DEATH OF A UNICORN. Magical realism is, pun intended, one of the trickier genres to both execute as a creator and to navigate as observer/reader/audience. Because it relies even more heavily on suspension of disbelief than its really only slightly less fantastical cohort, we in the cheap seats need a cohesive, compelling vision to allow us to go along for the ride; perhaps I shouldn’t speak for others. Regardless, the burden of myth creation, of fullness of vision, rests weightily on the shoulders of the maker. Try-hards and near-misses end up in the same dustbin of our collective experience.
I very much enjoy the notion of infusing a story (especially a visually driven one) with grace notes of the otherworldly, the “impossible,” the stuff of imagination that is a strand of the shared DNA of all artistic expression. More often than not, though, the ratios are off, or the reach of the writer exceeds the grasp of the director, or the tonality of the whole enterprise strikes false notes. It is deceptively difficult to construct an engaging narrative using magical tropes. Even harder to render that narrative in a visual medium, where a few missteps from the FX department can be even more detrimental than florid prose or predictable plotting.
This might sound like a defense of predictively and presumptively dismissing a project like Death of a Unicorn. But acknowledging one’s own predilections and prejudices is part of growing up, hopefully. I knew precious little about what I was getting into; having seen the poster, I could assume there might be literal unicorns involved and I knew with whom. But beyond that and the reassuring imprint of new-cinema saviors A24, I approached without foreknowledge or, ideally, inappropriate bias.
In the early going, the movie kind of put me back on my heels, establishing itself as a comic drama about the strained relationship between a father and daughter. Elliot (Paul Rudd), an attorney summoned to the remote Canadian lodge of a vastly wealthy pharmaceutical company, has clearly compartmentalized his emotions almost out of existence, transmuting grief into avarice in the guise of protecting his family. This leaves Ridley (Jenna Ortega) all but alone to navigate her own complicated, painful inner life. The strain of the trip is compounded by routine travel stuff and then even more so by hitting an unusual wild animal with their rental car.
Without spoiling all the surprises or belaboring the synopsis, one of the most fascinating aspects of Death of a Unicorn lies in writer/director Alex Scharfman’s use of Rudd. Frequently called upon to be both the comic relief and the moral center of movies in which he appears, Rudd is not unfairly beloved of audiences. That love can create a parasocial imbalance, though, as we assume the roles he plays are representative of the person assaying those roles because they are played with such charm and openness. Here, Scharfman moves Rudd’s vaunted goofiness to the edge of the frame, letting him work out with some of his tropes and repartee but also charging him with the taciturn intensity of a father fumbling around among the ultra-rich.
And, in a deeply satisfying symbiosis, Rudd’s stepping aside from most of the high comedy allows Richard E. Grant and Téa Leoni, as the world-swallowing solipsists writing Elliot’s checks, to work out with gleeful greed and stupidity. Along with their definitively douchey son (Will Poulter), he of the pleated shorts and Gucci loafers, they send up the leisure class with their moral superiority and pious posturing, using a degree of satire and guile that almost touches on classic screwball dynamics.
Death of a Unicorn may not be the kind of cinematic lodestar I’ve always been looking for, but that’s more to do with my reticence about high-concept fantasy than anything else. And, with its incorporation of gory horror elements (particularly in the second and third acts), it playfully subverts many of my previous misgivings. It’s a testament to Scharfman’s vision for the piece as a fractured fairy tale freighted with the bad actors and generational trauma of the modern world. It’s also got more than a few nods to some of the monumental achievements of 20th century science fiction cinema, but I’ll leave those to the audience. Among those references, though, there is a heartening use of modern visual effects technology. We may finally be arriving at the moment when filmmakers understand and are allowed to use all the digital tools in a judicious, constructively embellishing manner. The work isn’t perfect, and, like all the other atavistic heads, I would like to see as many practical effects as possible, but this feels like a successful exercise in working within the strictures of budget and corporatocracy to achieve a vision. I like that. R. 104M. BROADWAY, MILL CREEK.
John J. Bennett (he/him) is a movie nerd who loves a good car chase.
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For showtimes call: Broadway Cinema (707) 443-3456; Mill Creek Cinema 839-3456; Minor Theatre (707) 822-3456.
This article appears in Taco Week 2025.