Warning: This post contains spoilers for Cuckoo.
If it seems like something shady is going on at the remote Bavarian resort run by an excessively friendly bordering on cartoonishly villainous motel proprietor, there probably is. The importance of trusting your gut is one clear lesson at the heart of Neon’s latest horror offering, Cuckoo, in theaters Aug. 9.
As for what the shady thing actually is, that’s a little less straightforward.
[time-brightcove not-tgx=”true”]Written and directed by German filmmaker Tilman Singer (Luz), Cuckoo follows 17-year-old Gretchen (Hunter Schafer), her father Luis (Márton Csókás), stepmother Beth (Jessica Henwick), and younger half-sister Alma (Mila Lieu), as they take up residence at a house in the German Alps while Luis and Beth design a new property for the aforementioned resort owner, Herr König (Dan Stevens). Gretchen has been unwillingly displaced from her home in America following her mother’s death, and feels like an interloper in her father’s second marriage. She even goes around telling people that Alma, who is mute, is not actually her sister.
But after she accepts an offer from Herr König to work at the front desk of the resort, Gretchen begins to encounter increasingly bizarre situations—from disoriented female guests vomiting in the motel’s lobby to a goggle-sporting, trench coat-wearing blonde woman (Kalin Morrow) chasing her down while she’s biking home one night. So when Alma starts experiencing strange seizures—and Herr König and his friend at the local hospital, Dr. Bonomo (Proschat Madani), take an unusual interest in her—it becomes all too clear that something sinister is afoot.
What’s up with the end of Cuckoo?
As it turns out, Herr König is what he refers to as a “preservationist,” the head of a generations-spanning breeding program for…a species of superpowered female-presenting humanoids with the reproductive and parasitic behavioral habits of cuckoo birds? The goal of all this is never fully explained and much of the plot is ambiguous, but according to Singer, the story was born from “two secrets.”
“The first clues I found for Cuckoo were the Alps and the way cuckoo birds breed,” he said in the film’s production notes. “The secret feeling they revealed was a mix of intrigue, sadness, and fear. When the opening secret excites me, I try connecting the clues and write a story. If I work on it long enough, I find the answer to why I carried around the feeling to begin with, why it’s important to me; that’s the closing secret. I rarely share the closing secret for two reasons—it’s usually a private matter, and talking about it too much hurts its power—but when I found out both secrets, I got everything I need to make a movie.”
Basically, if you were hoping for Singer to explain the method to his madness, you’re out of luck.
Gretchen and her police officer frenemy Henry (Jan Bluthardt) eventually unearth the truth about what’s going on at Herr Konig’s resort—that those involved in the conspiracy use the motel as a front to lure in couples, ensnare them with auditory-based mind control, and then impregnate the women with cuckoo humanoids that will be raised by the couples, just as real-life cuckoos lay their eggs in other birds’ nests and leave their young to be reared by those birds.
Herr König and Dr. Bonomo’s interest in Alma stems from the fact that Alma is one of the cuckoo humanoids, having been unknowingly conceived by her parents at the resort years ago. However, despite both Herr König and Henry’s attempts to stop Gretchen from rescuing her sister—and Alma’s biological cuckoo mother (the blonde who was chasing Gretchen earlier) trying to kill Gretchen—she ultimately manages to thwart the adults, gain Alma’s trust, and get them both the hell out of dodge.
How to interpret the end of Cuckoo
Cuckoo is definitely an experimental horror that relies more on spooky atmosphere and tone than a plot that necessarily makes a ton of sense. But according to Singer, he wanted the movie to be left up to audience interpretation. In an interview with the Hollywood Reporter, the filmmaker said that while Cuckoo can be read as an allegory for “reproductive health” and “the many forms of sisterhood,” it wasn’t intended to “make any extremely concrete points.”
“Both [readings] are true, and, of course, everybody is extremely welcome to find whatever meaning it is to them,” he said. “To me, it’s about sisterhood, family and the circles of family, whether they’re good or bad. It’s about repeating patterns and generational conflict and love.”
Perhaps Cuckoo is meant to send a message about the importance of women retaining control of their reproductive rights. Perhaps it’s a meditation on how family is what you make it to be. Perhaps it’s simply a body horror-fueled nightmare. Whatever you make of the movie, take comfort in knowing that you’re not wrong, even if how you feel is deeply, deeply confused.
