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Jenna Ortega has a confession to make: she likes blood. The more of it, the better. Already she’s been covered in buckets of the substance throughout her career, which includes a bounty of genre darlings running the gamut from Scream VI to Ti West’s X. And never once in all those chillers has she tired of the red-dyed corn syrup.
“Maybe if it’s cold outside and it’s like four in the morning,” Ortega begins while considering the downsides of cinematic gore. But the thought exercise just won’t stick. “No, I can’t really even say that. I always like it whenever they bring the blood. It’s like you’re getting into the good stuff.”
In which case, Ortega and audiences are about to be swimming in good stuff, and rest assured that with the star’s latest movie, it is of a vintage never seen before. In Alex Scharfman’s Death of a Unicorn, not only does the blood flow plentifully, but it is also opalescent, shimmering, and imbued with restorative properties. Or: it’s magic purple goo that twinkles in the sunlight, and by the end of the movie everyone’s dying for it.
To Ortega, this is part and parcel of making a distinctly A24 genre mashup that plays toward her own eccentric sensibilities. She’s done horror; she’s done comedy; but it’s a one-of-a-kind experience to be hiding in the grass beneath a car on a warm Hungarian night and see out of the corner of your eye a practical unicorn horn stalking around the vehicle. “It’s just so funny to me,” Ortega says. “It looks like the shark fin from Jaws. There’s something that is so strange and funny about that, and also still scary… that image made me very happy.”
It even makes up for the practicalities of the aforementioned purple blood, which the actress later acknowledges has “got a bit more sparkle to it. The unicorn blood had some glitter. So it’s harder getting off.”
Such must be the perils, though, of making the first movie where these magical creatures are absolutely, and quite literally, Old Testament terrifying.
Divine Monsters
The filmmaker who dreamed up Death of a Unicorn recognizes when we catch up with him that it’s kind of funny he was never a unicorn guy. Like almost anyone around the world, Alex Scharfman grew up aware of the majestic beasts of yore—or, more commonly these days, gentle family fantasies like My Little Pony. As a New York City kid, young Scharfman went repeatedly to the Met Cloisters in Washington Heights where the famed Hunt of the Unicorn tapestries from the Middle Ages reside. The white steed with a luminescent antler was omnipresent in his life, if never at the top of mind. Yet, somehow, the beast was still able to pierce through the subconscious.
“It started like a lot of my ideas often do,” Scharfman tells Den of Geek. “It’s a scene or an image, a kernel of something, and it kept sticking in my brain.” There would be a father and a daughter standing somewhere, as well as an impossible thing bleeding out in front of them. “I had the idea nearly a decade ago… and it was always just a family driving, and in the midst of having a relatively banal or grounded conversation, they accidentally kill a unicorn with their car.”
Nearly 10 years later, it’s a dream turned reality, not to mention Scharfman’s first feature as director. When we sit down with the helmer, the movie is barely two weeks away from its premiere as a SXSW headliner, and the last touches are still being woven in. In fact, Scharfman has ducked out of his sound mix stage to chat with us in a nearby room. He seems both visibly proud and wary of congratulations, apparently not wishing to jinx things until the film is locked.
Nevertheless, it already stands as a culmination of what, in the hands of others, could have simply been a sketch gag or a one-off bit in a conventional comedy. Even Scharfman admits he originally imagined it to be a short film. Yet the more he toyed with the concept (sometimes substituting the unicorn with other magical creatures to see if it might play differently), the more he realized he had a truly killer opening for a larger story. Seriously, who doesn’t want to revel in a tale where a father and daughter mercy-kill the ethereal?
“When I first saw this script in my inbox, I thought, ‘I’m probably going to want to do this one,’” Ortega laughs about how she learned of the concept. Even better, the story gets right to it with Ortega’s character Ridley and her father, Paul Rudd’s mild-mannered Elliot, delivering the coup de grâce by page 10. “I love it when a script doesn’t waste time. It’s nice to just get into it. Like we want to see the unicorn.”
But the unicorn Rudd and Ortega’s characters see is not the beatific wonder doted on by Ridley Scott or Rankin/Bass. It has heavy clawed hooves, long cruel fangs, and hair that darkens with its mood. As one character surmises on the real unicorns of antiquity, they were supposed to be “divine monsters.” Which is true.
“The first recorded unicorn story goes back to like 400 B.C.,” Scharfman explains. “And it used to be a much more wild kind of monstrous creature that you have for most of their history.” The writer-director’s excitement is infectious as he rattles off facts and speculations. Roman historians might have misunderstood reports of Indian rhinoceroses when repeating tales of unicorns, and “in the Old Testament, the word used for unicorn, when you translate it back, is re’em, which actually meant aurochs… so [they were] more of a wild bull.”
What also became clear the more Scharfman researched the creature is they could be something that appealed to his heightened storytelling instincts. These were beings to be feared, respected, and in absolutely no uncertain terms, fucked with. “Old World gods,” as the filmmaker sums up.
He even found his way back to those Hunt of the Unicorn tapestries he saw as a child: “I became interested in the specific medieval unicorn mythology, and then [those tapestries] quickly came to the fore,” Scharfman explains. “Somewhere in the outlining stages, it became this idea of turning the movie into an adaptation of the tapestries.”
