DEATH OF A UNICORN (2025)

A father and daughter hit a unicorn with their car and bring it to the wilderness retreat of a mega-wealthy pharmaceutical CEO.

by Jono Simpson 7th April 20258th April 2025 Leave a reply

For centuries, a creature at once mythological and metaphysical has been a staple of folk mythology. Traditionally depicted as a horse-like beast adorned with a single majestic horn, the unicorn has long been symbolised as fundamentally unattainable and incorruptibly pure. In his audacious directorial debut, writer-director Alex Scharfman considers a universe in which these elusive beings are not figments of fantasy. Produced by the powerhouse A24 and Ari Aster’s (Midsommar) idiosyncratic Square Peg, Death of a Unicorn is a genre-bending foray into horror and comedy.

Elliot (Paul Rudd) is a widowed compliance attorney whose relentless dedication to his profession has earned him a coveted promotion. Accompanied by his unimpressed daughter, Ridley (Jenna Ortega), he finds himself summoned to an isolated mountain estate by his immensely wealthy pharmaceutical employer, Odell Leopold (Richard E. Grant). While driving through the Canadian Rockies, Elliot inadvertently collides with an otherworldly creature. Not knowing how to dispose of the dying beast, the pair decide to transport the unicorn’s remains to Leopold’s estate.

Upon arrival, they discover that exposure to the animal’s blood miraculously cures ailments long thought immutable. When Odell’s incurable form of cancer seemingly vanishes, his calculating wife, Belinda (Téa Leoni), and their insufferably entitled son, Shepard (Will Poulter), decide to commodify the unicorn’s remains for their avaricious ends. However, the Leopold’s nefarious plans are thwarted when the unicorn’s parents descend upon the remote estate to exact vengeance on those responsible for their child’s death.

A big part of what makes Death of a Unicorn successful is the ensemble’s willingness to commit to the absurdity of the premise. Jenna Ortega (Scream) has established herself as a horror powerhouse over the past several years, and she continues to cement herself as a staple in the genre as Ripley. Despite practically reprising her characters from Ti West’s X (2022) and Tim Burton’s Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (2024), she delivers a wonderfully lived-in performance as the disillusioned teenager withdrawn from the world. Defined entirely by her activist leanings, her earnestness provides the means to protect the titular creatures rather than exploit them for monetary gain.

Bearing the brunt of Ripley’s disdain, Paul Rudd (Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire) saunters with his trademark affability as the fumbling father, Elliot. Although his character is slightly different when compared to his usual comedic performances, the actor retains the benevolent charm that has long been his trademark. As a widowed father struggling to find a balance between succeeding at work and prioritising his daughter’s needs, he tempers his performance with genuine melancholy. It’s a rare delight seeing the actor eschew his overcooked quips as the lovable fool for something subdued and quieter. Both Ortega and Rudd form an oddly compelling duo, and despite the outlandish premise, their relationship is surprisingly effective.

Loosely inspired by the scandalous legacy of the morally bankrupt Sackler family, the Leopold’s veil their greed in the sanctimonious guise of philanthropy while seeking to enrich themselves at the expense of others. In a performance that is simultaneously grotesquely flamboyant and darkly comic, Richard E. Grant (Saltburn) embodies the pseudo-philosophical pharmaceutical magnate, Odell Leopold. As the patriarch of the abhorrent dynasty, his enthusiasm for the unicorn’s medicinal properties transforms him into a deliciously loathsome antagonist. Much like his outlandish role in Hudson Hawk (1991), the actor revels in his character’s obnoxiousness with remarkable exuberance. Opposite him, Téa Leoni (Jurassic Park III) looks effortlessly chic wearing crisp white trouser suits and proves a worthy foil as the opportunistic matriarch, Belinda Leopold. With saccharine tones masking her calculated ambitions, the actress infuses every line of dialogue with a condescending attitude.

While Grant and Leoni deliver delightfully deranged performances as the wealthy elites who feign compassion while trampling the working class, it’s Will Poulter (Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.3) who effortlessly commands the screen as the insufferable heir to the dynasty, Shepard Leopold. Channelling the sharp comedic sensibilities he teased in Son of Rambow (2013) and We’re The Millers (2013), he’s insidiously magnetic as the feckless son desperate to take over his ailing father’s empire. He masterfully embodies the epitome of privileged arrogance, imbuing his character with a manic combination of entitled bravado and inherited ineptitude. In lesser hands, Shepard would have descended into caricature, but Poulter’s nonchalant displays of entitlement underscore his character’s oblivious egocentrism. Whether he’s screaming outrageous demands from the comfort of his warm hot tub or snorting the shavings of a unicorn’s horns, his most ludicrous behaviour feels eerily plausible.

