Whimsical horror film blends corporate satire and mythical unicorn revenge.
A24 once again proves its flair for the strange, and the satirical. The film follows Elliot (played by Paul Rudd) and Ridley Kintner (Jenna Ortega), as an endearingly dysfunctional father-daughter duo whose road trip takes a macabre turn when they accidentally kill a unicorn. That’s right. A unicorn. On the highway.
The unicorn’s death sets off a bizarre chain of events, plunging the pair into a surreal corporate nightmare. Upon discovering the mystical creature’s remains possess powers, Elliot’s boss—a megalomaniac billionaire named Odell Leopold (Richard E Grant)—decides to capitalise on the creature’s properties. What unfolds is a psychedelic descent into corporate greed and moral decay.
This marks Alex Scharfman’s feature debut, and nestled within the blood-soaked surrealism of Death of a Unicorn is something unexpectedly tender. At its core, beneath the corporate satire and glittery carnage, lies a surprisingly moving portrait of a father-daughter bond that feels painfully real—especially for anyone who remembers slamming doors as a teen. Paul Rudd and Jenna Ortega deliver wonderfully grounded performances, their dynamic is raw, sharp, and often reminiscent of the small, silent battles that define growing up with a single parent who’s still figuring things out too.
I’ve always had a soft spot for creature features. Yes, we’ve seen our fair share of vampires, werewolves, and the usual monsters, but fresh takes in the genre are few and far between. And unicorns? They’ve long been the stuff of glittery fairytales, untouched by the horrors of cinema. Until now. Death of a Unicorn takes that pristine image and runs it through a meat grinder, quite literally. It’s the first time we’ve seen unicorns at the centre of a horror narrative, and it’s as bizarre as it sounds. While it borrows inspiration from Jurassic Park in both structure and subtext, make no mistake, this is no homage. It’s a chaotic, blood-soaked original that wears its A24 badge with pride—artful, unsettling, and just the right amount of absurd.
At the story’s heart is a biting critique of moral hypocrisy. Take the Leopolds, for instance. Initially, they’re all performative virtues, insisting on assessing Elliot’s “character” before they’ll sign off on anything. Yet the moment they catch wind of the unicorn’s so-called healing powers stashed in the back of his car, all that concern for integrity evaporates. From grilling unicorn meat under the guise of altruism to hoarding its body for "the greater good,” it’s a searing look at how self-interest so often hides behind philanthropy.
Visually, one of the scenes where Ridley touches the unicorn's horn marks a stunning tonal shift. The scene dissolves into a wash of soft, iridescent tones, and the delicate shimmer of something not quite real. It plays like a visual poem: a breathless interlude steeped in wonder, grief, and an ancient magic that feels almost sacred. Equally poignant is the moment when the adult unicorn’s mane shifts from black to white, a quiet yet powerful transformation that charts the creature’s emotional journey. Black reflects its anguish and rage at the loss of its foal and the violence it suffered at human hands. White signals release, a return to calm, to acceptance. It’s a sequence rendered with rare tenderness, haunting in its beauty and deeply symbolic in its quiet simplicity.
Let’s get one thing straight: if you go into Death of a Unicorn expecting pure horror, you might come out scratching your head. The unicorns themselves? Not terrifying. Eerie, perhaps, in the way the camera lingers just a bit too long on misty forests before they appear—but once they do, the fear factor kind of fizzles. No snarling beasts from hell here. More like angry glowsticks with hooves. That said, the film does deliver on the gore. A24 never shies away from the grotesque, and this one’s has it in spades. So if by “horror” they mean body horror, sure, we’ll give them that. But honestly, it plays more like a surrealist thriller with a flair for violence than a straight-up fright fest.
Now let’s talk about the CGI and practical effects. For a story built around mythical creatures out for revenge, the unicorns needed a bit more… menace. When they’re supposed to be seething with rage, they come off more "slightly annoyed woodland spirits" than "vengeful deities of death". The visual effects just don’t sell the threat, and that’s a shame.
Then there’s the matter of unicorn logic. At one point, Elliot calms down the enraged adult unicorn with a broken horn. It’s meant to be poignant—symbolic, even—but the whole time you’re thinking, Wait, why didn’t he do that before? If it’s that simple, why all the blood, the panic, the entrail-flinging chaos? It’s the kind of narrative gap that sticks with you. Not in a good, thought-provoking way, but in a "huh?" way.
The final act delivers an emotional crescendo that’s almost touching—until it isn’t. There’s a glimmer of emotion, a sense of cosmic closure until it veers into an ambiguous open ending, it feels like the writers tossed up their hands and said, 'You figure it out.' Did the unicorns spare them as a gift? A punishment? A strange act of mercy? It felt somewhat underwhelming, as if the writers weren’t quite sure how to bring the story to a close.
Overall, it’s one of those "leave-your-brain-at-home" kind of films.
Death of a Unicorn features the 15th-century Hunt of the Unicorn tapestries, a series of intricate works now housed at The Met Cloisters in New York. Woven in the Southern Netherlands, the tapestries are steeped in symbolism, ranging from religious allegory to themes of courtly love. Their presence in the film adds layers of meaning, echoing its exploration of innocence, sacrifice, and the uneasy collision between myth and modernity.
Death Of A Unicorn will be released 1 May at The Projector.
