On the literary metaphor cheat-sheet tapestry, I’d have to imagine that unicorns rank high on the list. They’re easy shorthand for writers – a mere image of the creature elicits feelings of innocence, purity, and magic. So, it’s clear to see why this was the animal of choice by writer-director Alex Scharfman, as his Death of a Unicorn embarks on a tale that teaches kindness and care for all living things, even in the face of greed. The inciting incident occurs when Elliot (Paul Rudd), while heading towards a remote work-related retreat with his daughter Ridley (Jenna Ortega), crashes into a Unicorn, maiming the young lad and rendering it near-death. Fearing for his daughter’s proximity to the animal, Elliot attempts to finish the job – but not before Ridley and the Unicorn tap into an unexpected telepathic connection.
While Elliot, savage he is, attempts to go about the work trip as if nothing happened, it’s not long before his employer discovers the mangled foal. For the young unicorn’s horn proves to be of a magical substance with obscene healing powers, the type that has the greedy corporation’s eyes and ears ringing with dollar signs. It’s during this section that we’re introduced to the Leopolds: their patriarch Odell (Richard E. Grant), his wife Belinda (Téa Leoni), and their son Shepard (Will Poulter).
It’s unfortunately here where much of the film’s screenplay feels tired and well-worn. On the one hand, Poulter steals many of his scenes by just being a weird, spoiled, sexually awkward alpha-bro who looks like a leftover from The White Lotus. However, the elder Odells just don’t have much depth to their characters – they feel like stock archetypes of corporate robber barons that we’ve seen time & time again, despite committed efforts from both Grant and Leoni, exacerbated by an age of “eat the rich” subgenre flicks. In other words, given that the subtext of Death of a Unicorn is such a prevalent storytelling trend, there should be more work in establishing these villains as memorable foes, yet I feel they’ll just blend in with the many archetypes within this genre.
That familiarity plagues much of the film, as we’re inundated with the lip service that accompanies earnest Hollywood tales about virtue. When Elliot unloads his heartstricken ballad to Ridley about why he’s made certain choices and sacrifices, it can seem like a feel-good moment between father and daughter as they recover from familial tragedy. But in the context of the story the movie wants to tell, it feels tone-deaf as none of the confessions from Elliot’s privileged life supercedes the harm he’s been complicit in… for pretty much the entire movie. A fact that the seemingly virtuous Ridley seems to forget for the sake of the family-friendly photo-op.
This is to hammer home the point that Death of a Unicorn is severely compromised – it can’t wholly commit to the values it teaches. Which isn’t a new dilemma; many of our favorite films have been sired under similarly dubious circumstances. They’re just usually better at hiding the contradictions, which speaks to the cons of the film’s rather upfront dialogue and obvious symbolism. Regardless, while the film isn’t quite the freedom fighter it aspires to be, its delirious premise, humor, and over-the-top setpieces still make it an entertaining watch. Part of what steers the ship (and honestly saves the film from much of its weaknesses) is how well Scharfman depicts the relationship between Ridley and the titular Unicorn. Ridley’s once in a lifetime path-crossing with the mammal is reminiscent of a religious experience, a spiritual awakening, and a vivid drug trip all at once. She’s instantly changed by the encounter, as if entering a higher level of consciousness, and there’s a version of this movie that would be better served indulging its more esoteric instincts.
However, the film we get in its place isn’t devoid of excitement and charm. As the stakes get higher, as the Odells attempt to monetize the deceased, the universe attempts to send a lethal dose of comeuppance our antagonists’ way. Here, Death of a Unicorn flirts with its horror elements, pitting the arrogant humans against their magical and vengeful counterparts. Except, it isn’t true horror – rather we, the audience, are elated to see these creatures get the opportunity to unleash hell on earth.
That, ultimately, points towards the film’s strengths. While the movie clearly envisions itself as sending a message that is both timely and pure, the screenplay’s contradictions poke at the film’s moral temerity. Rather, what Death of a Unicorn is best at is concocting a well-acted, entertaining, comedic revenge flick in which you don’t have to feel sorry for the targets… even up to the last frame of the movie. That’s what I’ll remember it for, although I’d hoped the film could have accomplished something even greater.
