Paul Rudd & Jenna Ortega in A24 Comedy

There are seven tapestries on permanent view at The Cloisters in New York that depict, in vivid detail, the tale of a unicorn hunted by man and tamed by a virgin. The series has been the subject of much scholarly discourse, with historians debating their meaning for decades. Early theories landed on metaphors for marriage and fertility, while later and more enduring ones thought of them as allegories for Christ. In his directorial debut, Death of a Unicorn, Alex Scharfman (a producer on House of Spoils and Resurrection) considers a universe in which these magical creatures are real and the tapestries serve as a warning. 

The upcoming A24 release, which premiered at SXSW, stars Paul Rudd and Jenna Ortega as a father-daughter duo thrust into a peculiar situation. On their way to a crucial business meeting with a pharmaceutical billionaire, Elliot (Rudd), a meek compliance lawyer with aggressive allergies, and his college-aged daughter Ridley (Ortega) hit a unicorn with their car. A normal wildlife collision would be appropriately traumatizing, but one with a mythical creature proves to be even more disturbing. When they get out of their SUV to investigate the damage, Ridley spiritually connects with the creature (presented in a kitschy psychedelic sequence) while Elliot, in a fearful fit, smashes it repeatedly in the head. 

With this grisly opening sequence, Scharfman, who directed and wrote the screenplay, establishes Death of a Unicorn as an absurdist horror and a familiar kind of social satire. Elliot has conscripted Ridley to join him for a weekend with Odell, a dying tycoon (played by Richard E. Grant in a Saltburn–esque role) who is preparing to name a proxy for his company’s board. How this works need not be overthought. Elliot — hardworking despite grieving his wife — strikes him as the perfect candidate, so the CEO invites him to spend a few days with his family at their sprawling estate. He wants to get to know Elliot and, essentially, test his loyalties. 

Years into the eat-the-rich social satire genre boom, audiences know that this premise spells trouble. When Elliot and Ridley arrive, they meet Odell’s philanthropic wife Belinda (Téa Leoni) and his wayward son Shephard (Will Poulter), as well as a staff that includes a stoic bodyguard (Jessica Hynes) and an overworked butler (a scene-stealing Anthony Carrigan). 

The principal action kicks off when Odell’s family discovers the curative properties of the unicorn and immediately concoct ways to monetize it. They invite the company’s top researchers (Sunita Mani and Stephen Park) to the house and enlist everyone to play a part in their exploitative plot. Ridley, who we are told majors in art history, remains skeptical. She embarks on her own investigation and what she finds portends a gruesome fate. 

With its ambitious gonzo premise, Death of a Unicorn starts off on strong footing, but it’s quickly apparent that the story doesn’t have that many places to go. Scharfman sticks to the playbook established by other films in this genre, from The Menu to Triangle of Sadness, so while there’s much in the way of absurd set pieces, the plot itself is quite predictable. An opportunity to offer something different presents itself when Ridley engages in the history of the seven tapestries, but Scharfman glosses over it, losing his chance to experiment with unicorn lore. 

This information would have been especially helpful when this rag-tag, mixed-income crew begins fighting more of the mythical horses. While Scharfman stages entertaining scenes with the CGI-rendered creatures — recasting them as killing machines and reveling in the number of ways the regenerative animals can die — the internal logic of their behavior makes it challenging to fully commit to the bit. The stakes don’t feel as high when the unicorns’ abilities shift at the convenience of the plot. 

Invested turns from Scharfman’s excellent assembled cast carry Death of a Unicorn. Grant, Leoni and Poulter cinch their portrayals as one-percenters who mask their cruelty with an exaggerated performance of generosity. Their relationship with their butler Griff is a particularly amusing thread that allows Carrigan (Barry) to shore up a relatively thin role with subtle physical comedy and ace timing. 

Rudd and Ortega add an understated sweetness to Scharfman’s film. Their relationship, initially splintered by grief, develops in meaningful ways over the course of this unlikely adventure. The pair channel a believable chemistry as father and daughter that lands the emotional poignancy of a penultimate scene.

It’s within their relationship that Death of a Unicorn finds its footing and offers a more unique approach to a familiar story. Before they hit the unicorn, Elliot and Ridley struggle to navigate the rough landscape of their sadness. Their conversations are awkward and fractured by the blunt force of an untimely death. Even when they share a space, it always feels like they are operating on different planes. While this adventure doesn’t necessarily heal them, it does help them see one another a little more clearly.