• Courtesy Of Neon
• All is not well in a rustic Bavarian resort in Tilman Singer's retro-styled horror flick.

My grandparents are Swiss, so I can attest that cuckoo clocks are inherently unsettling devices, especially when the little bird wakes you from a sound sleep with its whirring cries of "Cuc-KOO!" But they're particularly disturbing in Cuckoo, the second feature from German director Tilman Singer. This art-house piece of Alpine horror, shot on 35mm film, premiered at the Berlin International Film Festival and is playing at the Majestic 10 in Williston and Merrill's Roxy Cinemas in Burlington as of press time.

The deal

Still grieving her mom, 17-year-old Gretchen (Hunter Schafer of "Euphoria") isn't happy about being forced to accompany her dad (Marton Csokas), stepmother (Jessica Henwick) and half-sister (Mila Lieu) to a run-down resort in the Bavarian Alps. The couple are building a new hotel for resort owner Herr König (Dan Stevens), an odd fellow who plays bird calls on a flute and cautions Gretchen against nocturnal wanderings.

Gretchen takes a job at the resort's front desk, where she learns that women who stay in the honeymoon cottage (known as the Lovers' Nest) have a tendency to become violently ill. When she disobeys Herr König's instructions and bikes home at night, something chases her. Mysterious shrieks and vibrations rend the clean mountain air. Her half-sister, who communicates using sign language, begins having seizures. Gretchen is already plotting her escape, but the local wildlife may have other plans for her.

Will you like it?

Cuckoo is the rare movie whose name is also the best descriptor for it. While it lacks the emotional impact that gives the best horror films staying power, its sheer kookiness makes it a fun watch.

Viewers will inevitably compare Singer's film to Osgood Perkins' Longlegs, the horror hit of the summer, because both have more style than substance. But what style! Like Longlegs, Cuckoo boasts a decidedly retro aesthetic. The use of cellphones, however, indicates that this movie takes place not in the past but just in a corner of the world where home décor hasn't been updated in decades. Where Longlegs is elegantly monochrome, Cuckoo is all saturated hard-candy hues. Paul Faltz's cinematography brings out shades of mint green and Pepto Bismol pink as only real film can do, activating all our nostalgia pleasure centers.

Thanks to the immaculate production design, Cuckoo plays like Wes Anderson's The Grand Budapest Hotel if it were a creature feature. In an early, well-paced scene, an unseen something follows Gretchen into a public restroom, where even the grimy tiles speak eloquently of a getaway that's seen better days.

Also Anderson-esque is Stevens' mannered performance as the master of this demented domain. As he showed in The Guest and the recent Abigail, the "Downton Abbey" actor has a flair for campy villainy. Here, neither his German accent nor his character's motivations hold up to scrutiny, but every imperious line reading is entertaining. When Herr König describes himself as a "preservationist," that's all you need to know about the roots of his behavior: He's the monster-movie equivalent of an obsessed birder, and no mere human will stand in his way.

Cuckoo is essentially a duel between König and Gretchen, with most of the other characters sketched in bold strokes. Singer has assembled a memorable cast and given it little to do other than look creepy, but Schafer's performance as a surly, bristling teen effectively anchors the film. Gretchen isn't interested in tugging on anyone's heartstrings; her initial plan is to empty the hotel's cash register and light out for Paris. Given that she's trapped in a Lynchian backwater and menaced by Cronenbergian horrors on top of weathering the pangs of everyday grief, we can't blame her.

Gretchen is out of place in her father's family, much like the eggs that cuckoos lay in other birds' nests to hatch, cunningly outsourcing the nurturance of their offspring. Viewers who have some familiarity with the brood parasitism of European cuckoos and the metaphor of the "cuckoo's egg" will find the story more logically coherent than those who don't. But "logic" and "coherence" are relative terms here. The menace in Cuckoo protects and perpetuates itself by deranging human beings' senses, sending them into dizzy time loops, and Singer clearly aims to do the same to the viewer — with some success.

But is Cuckoo just outré, or is it scary? Mileage will vary. I got genuine chills from scenes such as the one in which Gretchen, pedaling home at night, glances back and realizes she's followed by a shadow that isn't her own. Your reaction to the movie may depend on whether you can laugh at absurdities without losing your healthy dread of them. Never send to know for whom the cuckoo tolls; it tolls for thee.

If you like this, try...

Luz (2018; AMC+, Philo, Tubi, rentable): Singer's low-budget first feature, a horror film about a cab driver fleeing a possessed woman, received mixed reviews along with attention for its oddness.

A Cure for Wellness (2016; rentable): If, like me, you're a fan of the tiny subgenre of Alpine horror, you've probably already seen Gore Verbinski's wild folly set in a spa in the Swiss Alps, which kicked Mia Goth's career as a scream queen into high gear.

Tyfelstei: An Alpine Horror Tale (2014; Prime Video): A young man survives a car crash only to find himself stranded in a creepy mountain village in this low-budget folk horror film from Switzerland. For yet more Alpine scares, read Thomas Olde Heuvelt's 2022 novel Echo.