There’s an intriguing premise and a healthy amount of imagination at the centre of Death of a Unicorn. It’s an audacious amalgamation of corporate satire, absurdist horror, and dysfunctional family melodrama that A24 routinely champions. From the outset, it’s clear that Alex Scharfman’s directorial debut possesses an unmistakable disdain for the wealthy and even more contempt aimed at those who commodify the natural world. The egregiously self-serving and opportunistic Leopold family are perfect subjects for this critique. Their practices in pharmaceutical exploitation underscore the corruption within the industry, while their environmental exploitation reveals their moral bankruptcy. Yet, for all its allegorical ambition, Scharfman’s screenplay never progresses beyond the moral quandary posed by Leopold’s monetisation of a mythical creature’s regenerative properties. Compelling themes concerning capitalist exploitation, bioethics, and environmental commodification simmer beneath the surface, but they are frustratingly left undercooked.

The same uneasy mixture of admiration and disappointment also plagues the film’s horror elements. Once the unicorns unveil their fury, Scharfman stages a series of effective confrontations within the lush confines of the picturesque retreat. The titular creatures themselves are magnificent to behold, far removed from the saccharine fantasies inside children’s fairytales. Realised through a deft combination of practical puppetry and VFX, the mythical beasts maintain an unnervingly visceral presence. While the budget limitations are occasionally noticeable, this never undermines their intensity during moments of suspense. They are ferocious creations, and Larry Fong’s (Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice) cinematography imbues the unicorns with a genuine menace. The dark silhouettes of a massive otherworldly creature skulking around the research facility are genuinely chilling and evoke the famous velociraptor sequence from Jurassic Park (1993).

Unfortunately, those expecting Death of a Unicorn to gallop valiantly into the violent bloodshed the marketing campaign teases may find themselves somewhat dissatisfied. Once the unicorn’s furious parents tear through the idyllic mountainside and descend upon the Leopold estate to recover their injured child, Scharfman recoils from embracing the cartoonish brutality the premise demands. There are fleeting moments that flirt with grotesque violence as the otherworldly monsters impale characters through walls or stampede through ornate hallways, but they mostly remain bloodless. A deliciously macabre sequence that is undoubtedly the highlight sees two unicorns work in tandem to eviscerate a hapless Leopold employee with their horns. It’s during those moments of absurd bloodshed that Scharfman’s efforts are most rewarding and suggest what Death of a Unicorn’s absurdity could offer the audience. However, these brief occurrences of mythical madness are tragically rare and disappointingly ephemeral.

Despite the missteps tied to Scharfman’s overwrought thematic ambitions and his curiously restrained horror, Death of a Unicorn manages to unearth a poignant allegory exploring grief and embracing uncertainty. Before they inadvertently collide with the unicorn, Elliot and Ridley struggle to navigate the emotional terrain of their sadness. Since the death of Elliot’s wife and Ridley’s mother, their conversations have become awkwardly fragmented, and their estranged dynamic has increased. Their strained relationship worsens after they accidentally kill the unicorn while travelling to Leopold’s family retreat. When the wealthy family commodifies the mythical creature’s regenerative properties, the father and daughter are propelled to opposite ends of their moral conundrum.

Elliot becomes blinded by financial gain, imagining that the creature’s blood could have saved his late wife. Whereas Ridley seeks understanding over exploitation and empathy over economics. During a quietly devastating moment when Elliot muses the blood’s medicinal properties might have saved her, Ridley cuts through the sentimentality with “They wouldn’t even let her get near it”. While the narrative stops short of offering a saccharine reconciliation, it allows Elliot and Ridley to see each other with clarity. Such introspective detours might frustrate those seeking visceral carnage, but this undercurrent of melancholy imbues the violent spectacle with weight.

Overall, Death of a Unicorn stands alongside A24’s oversaturated oeuvre that routinely embraces unusual or eccentric concepts but never adapts them into anything truly memorable. Regrettably, Alex Scharfman’s directorial debut is burdened by derivative highbrow satire, which masquerades as philosophical depth but quickly reveals itself as a scattershot array of half-baked ideas. There are sporadic bursts of visceral violence that may momentarily satisfy horror aficionados. However, it ultimately fails to ascend to the grotesque grandeur its promotional materials so boldly promised. Regardless, there’s pleasure to be found as Death of a Unicorn trots out a magical premise and a handful of delightfully deranged performances.