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Streaming Shuffle

Cuckoo

Once upon a time, in the Bavarian Alps ....

Tilman Singer’s Cuckoo keeps its cool and its distance, but beneath the surface, there’s a fairy tale lushness to its horror:

A girl on the cusp of adulthood loses her mother. She passes into the hands of her father and stepmother, who are much more interested in their own peculiar child: a mute little girl conceived under exceptional circumstances, as if someone has wished for her after seeing blood drops on snow on a black window sill. Something is not quite right here. There is an enigmatic stranger, both courteous and dangerous—then a second stranger, less courteous but not necessarily less dangerous. They’re Beasts and Bluebeards. Otherworldly women, witches in search of children, flit through the narrative; motherhood and love are intense risks, gambles that may not pay off. And it’s all happening in the bucolic Bavarian Alps.

Cuckoo makes a clever move in having all this be science fiction instead. It has the rhythms—and abrupt dead ends—of a folklore, but its genre switch estranges what is deeply, primally familiar. Instead of magical deals, brood parasitism. It’s an intriguing, thought-provoking turn.

Unfortunately, the story then makes more logical sense at the expense of its emotional sense: it loses its resonance and becomes only clever, disorienting but not disturbing. A great film could be both, but Cuckoo is, alas, only good. It’s not long, but it feels that way—how many times do we need to see the rapid vibration of a cuckoo’s throat?—and it loses specificity and clarity as it goes. As polished as most of it is, it comes dangerously close to being forgettable.

But Cuckoo does save itself, and I’ll remember it for more than its genre subversion. A big part of that is down to two key performances. Hunter Schafer (as Gretchen, our half-orphaned teen girl struggling through the brambles of the plot) and Dan Stevens (as the sinister Herr König, resort owner and “preservationist”) turn in strong performances that are precisely calibrated for both the film’s fairy tale roots and its modern, off-kilter setting. Schafer is luminous and bratty at once, a plausibly traumatized and grieving teenager who still has sulks and growing pains—and who, despite her vulnerability, is capable of immense, heroic commitment to moving forward and saving innocence when she recognizes it. Stevens, in his less nuanced part, is just obviously having a ball. Dan Stevens strikes me as someone who has always wanted to play a menacing weirdo with a fake accent, and everything here suggests that the guy is living his dream. Best of all, he creates a real sense of threat beneath the fun, a danger that is perversely camouflaged and amplified by the fun, like he’s a pantomime villain with real blood spattered on his shoes.

Beyond that, Cuckoo also achieves the ideal saving grace of lukewarm horror movies: it has at least one really, really good scare. There’s a scene where Gretchen is riding her bicycle through the dark, in and out of patches of available light, and we see her shadow racing beside her … and then a hint of something else, with a sound that doesn’t seem to belong. And then ….

That bike-riding scene alone keeps this movie memorable all on its own. Add in Schafer and Stevens’s performances, and you have a solid movie that I couldn’t possibly pan. Still, something is missing. It goes for the heart-strings without ever feeling like it has any heart of its own. I wouldn’t go so far as to kick it out of the nest, but I’m kicking it off the watchlist. One and done.

Cuckoo is streaming on Hulu.