A strange movement has emerged within the horror community. Longtime defenders have rejected the notion of an “elevated” film that’s enhanced by greater thematic, social, or political subtext. It’s a complaint that’s well-reasoned, as Get Out and The Substance are hardly the first mainstream genre films to touch on the current socio-political climate; George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead had something to say about race relations back in 1968. “Elevated horror” has incited enough backlash to launch a new breed of ironic high-concept projects that wink at the ridiculousness of their premises.
While it’s a subgenre that’s drawn significant ire for those that defended the artistic integrity of provocative auteurs like Wes Craven or Tobe Hooper, it has nonetheless inspired some interesting films that have kickstarted relevant cultural conversations. The Menu may be an elaborate parody of the high-end cuisine industry, but it's also a nuanced examination of snob culture and its danger to artistic integrity; likewise, Heretic is a gimmick-heavy containment thriller that made the argument that debates about religious oppression are hardly black-and-white. What these films had was perspective and intention, which are entirely absent in Death of a Unicorn.
Death of a Unicorn is a film without jokes: the vast majority of its dialogue is derived from characters that recite what has just occurred. The notion of an R-rated monster movie about unicorns may have made for a terrific short comedy video, but the film’s disinterest in any deeper mythology has made it ill-suited for feature length. Perhaps, a sporadically violent, unapologetically exploitative twist on children’s fantasy would be entertaining if it had the hand-made, practical quality of Gremlins or Beetlejuice, but the generic visual designs in Death of a Unicorn are brought to life by unconvincing effects. There’s something charming about rough VFX work in films that come from independent filmmakers, but the sizable budget and multiple A-listers involved in Death of a Unicorn indicate that the poorly-rendered CGI is the result of laziness.
It’d appear that Death of a Unicorn is set within a grounded version of reality, but given the confined nature of the story, there’s no reason to believe the events are intended to be absurd. Paul Rudd is strangely cast in the role of the unlikable, cowardly legal expert Elliot Kintner, who’s traveled to a remote estate in the middle of the woods with his disaffected daughter, Ridley (Jenna Ortega). A sign of a film’s failure to construct characters is when an ambiguous tragedy is explained purely to generate sympathy; although it’s referenced that Elliot’s wife recently died, it does little to justify his selfish behavior. The casting of Rudd, known for his ability to make hedonistic characters into charismatic protagonists, is a sign that Death of a Unicorn is convinced that anything subversive is automatically substantial.
Elliot’s assignment is to help synthesize legal documents compiled by his employer, Odell Leopold (Richard E. Grant), who’s been forced to manage his will because of a recent terminal diagnosis. While Odell has little affection for his wife, Belinda (Téa Leoni), and son, Shepard (Will Poulter), his interest in Elliot grows following the discovery of a small unicorn that was run over. Death of a Unicorn doesn’t detail what powers a deceased unicorn would have, but anyone familiar with the last few centuries of fantasy storytelling is aware that even one of these creatures would possess potentially life-saving abilities.
There was an opportunity for Death of a Unicorn to offer a sharp explanation of mortality, as Odell’s wealth has given him the opportunity to extend his lifespan, which was obviously not something afforded to Elliot’s wife. Given that it’s two broken families that have found themselves on the hunt for unicorns, Death of a Unicorn could’ve drawn parallels between generations, or examined the weight of expectations that young people are faced with. Even if someone who saw Death of a Unicorn didn’t have an interest in pragmatic questions about corporeality, it's disappointing that any hint of depth is squandered in favor of dull death scenes. In an era where demented horror films like Final Destination: Bloodlines and The Monkey have topped the box office, nothing in Death of a Unicorn is transgressive in comparison.
Grant’s an actor who seemed primed for the material, as the Withnail & I star has appeared in many films that subsequently drew a cult audience. Yet, it's unlikely that Death of a Unicorn would ever earn a similar level of retrospective praise, as the surface-level satire has made it exclusively tied to the reactionary politics of 2025. The concept that wealthy business tycoons would attempt to reap the benefits of a miraculous occurrence isn’t original, especially when the entire Leopold clan is composed of caricatures. There’s also little effort made to reckon with the consequences, as the Leopold family’s servants Shaw (Jessica Hynes) and Griff (Anthony Carrigan) are treated as disposable collateral damage. The one standout of the cast is Poulter, who’s already done much better work this year alone in On Swift Horses, Warfare, and several episodes within the new season of The Bear.
Even with a modest budget of $15 million, Death of a Unicorn has the same issue that seemingly progressive Hollywood blockbusters do with their centrist politics. A film like Black Panther could never criticize systematic oppression in a meaningful way if it was made to sell action figures; likewise, Death of a Unicorn couldn’t be entirely cynical, as it would negate the potential for A24 to sell quirky merchandise. Death of a Unicorn’s satire is too timid to accept it as a legitimate parody.