Death of a Unicorn is the ultimate horse girl movie

Remember when the movies used to be fun? When you didn’t have to brush up on a decade of superhero lore or decipher quasi-intellectual allegory to enjoy a nice day out at the cinema? If you too miss the days of raucous entertainment, then Death of a Unicorn is the film for you.

The concept for Death of a Unicorn is right there in the title. While driving through some Shining-esque woods on their way to a weekend with a prospective (and disgustingly wealthy) client, lawyer Elliot (Paul Rudd, on Dad duty) and his daughter Ridley (Jenna Ortega) hit and injure an animal.

But the creature isn’t dead and beckons Ridley to touch its glowing horn, which suddenly plunges her into an 80s-music-video interpretation of life, the universe and everything. But before she can receive the secrets to life, Elliot takes a tire iron to the animal’s head, splattering both with deep purple blood and causing the titular “death” of the unicorn.

Determined to have his contract signed, Elliot and Ridley push on with a unicorn corpse in their boot to the palatial home of pharmaceutical giants, the Sacklers Leopolds. There’s the spoiled, sycophantic son (Will Poulter), dog-whistling “philanthropist” Belinda (Téa Leoni) and cancer-riddled patriarch Odell (Richard E. Grant).

Our crew soon realises that the unicorn in the car isn’t as dead as it’s supposed to be, bursting from their SUV before being shot point-blank by Leopold’s enthusiastic security. More importantly (to the Leopolds, at least) is the discovery that unicorn blood has all-healing properties — as shown by Ridley’s disappearing acne and Elliot’s cured eyesight.

It’s a huzzah moment for the Leopolds, who cure Odell’s cancer and then immediately jump on the blower to their billionaire mates to sell every part of the miraculous creature. It seems only Ridley can hear the screeching coming from the forest, which sounds a lot like parents yelling for their missing child…

There has been enough “eat the rich” cinema in the past five years to choke a unicorn, so the film’s skewering initially feels familiar. But it’s the dedication the core three Leopolds have to their characters that elevates this film.

Grant, so natural as a clueless aristocrat in Saltburn, does away with any empathy to become a man who gleefully scoffs an iridescent purple unicorn steak (cooked to his liking, of course) to keep his health up.

Leoni luxuriates in being a pseudo-saintly “philanthropist” who starts sentences with things like, “Not to be a size queen but…”

But the film belongs to Poulter as Shepard, the petulant only (man)child of the Leopold empire. From his penchant for a crisp, mid-thigh short to his endless list of supposed skills (archery, mixology, photography), Shepard’s every move is side-splitting. He hilariously spends the back half of the film finding more creative ways to consume unicorn by-products. 

Becoming more maniacal with every snort, smoke and drink (unicorn-infused cocktails), his all-consuming quest to be enough for his dismissive father is thrilling enough to carry this film.

Unfortunately, more time is dedicated to the weak backstory about Elliot’s dead wife and, in doing so, director and writer Alex Scharfman achieves the impossible: he makes Paul Rudd annoying. Elliot’s spineless spluttering and love of bootlicking only serves as a reminder that you could remove his character entirely with little damage.

Ridley’s story has the laborious task of carrying most of the exposition as the sullen collegiate finds the medieval Unicorn Tapestries, which explain that only a maiden of honest heart can tame the mighty ‘corn.

In case the prestige cast had you hoodwinked, Death of a Unicorn is largely a pulpy, gory monster movie.

The unicorns are brought to queasy life by an effective mix of puppetry and VFX. They loom over the humans with snarling, fanged mouths and dangerously ridged horns. The deaths start at an 11 and ramp up from there, each more deserved than the last as corn syrup blood and fake offal flood the screen.

While his edges might need a little tightening, debut director Scharfman crafts a lush and suitably tense atmosphere in the Canadian Rockies. It’s especially thrilling when he leans into moments of heightened reality — like the near-permanent neon northern lights, or the cosmic explosion when anyone touches a unicorn horn.

There is a dangerously fun midnight movie trying to burst forth from the chest cavity of Death of A Unicorn. If you can breeze past the bits where the filmmakers desperately try to extract some bigger meaning from the carnage, you’ll have a bloody good time.