As a couple goes on a trip to find their way back to each other, a sideshow artist and his shady entourage emerge from the woods, terrorizing them, luring them deeper into a maelstrom of psychological terror and humiliating slapstick.
Our rooster is dead,
Our rooster is dead,
He can no longer say kokodi, kokoda,
He can no longer say kokodi, kokoda,
Koko koko koko kokodi, kokoda.
There is something strangely unnerving about watching a trio of peculiar characters walking through thickets of wildlife in murky conditions. Something as simple as grey skies rather than blue, or a lack of direct sunlight, brings sinister energy to the characters that greet us on the screen, slowly singing this nursery rhyme. The physical manifestation of characters painted on a music box, it is clear from the start that there is something untoward about the motivations of the trio.
This Swedish-Danish film is not about the trio; they are merely a means of conveying a message. The film is about Tobias (Leif Edlund Johansson) and Elin (Ylva Gallon), a couple that has been through a terrible loss and three years on, still have not managed to overcome it. Thanks to an ill-thought-out camping trip Tobias and Elin find themselves in a time loop, not dissimilar to Groundhog Day, or even closer still, Edge of Tomorrow, as the circumstances that they are trapped within are much darker than Bill Murrays fantastical drama.
Koko-di Koko-da brings a dark, yet ethereal atmosphere that is well-executed in its initial stages to create fear and tension, thanks to the unknown motivations or abilities of our trio. As the film loops it's time, the trio begins to lose that fantastical whimsical nature, as their purpose (or more importantly their limitations) become clear. The constant repetition leads to diminishing returns in terms of not only the antagonists as a source of tension, but it also places pressure on our sympathy towards the protagonists. Johannes Nyholm does his best to try to prevent monotony with the constantly repeating scenes, by leaving gaps in the initial scenes that are slowly revealed as the film progresses, but that content adds little to the film beyond delaying the repetition that the audience knows to expect.
The film aims for a strong emotional investment in our primary couple, who clearly are experiencing extreme levels of anger and resentment towards each other, and these emotions are mirrored in the actions of our trio as each loop plays through. Tobias constantly fighting to control and avoid the inevitable conclusion that has played through his mind so many times. Elin struggling to determine who is to blame for her loss, frequently choosing to direct her anger and thirst for punishment towards Tobias, the only other party that she can think of.
Koko-di Koko-da is full of imagery and metaphors, whether it be the representation of the white cat and dog, the couples diversion off of their intended path, the presence of the music box in two instances of the couple losing their daughter experiencing loss in the opening scenes, the trios focus on the couple's genitals, and the more straightforward use of shadow theatre to exhibit a parallel story of loss.
Unflinching and unnerving, Koko-di Koko-da could have benefitted from a more linear narrative (excluding the time loop, of course) as it would have brought a more intimate knowledge of our protagonists' emotional state earlier in the film. An extra scene or two at the beginning would have also helped to provide a stronger contrast pre- and post-loss. As it stands, Koko-di Koko-da is bleak and heavy; an inescapable horror that turns to frustration before any vestige of acceptance can be considered.