Trying to make sense of “Cuckoo” proves to be as elusive as the film’s disconcerting antagonists. Writer/director Tilman Singer has crafted a story that explains just enough to elude an eerie atmosphere, and not enough to secure comprehension. Hidden within its confounding narrative—one that raises more logistical questions than it answers—are flashes of style that suggest Singer is an exciting developing talent, and a central performance by Hunter Schafer that proves she is more than capable as a leading actor.

Schafer plays Gretchen, a grieving American teenager forced to move to the German Alps, where her father, Luis (Martin Csokas), is building a new hotel under the supervision of the enigmatic Herr König, portrayed by Dan Stevens, who revels in the opportunity to break out his Germanic accent. Gretchen struggles to adjust to her new environment, butting heads with her stepmother, Beth (Jessica Henwick), and her mute half-sister, Alma (Mila Lieu). To help Gretchen acclimate, Herr König offers her a job at the front desk of his existing resort, an offer she accepts against her better judgment. Gretchen relishes the time away from her family, and the money will help fund her plan to run away, but things are not as they seem at this retro lodge—it is a horror movie, after all.

Among the strange occurrences Gretchen witnesses at her post is a recurring sight of female guests vomiting (a very on-brand detail for us) in the lobby, and an invasive detective (Jan Bluthardt) pestering her for some alone time. However, not everything is bad for Gretchen, as she meets and becomes entangled with a guest named Ed (Àstrid Bergès-Frisbey), who shares her interest in music. When biking home from her shift one night, Gretchen is chased by a mysterious hooded woman sporting sunglasses that fail to hide her beady red eyes. This harrowing encounter ends with Gretchen hitting her head on a glass window as she seeks shelter in a nearby hospital—a convenient place to bump one’s head—leaving her with stitches and an accelerated timetable for getting the hell out of dodge.

However, when Gretchen takes Ed’s offer to flee the resort, their escape is thwarted by a shrill, reverberating screech that sets off a disorienting time loop, and the reappearance of The Hooded Woman in the road before them. Swerving to avoid hitting her, Ed sends the car careening off the road, and the resulting crash leaves Gretchen with an arm cast to go along with her head bandage. In classic horror movie fashion, no one believes Gretchen’s account of the freakish events befalling this idyllic mountain retreat. The Hooded Woman chasing Gretchen is dismissed as a prank, while the car crash is blamed on the weed Gretchen and Ed were passing back and forth. With her parental figures more focused on her younger sister, who’s inexplicably been experiencing seizures since arriving at the resort, Gretchen begins to lose hope—until Henry makes his intentions clear to her.

Henry is a predator, but not the kind Gretchen expected. His prey is The Hooded Woman, who is believed to be responsible for at least one murder. Henry enlists Gretchen in his investigation, and the film shifts gears from frights to stakeouts as the pair try to capture their elusive target. This is where the real fun of “Cuckoo” both begins and ends. The interplay between Gretchen, who twirls her butterfly knife like a deadly fidget spinner, and Henry, who’s so burnt out he can’t hit the broad side of a barn with his service weapon, provides the most effortlessly entertaining aspect of the movie. But their discoveries quickly unravel both the tension and the intrigue. There is something conventionally satisfying about seeing Gretchen take the initiative, as she marches through the film collecting every manner of bump, bruise, and scratch imaginable, solidifying Schafer’s aptitude as a Final Girl.

While her dynamic with Henry is more fun to watch, it’s Gretchen’s contentious relationship with Herr König that keeps the plot moving forward. Fed up with both his domineering presence in her family’s life and his unbothered disposition about the unusual goings-on at the hotel, Gretchen finds herself constantly at odds with her seemingly agreeable host. Stevens, bespectacled and rocking a repertoire of monotone outfits, perfectly renders his character’s unsettling composure. Among his peculiar attributes is a significant affinity for the cuckoo bird, which not only gives the film its name but also inspires its particular brand of horror.

A cabin fever-inflected flick in the vein of “The Shining,” Singer’s sophomore effort is competently constructed, even as its story proves unwieldy in the third act. Themes of forced impregnation and species conservation are explored but never coalesce in a way that feels satisfying. For every piece of information Singer gives the audience, a new question is raised, leading to more time spent pondering the story than being invested in it. That’s not to say there isn’t excitement in fits and starts; a smartly staged standoff in the film’s final moments is quite engaging, and the found-family message the movie ultimately settles on is sufficiently affecting. More than anything, I admire the moxie of “Cuckoo,” even if its execution left something to be desired.

There is an anachronistic quality to “Cuckoo” that is endearing, though it ultimately leads to the movie’s downfall. While Gretchen has a smartphone like any present-day teen and lives in a geometrically designed modern home with floor-to-ceiling windows, the hotel where much of the movie takes place feels straight out of the 1960s, and the most conveniently placed Walkman of all time plays a key role in one of the film’s most pivotal scenes. On a metatextual level, this time-bending approach is precisely what’s holding “Cuckoo” back. Like almost all contemporary “elevated horror” (a term I find truly obnoxious), “Cuckoo” is deeply concerned with its main character’s trauma—so much so that Gretchen routinely calls her deceased mother’s house throughout the film, both to hear her mother’s voice on the answering machine and to provide the audience with her inner thoughts and feelings. Meanwhile, "Cuckoo's" delightfully silly premise would be right at home in an 80s B-movie. By refusing to commit to either self-seriousness or pure zany genre thrills, the final product is, much like its own plot, frustratingly nebulous.