Musically macabre and structurally curious, Johannes Nyholm’s sophomore feature “Koko-di Koko-da” works as a nightmarish exploration of unresolved grief. Its peculiar tone can best be described as a crossbreed between John Cameron Mitchell’s drama “Rabbit Hole” and Christopher Landon’s horror flick “Happy Death Day,” with elements that thematically echo “Force Majeure” by the director’s compatriot, Ruben Östlund.
Yet, even if the aforementioned references function as useful examples to comprehend what’s at hand, Nyholm’s Scandinavian time loop movie only obeys it’s own cadence. Elements of fable and folklore enliven a commonplace premise—one that will unavoidably warrant superficial comparisons to a staple like “Groundhog Day”— and drive it into dramatic dimensions rarely reached for utilizing this framework.
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Creeping into the viewer’s consciousness from the onset, the title tune, a benign nursery rhyme turned hypnotic chant, introduces a band of grotesque figures ripped from the cartoonish drawings on a music box and materialized in human form: Mog (Peter Belli), the depraved leader dressed in pristine white; Sampo (Morad Khatchadorian), a brute with massive physical strength, and Cherry (Brandy Litmanen), a young woman who mindlessly carries out the pack’s evil biddings.
These carnival rejects may well be locally popular entities in Sweden or perhaps just Nyholm’s twisted brainchildren, but whatever the case, their vocation is to roam the forest to terrorize unsuspecting prey. The symbolic implications they later reveal to have manifest first as sadistic barbarity and sexual degradation.
Before the whirlwind of violence begins, the victims, Swedish married couple Tobias (Leif Edlund) and Elin (Ylva Gallon), are seen enjoying a vacation in Denmark on the occasion of their daughter Maja’s (Katarina Jakobson) birthday. In the midst of celebration, a catastrophic food allergy shatters not only their cheerful trip but also their idyllic existence altogether. Three years later, resentment has overtaken the husband and wife’s affection for one another. Paradoxically, his solution is for them to go on another outing to rekindle what can be salvage between them. Camping in an inaccessible site is their chosen escapade.
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Coalescing the bizarre with the tragic, the filmmaker continuously tortures the broken parents forcing them to relive a murderous attack perpetrated by the three sideshow monsters (think “The Devil’s Rejects” by way of fairytales) and their dog. One episode calls back to Östlund’s ski resort drama, since Tobias also wrestles with emasculation and a sense of cowardice. Knowing what’s to come, he flees leaving Elin to fend the antagonists off on her own, only to be struck with guilt. Each segment is triggered when Elin awakes needing to urinate, and they are all inconclusive with the scene ending in a God’s-eye view.
Nyholm bolsters his highbrow freak-show with two haunting animated sequences involving a family of bunnies that loses someone precious to a colorful and beguiling rooster. Though likely digitally manufactured, the animation appears designed to emulate silhouetted cutouts in a puppet theater. Backgrounds within this imaginary space mirror scribble done with a pencil for a handcrafted finish. Superimposed on a translucent canvas, these stringed images of animals in distress show curtains flowing behind them, as if confirming that the tale as a whole is settled in an in-between state, which prompts an eerie ambiance.
Conceptually daring, “Koko-di Koko-da” could similarly stand accused of being disjointed—its moving parts don’t fit together in an obvious manner. But rather than being a major weakness, its oblique storytelling welcomes interpretation, albeit not offering definitive explanations. Surely, that will elicit frustration from audiences unaccustomed to cinema on the more esoteric side of the spectrum. Nevertheless, Nyholm achieves inconspicuous cohesiveness through his use of magical realism drenched in blood, while harnessing the animated medium with grim precision.
Effective in how it deploys jump scares, this genre piece actively searches for distinctive punishments, both corporeal and psychological, to torment its already uneasy characters. These traumatic occurrences serve to frighten on a primal level, even if there is very little graphic content. Belli, as the cane-wielding villain, takes care of most of the movie’s sinister needs with his facial expressions alone.
Including a mysterious white cat as vigilant onlooker (or perhaps demented mastermind), as well as the shots from high above that bring each assault to a close, produce the uncanny notion that these inhuman acts are being commanded and choreographed by an otherworldly power. Collaborating cinematographers Tobias Höiem-Flyckt and Johan Lundborg deliver praiseworthy work aiding Nyholm translating his clever ideation into understandable visual language.
As a horror narrative, “Koko-di Koko-da” features a bag filled with devilish tricks to amuse and shock. Beyond that, it proposes a dreamlike realm in which the grieving partners must confront their new reality, one possibly more nightmarish than the terrible incidents they face during their looping ordeal. Working as shock therapy of sorts, Nyholm’s pitch black fantasy is a statement on self-atonement, and metaphorical invitation urging us to grab the keys to the car of our lives and driving away from the pain and into a place where healing can begin. [B]