Jenna Ortega, Paul Rudd, and Richard E. Grant lead an underutilized cast in this absurd and infuriating mishmash of comedy and gore.
The unicorn has been a staple of popular mythology for thousands of years, dating back at least to ancient Persia, with consistent characteristics: an equine figure with a single majestic horn, fundamentally elusive and untamable, with magical healing properties. But this creature, recognizable from medieval art to My Little Pony, is one of the lesser-known elements of Death of a Unicorn, the feature debut from writer-director Alex Scharfman, which premiered at the SXSW Film Festival on Saturday.
Director: Alex Scharfman
Writer: Alex Scharfman
Stars: Jenna Ortega, Paul Rudd, David Pasquesi
The film, produced by the influential A24, treads well-trodden ground: the prestige satire about the devourer of the rich with an all-star cast and a beautiful backdrop. So trite, in fact, that it's a relief when the mythical beasts appear, if only to reveal a dubious computer-generated image and a questionable commitment to the plot.
Silly as it may seem, Scharfman treats this unicorn theme with sincere seriousness, seeking relevance in the rapacious state of late capitalism, satirized in recent hits like The Menu, Triangle of Sadness, Knives Out: The Glass Onion, Parasite, and Succession, among others. I know this way, you know this way—even disaffected college student Ridley (Jenna Ortega) knows this way as she and her gullible father Elliot (Paul Rudd), a corporate lawyer, drive to the Canadian Rockies for a retreat with Elliot's billionaire boss and his family. "Philanthropy is just a reputation-boosting scheme for the oligarchy," he retorts when his father tries to praise the generosity of the Leopolds, a clan of pharmaceutical executives loosely modeled on the American Sackler family. There's nothing about the Leopold family—the terminally ill patriarch Odell (Richard E. Grant, who brings a touch of British colonialism to this tale of American capitalism), his wife Belinda (Téa Leoni), and their incompetent son Shep (Will Poulter)—that would shock or perversely amuse anyone familiar with this genre. There are only tasks for the actors: boxes of cowardly behavior and delusions of infallibility to check, mellifluous and isolated notes of callous narcissism to touch, something all the actors do well, especially Poulter, though that doesn't alleviate a pervasive sense of boredom.
What's surprising, at least at first, is how Scharfman conceives the title's promise, which arrives abruptly in the opening minutes: Elliot, distracted by an argument with Ridley, accidentally knocks over a unicorn, leaving it motionless but still alive, and the duo splattered with purple blood. Ridley, a lonely motherless daughter, forms an instant bond with the creature, depicted as a wild, acid-fueled trip through the cosmos with just a touch of its horn. Elliot, a widower bent on earning money to support his daughter, bludgeons the unicorn to death with an iron bar, the first of many difficult moments for the more squeamish.
Back at the estate—which is truly beautiful and run by the harried chief of staff Griff (Anthony Carrigan, played by Barry)—the oligarchs take pains not to reveal what the creature really is or squander its potential when it becomes clear that unicorn blood can cure everything from teenage acne to cancer. It's a writing style that tires quickly. Ortega, the film's nominal star, though noticeably underused, provides the film's only fulcrum, while Ridley senses something darker and begins investigating unicorn folklore, correctly interpreting the famous medieval unicorn tapestries in the Met's Cloisters as proof that such hubris only invites destruction.
In fact, these unicorns aren't rainbows or butterflies, but the almighty monsters of old, capable of jump scares and bloody impalements, among other acts of gory violence. Scharfman masterfully handles the trappings of mega-millionaires, though his luxury-service interstices feel derived from The Menu; not so much the mechanics of a creature feature where unicorns range from indestructible to wary of doors. Not that internal logic matters if the stakes are compelling (you know how the rich will fare, who are, of course, very bad), or if the monstrous madness is clever (it isn't, though the specter of a sharp-toothed horse is a strangely intriguing idea).
Comments
Post a Comment