As Fitzgerald summed it up so well a century or so ago, the rich are difference than you and me, and Alex Scharfman’s sly black comedy, DEATH OF A UNICORN, expounds on that beautifully while also pointing up where the not nearly as rich fall short when in thrall to the 1%. There is nothing subtle here, as is only right when taking a mythical creature as the catalyst, but the satire is so finely wrought that subtlety would be an insult to all concerned, including the audience.
At its heart is Paul Rudd, affecting and endearing as Elliot, a sweet, hapless widower who has been failing at connecting with his college-aged daughter, Ridley (Jenna Ortega) since the death of his wife a few years back. Part of the wedge that has kept them apart emotionally is the singular drive to secure Ridley’s financial future as he has single-mindedly pursued his career with Leopold Laboratories. Already a success, he hopes to graduate from being the officer in charge of ethics and fair play to the trustee in charge of the will shortly to be executed by the dying patriarch of the company, Odell Leopold (the peerless Richard E. Grant). With that, his vapid, samite-clad, soon-to-be widow Belinda (Tea Leoni) will be free to pursue her philanthropy (even if she’s not quite sure what the purpose of her donations actually are) and his dilletante of a son, Shepard (Will Poulter) will be free to follow esoteric, expensive pursuits for as long as his ennui allows. Hint, it will be slightly shorter than the short pants with which his wardrobe is replete. All it will take is for the sullen Ridley to make a good impression on the Leopolds during this get-acquainted weekend, and for Elliot to make them pay attention to his carefully prepared financial plan long enough for them to be impressed.
After flight delays, and the titular event, Elliot and Ridley arrive at the opulent Leopold Lodge situated in the midst of the wide-ranging Leopold Wildlife Reserve. Over the next 48 hours, tides will turn, unchecked capitalism will rear its ugly head, and the father-daughter bond will be tested. First with that unicorn, which leaps in front of their sensibly priced car rental and expires with no little suffering, forcing Elliot to deliver a bloody coup de grace with a tire iron. But this is more than just a mythical beast proven to be real, it also has magic powers, as Ridley learns when she touches the creature’s glowing horn and it immediately transported to an alternate reality, or perhaps just given a vision of it. It won’t be the last surprise delivered by the expired beast as the weekend progresses.
Ortega is properly mopey and self-assured as the idealistic kid with no patience for the hypocritical simulacrum of warmth exuded by the Leopolds whose ability to empathize is tidily summed up by Shepard’s fretting that he might not be dressed appropriately for viewing a unicorn corpse. As the only character with the wherewithal to see how truly awful they are, Ridley is also the only one to discover the truth about unicorns using a deep dive into the internet and looking at the iconic unicorn tapestries currently on display at The Cloisters in New York City. That what they depict is obvious when she approaches fresh eyes, and that becomes a metaphor for how the masses see the rich as opposed to someone actually paying attention to the details without pre-conceived notions. The glossy veneer of wealth is no distraction for her, but is, in fact, a warning sign, not unlike that aethereal glow from the forest that signals trouble to come for those willing to see beyond the aurora borealis effect.
The contrast with her father, who would see the truth if not for the blinders of his ambition that render their true natures moot, is clever, while the degrees of devotion from the Leopold staff. From the maniacal fanaticism of the family’s personal assistant, Shaw (Jessica Hynes as a she-wolf with a tense coiffure), the passive resentment of Griff (Anthony Carrigan) the butler biding his time until retirement, to Drs. Bhatia and Song (Sunita Mani and Steve Park) a pair of Institute scientists confronted with the impossible but not allowed the luxury of disbelief (or ethics), we are gifted a microcosm of cultural disfunction that is a cornucopia of the disquieting. And that’s before the monsters in the woods intrude.
As a horror film, it is suitably grotesque without becoming egregious. As a comedy, it is wonderfully impudent. As a tale of nature’s revenge, it is intensely satisfying and gets you rooting for the right side. DEATH OF A UNICORN explores both the medieval myth of the unicorn (they’re not cuddly) and the inherent evils of unchecked capitalism with a pithy ruthlessness and a puckish wit.
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