Alex Scharfman’s *Death of a Unicorn* is a unique and bittersweet combination of fantasy, satire, and sorrow. The story starts with a magical accident and gradually unfolds into a narrative about grief, exploitation, and the consequences of human greed. Featuring outstanding performances from Paul Rudd and Jenna Ortega, the film encourages viewers to see the world through the eyes of innocence as it begins confronting the harsher realities of adulthood.
The story begins with Elliot Kintner (played by Paul Rudd), a kind but preoccupied widower, and his teenage daughter Ridley (portrayed by Jenna Ortega) embarking on a road trip to a high-stakes corporate summit. Their relationship is quiet yet complex, with Rudd’s understated warmth balancing Ortega’s mix of curiosity and yearning for connection. The pivotal moment occurs when they collide with a unicorn, a scene depicted with awe and a hint of melancholy. This moment signifies the shift from the ordinary to the extraordinary and from innocence to awareness. The unicorn, glowing even in death, becomes the tale’s focal point, weaving moral ambiguity and mythic themes together.
The introduction of the Leopolds—Odell (played by Richard E. Grant), his aloof wife Belinda (Téa Leoni), and their entitled son Shepard (Will Poulter)—dramatically changes the tone of the story. Their decision to exploit the unicorn’s curative properties for profit is chilling and satirical, serving as a sharp critique of corporate greed disguised in a fantastical setting. Richard E. Grant delivers a particularly compelling performance as Odell, exuding charisma and menace in equal measure. The scientists, portrayed by Sunita Mani and Steve Park, find themselves in a moral dilemma; the disturbing implications of their work quickly overshadow their initial wonder.
As the unicorn’s parents arrive to seek revenge, the film takes a darker turn, blending the surreal with the visceral. The scenes of the unicorns’ retribution are both haunting and poetic, highlighting a sense of justice that is both primal and tragic. These moments are not gratuitous; instead, they reinforce the film’s themes of consequence and the interconnectedness of life. Jenna Ortega shines as Ridley, whose journey from wonder to heartbreak mirrors the audience’s evolving understanding of the story’s more profound message.
Director Alex Scharfman’s vision is both poetic and unyielding, skillfully balancing the magical realism of unicorns with the harsh realities of human folly. The cinematography beautifully captures this duality; shimmering, golden-lit meadows starkly contrast the sterile, fluorescent labs where the unicorn is dissected for profit. The film’s score is equally moving, featuring a blend of ethereal melodies and somber undertones that reflect the story’s changing moods.
Death of a Unicorn stands out because it embraces complexity. The film doesn’t provide simple answers; instead, it challenges us to recognize our role in a world where wonder is often sacrificed for progress. At its core, this is Ridley’s story—a young girl dealing with loss and responsibility and realizing that the adults around her are far from perfect. Her innocence is not lost but transformed, shaped by a new understanding of the world’s beauty and sorrows.
Death of a Unicorn has its flaws. At times, the satirical elements can feel overly done, and some supporting characters—like Griff (Anthony Carrigan) and Shaw (Jessica Hynes)—are not used to their full potential. However, these minor shortcomings do not significantly lessen the film’s overall impact.
In the end, Death of a Unicorn remains in our minds, much like the shimmering presence of the mythical creature at its center. It tells a story about the losses and gains we experience while growing up, reflecting on the cost of wonder and the resilience of the human spirit. The film leaves us with a bittersweet sense of hope and the understanding that some questions may never be fully answered.
*Grade: A-*
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