Director: Alex Scharfman
Stars: Jenna Ortega, Sunita Mani, Paul Rudd
While The Brutalist showed that A24’s prestige fare remains pretty much on point for their reputation, 2025 has so far seen the distributor’s stock in original horror movies take an alarming plummet. Opus and Y2K struggled to connect with critics or audiences alike, and now here comes Death of a Unicorn, a comedic fantasy/sci-fi/horror hybrid of such diminishing returns that even it’s own trailer had a short shelf life (first time: “oh, quirky!”; second time: “I hope that’s not the tone of the whole movie…”; third time “I have concerns”).
Which is a shame as there was some genuine promise here, and it’s always heartening when an untested director steps onto the scene with something novel. All manner of fantasy cryptids have had time in the limelight, from trolls to fishmen – even sasquatch last year – so the prospect of unicorns getting to strut their stuff (especially with the likes of Jenna Ortega and Paul Rudd) raised hopes that Alex Scharfman’s debut might have the stuff. Instead it’s a woolly rehash of broad Eat The Rich material (commendable but done to death), one which lacks for confidence on all fronts, with underserved and undeserving characters and a confused approach to motivations.
Insufferably mealy-mouthed corporate attorney Elliot (Rudd) touches down in Canada for a business weekend with his college-age daughter Ridley (Ortega). Ridley’s presence has been requested specifically by Elliot’s old and withering potential client – tumor-ridden pharmaceutical tycoon Odell Leopold (Richard E. Grant). En route to Odell’s secluded manor (where there is, of course, no cell service), Elliot and Ridley strike a unicorn crossing the road. Ridley has a quasi-spiritual encounter with the creature. Elliot brains it with a tire iron. Not knowing what to do, they hoist it into the back of their banged-up rental and take it with them. It’s only once on site that they realise that the mythic beast’s blood and horn have wondrous regenerative qualities; something that makes dollar signs flash in the eyes of a quickly rejuvenated Odell.
Also hosting this weekend of cryptid exploitation are Odell’s wife Belinda (Téa Leoni with nothing to do) and their odious, preppy son Shepard (Will Poulter, with altogether too much to do). Slightly more promising are the put-upon staff; steely head of security Shaw (Spaced‘s Jessica Hynes!) and jittering body man Griff (Anthony Carrigan, stealing all scenes). While this bunch of the privileged and their minders come with plenty of personality, it’s our anchors Elliot and Ridley who are surprisingly awash. Rudd and Ortega have no father/daughter chemistry. Granted, that works a little for the sense of distance between the characters (of course there’s a shared trauma in their backstory), but Elliot’s bootlicking subservience to the Leopolds is deeply unpleasant to watch. It also leaves Ortega with a particularly thankless role. Ridley is the whiny voice of reason and conscience shouted down by the big greedy dumb-dumbs. It’s a rut that Death of a Unicorn settles into quickly, and one it barely tries to shift out of.
In terms of visual acuity, there’s not much to speak of. Death of a Unicorn settles into a murky monotone of grey visuals and lifeless framing. It never musters urgency. Throughout Scharfman’s dialogue – whether it’s pseudo-science, business talk or medieval mythology – has a wishy-washy quality, cluttered with jargon. It feels like an all-thumbs effort to drown us in waffle, in the hopes we don’t notice that not much of what follows adds up. When the inevitable happens and bigger, tougher unicorns come to get their baby back, they are rather disappointing CG creatures that Scharfman tends to shroud in mist, darkness or hyperactive, juddering edits.
Multiple characters seek to ascribe the beasts motive, but so much of what happens feels arbitrary, particularly sudden expressions of compassion or loyalty. Mild spoilers here, but it’s particularly frustrating that Elliot is totally absolved of his complicity in the Leopold family’s craven, self-centered ploys, while Ridley’s mantle as some deified priestess of purity doesn’t feel justified either. In short, not much of anything in Death of a Unicorn convinces. Even it’s title is, well, wrong.
We bemoan the paucity of original ideas on our screens then complain when we get something a bit out of the ordinary. But Death of a Unicorn also feels like a withering retread of broad commentaries we’ve already seen several times over. The easy pickings. Or worse than that, clichés. We’re all hyper-aware of the lawless liberties taken by the super-rich. Did their ubiquitous villainy really need to muscle in on a horror comedy about frickin’ unicorns? Grant and Poulter evidently relish playing their characters at the high end of obnoxious, but there’s precious little balance beyond Ridley’s unheeded liberalism. It’s also deeply disappointing – but all-too-easy – to discover that the majority of the film’s cod exposition is read aloud by Google. The movie becomes a model of a novel premise squandered by sticking to what feels like a lot of first-draft thinking. Needless to say, the end is a mess.
The Lost Highway Hotel 