Strap in bitches, cuz we’re about to get fucking weird with Cuckoo, a film with a healthy dose of “what-the-hell-did-I-just-watch” vibes. We’re diving deep into Tilman Singer‘s horror madness. Let’s talk about what makes Cuckoo the kind of movie that might haunt you for a minute—or, at the very least, make you double-check the sound of birds outside your window.

Let’s start with the maestro himself: Tilman Singer, a German madman with a camera. This guy came out swinging with Luz back in 2018, a film about demonic possession that made everyone who saw it go, “What the fuck was that?” It is a cool and stylish film that I thoroughly enjoyed. So, naturally, his next step, Cuckoo, was eagerly anticipated by this writer. I’m very happy to say that Singer doubles down on the weirdness with Cuckoo, a horror film featuring murderous bird humanoids, weirdo hotel staff, and time loops that could make a stoner question reality. Tilman clearly doesn’t give a single sht about your expectations—he’s here to fuck with your head and make you wonder if that bird chirping outside is actually planning to murder you.

He blends giallo horror with supernatural weirdness and body horror in a way that’s, let’s be honest, incoherent at times. But that’s kind of his thing—making sure that by the time you leave the theater, you’re not quite sure whether you’re still watching the movie or if life itself has become a fever dream.

Spoiler warning: I’m going to explain the plot of Cuckoo as best as I can. The basic gist is this: Gretchen (Hunter Schafer – Kinds of Kindness) gets dragged to a German resort in the Alps by her deadbeat dad (Marton Csokas) and her new evil stepmom (Jessica Henwick) along with her mute half-sister, Alma (Mila Lieu). Oh, and Dad’s shady new boss, Herr König (played with cartoonish glee by Dan Stevens – a horror boss, starring in films and shows like Abigail, Guillermo del Toro’s Cabinet of Curiosities, The Rental, Apostle, and The Guest), is lurking around with a vibe that says, “I’m not creepy, I swear,” but you know damn well he’s the most suspicious guy in the room.

This resort isn’t exactly a Club Med, though—more like the Overlook Hotel met a cryptid-filled nightmare. The hotel guests are vomiting in the lobby (altitude sickness or something more sinister?), strange sounds fill the night air, and Gretchen starts having weird-ass visions and hearing eerie squawks that would make even the bravest person pee a little.

The themes in Cuckoo are, shall we say, a bit bird-brained—see what I did there? Sure, there’s some family drama here with Gretchen grieving her dead mom, hating her new stepmom, and trying to connect with her mute sister. But Tilman Singer, being the deranged visionary he is, takes that tension and throws in bird-human hybrids, time loops, and enough “WTF is happening” moments to keep you hooked.

There’s also a twisted metaphor about cuckoo birds—those freeloading little bastards that lay their eggs in other birds’ nests so they don’t have to raise their own kids. Here, it’s a metaphor for parasitic motherhood or maybe just parasitic horror? Whatever. It’s clear Singer wants you to think about family dynamics but in a pretty batshit insane way.

The common cuckoo. Magnificent creature. But its behavior is not. Its nature is quite remarkable. The nature modern man destroys by disregard. Some species need our help to survive and reproduce.

-Herr König

Tilman Singer is the kind of director who doesn’t just shoot a scene, he assaults your senses with it. The camera is often placed at these aggressive low angles that make you feel like you’re watching through the eyes of a mutant squirrel—or maybe just someone too high to function. The cinematography is great at building tension, but sometimes it feels like Singer’s showing off. Like, bro, we get it, you studied film theory. Whatevs, the reality is I dig it – I’m happy to get something different.

And don’t even get me started on the sound design. The screeches from the film’s cuckoo monster—some kind of bird-woman hybrid called Homo cuculidae—are relentless. It’s like Tilman decided to crank up the sound effects to “permanent ear damage” mode, because clearly he wants you to feel the horror through your eardrums. It’s both effective and borderline abusive, and honestly, I respect the audacity.

Hunter Schafer is hands-down the best thing about Cuckoo. She plays the brooding teen Gretchen with a mix of deadpan humor and raw emotion that makes you root for her, even when she’s stuck in the middle of some of the weirdest horror shit you’ll ever see. Watching her try to navigate this batshit situation is badass but also a little insane.

Dan Stevens, meanwhile, is on a different level entirely. His portrayal of Herr König is what happens when you mix a Bond villain with a Looney Tunes character. He’s all sinister smiles and exaggerated German accents, chewing up the scenery like he’s auditioning for the role of “weirdest motherfucker in the Alps.” And he kills it—literally and figuratively.

The Bavarian Alps are creepy as hell in this movie, and the cinematography is a big part of that. The landscape shots are gorgeous, but they’re also unsettling, which makes sense for a film where everything is off-kilter. The lighting is straight out of the Dario Argento playbook, all shadows and weird glows that make you feel like something terrible is just around the corner—or, more likely, about to peck your eyes out.

Here’s where Cuckoo shines: It’s completely fucking insane. It leans into the weirdness and is entirely original. It doesn’t care if you’re confused—it revels in that confusion. It’s the kind of midnight movie that gets better the later it is and the drunker you are.

The sound design is gnarly, the acting is top-notch, and the imagery will stick with you long after you leave the theater. The film doesn’t apologize for being a surreal, chaotic mess, and that’s its charm. It’s like watching a fever dream while on a sugar high, and sometimes, that’s exactly what you need.

Some appear to be claiming that the movie is about family trauma, which has already been overly done. I don’t quite agree with this interpretation. Sure, there is certainly a lot of family drama, but I see it more about women retaining control of their reproductive rights. It’s about sisterhood – whether by blood or not. Its about generational conflict. All relatively unique messaging wrapped up in a novel, and fucking insane plot.

Despite the insanity, there are some incredibly moving scenes. Take for example when Gretchen hears (the seemingly mute) Alma leaving a message on her mother’s answering machine imploring her to call Gretchen to tell her that she loves her was absolutely heartbreaking.

Sure, some people will say this movie is a jumbled mess with too much going on and not enough explanation. But here’s the thing: Sometimes horror is at its best when it’s not entirely spelled out for you. Cuckoo isn’t about giving you clear answers or a neat little ending. For those who say it’s derivative or leans too much on old horror tropes, I say this: Are you fucking crazy? It’s a fun fucking ride, and sometimes that’s all you need. Just sit back, enjoy the mayhem, and let Tilman Singer squawk in your face for a couple of hours.

In conclusion, Cuckoo is not for the easily confused. But if you’re willing to dive into a weird-ass horror movie with killer birds, time loops, and Hunter Schafer being an absolute badass, then buckle up. Sure, it’s a mess, but it’s a glorious mess, and isn’t that what we all want from our horror sometimes?