its favor. It’s the kind of film that leans heavily into its visuals to build tension more than plot progression.
Dan Stevens delivers yet another solid performance as the villain, playing a role that gradually escalates from charmingly off-putting to downright sinister. Without diving into spoiler territory, let’s just say he’s toying with some seriously disturbing god complex territory. The core of the mystery hinges on what he’s doing at the resort, and while the film never fully unpacks the mechanics of it, the disturbing implications are clear enough to land. There's a biological horror angle lurking beneath the surface that gives the whole thing an extra layer of discomfort.
Schafer does the heavy lifting here, carrying the film with a raw, occasionally vulnerable performance. Gretchen is no helpless victim, but she’s also not always making the smartest decisions, which, of course, is practically a horror tradition. Still, Schafer sells both the defiance and the fear, anchoring the film even when its tone wavers.
And that’s the biggest issue with Cuckoo—it doesn’t always know what it wants to be. At times, it flirts with Lynchian dread, other moments feel like Get Out-lite social horror, and there’s even some sci-fi horror flavor mixed in. It’s admirably ambitious and always visually engaging, but the genre-jumping leaves the film feeling somewhat scattered. There’s an “identity crisis” at play here that keeps it from excelling in any one area, though it succeeded at keeping me intrigued.
Ultimately, Cuckoo is an odd, artistic trip that doesn’t explain itself fully, and maybe doesn’t need to. It’s more about the atmosphere, the unease, and the creepy sense that something is very wrong in this isolated place. If you’re okay with a bit of ambiguity and enjoy stylized horror-tinged thrillers, this one’s worth a watch. Just don’t expect all the answers to be handed to you.