Believed to have been produced sometime around the turn of the 16th century in the Netherlands, this Gothic masterpiece is composed of seven murals depicting the men who seek to kill and extract a unicorn’s healing abilities… and the creature’s refusal to stay down.
“We referenced them all the time,” says Ortega. “I mean, they’re kind of a dead giveaway if you have any knowledge of them for what the film really is… It’s like a cheat sheet.”
As her director muses, “All the violence of the second half of the movie and a lot of the creature feature fun is brought into that more formal language of the Middle Ages, and the tapestries themselves.” It was an ancient way to speak about the world of here and now.
Fathers and Daughters
When we meet Rudd’s Elliot and Ortega’s Ridley, neither resembles a character from fantasy or crumbling texts. They’re an everyday father and daughter, moments away from discovering the last extraordinary thing in the world after it falls beneath the wheels of their car. The scenario is preposterous, but the characterization of a family still grieving the loss of Elliot’s wife and Ridley’s mother is not.
“I don’t think we’ve properly dealt with [the loss], either one of us but particularly me, in the healthiest of ways,” Rudd tells us of the schism in the relationship between his and Ortega’s characters. “There’s a lot of love between us, but it does feel as if we’re just a little bit off track.”
Ortega would agree, suggesting that until the characters can acknowledge aloud their continued sense of loss, there is no ability to heal. The implications this has for two folks about to discover the curative powers of a unicorn are obvious, but it’s even stronger when considering where the two are headed in a nigh-deserted nature preserve: the summer home of the Leopold family, a billionaire pharmaceutical dynasty and Elliot’s new prospective clients.
“Paul’s playing someone who is grappling with a lot of very real conflicts of conscience as an adult in the 21st century,” says Scharfman. “He’s trying to make a living, provide for a family, and all of the moral relativism that comes with that when you choose to be an attorney for a pharmaceutical company.”
It’s also created a divide between a father and daughter that seems ever pertinent.
“When they’re young and idealistic, kids say, ‘You can’t do morally corrupt things to earn money,’” Rudd considers, “and sometimes as you get older, you can somehow talk yourself into certain things because you need to pay your rent.” Death of a Unicorn is thus touching on the age divide in this current moment. However, it’s also about disparate generations coming together—on and off the screen.
“Whether it’s someone playing my parent or somebody playing a love interest, I try to connect with people through music,” Ortega explains of her process of building a rapport with co-stars. “I think that’s the easiest way just to get a better understanding of somebody.” So she and Rudd broke ice and bread by exchanging playlists, often by way of the younger thespian introducing the older to new sounds.
“I’m blown away by her depth of musical knowledge; she was playing me stuff that I’d never heard, from all different decades, that was just so good,” Rudd beams. “I didn’t know about the Amazing Blondel, but I listen to the Amazing Blondel so much now, and that’s all from Jenna.”
In a certain sense, the film is about the eternal divide between fathers and daughters. In another, it is derived from the extreme present.
Eat the Rich
When Elliot and Ridley show up at the Leopold estate, still splattered in liquid lavender, the father thinks he is there to find a client. Instead, it is a modern-day liege lord that awaits. Odell Leopold (Richard E. Grant) and his family might greet Elliot as a new “amigo” and legal partner, but in actuality they yearn for a miracle cure for Odell’s late-stage tumors. Played with freakish flair by an ensemble that also includes Téa Leoni as the patriarch’s polished wife Belinda and Will Poulter as a callow son who will put almost anything up his nose, the Leopolds and their servants gather round the old man’s bedside as if reenacting a tableau of a dying king and his attendants.
“I was trying to think about the movie writ large,” says Scharfman. “To update a medieval story to the 21st century, a captain of industry, an oligarch, is essentially a feudal lord. They do have their fiefdom, and his fiefdom is the pharmaceutical industry… it’s just not a geographical fiefdom; now it’s an industrial one, it’s a corporate one.”
If it were a tapestry, Elliot would be here to bend the knee—and avert his gaze from the weirdos of the realm. As Rudd muses, “The thing about Alex is he’s got an economy with language, and he writes so descriptively about these kinds of upper-crust people who are horrible.”
One doesn’t need to squint to see the modern parallels of the current moment when this family discovers unicorns are real and begins dreaming of selling their lifeforce to any friends in Davos who’ve had a public health scare. Rudd even cracks he could find a corrupt pharmaceutical family’s latest scandal by simply scrolling through today’s headlines.
Still, all involved seem a little shocked at how prescient this movie’s turned out “in a Luigi Mangione sense,” as Scharfman acknowledges.
“I didn’t see that coming specifically,” he adds, “but I do think there’s a rising tide that people have seen coming for a while, though I don’t know how high that tide will get.” And despite not necessarily being a fan of so-called “eat the rich” movies, the filmmaker admits there’s something in the zeitgeist; after all, Death of a Unicorn is “the only one of these movies where some of the rich are literally eaten.”
Creatures Featured
As perceptive as the subtext of Death of a Unicorn becomes, the text ultimately remains the film’s star attraction, and by movie’s end, it’s in bold capital letters as the thing turns into a throwback to the creature features of yesteryear. There’s a monster outside the house, and it wants in.
“It was cool because we actually used puppets,” Ortega says of the film’s many practical moments where she came eyeball-to-eyeball with a unicorn. “So you just kind of have to ignore the people huffing and puffing and doing backbends to hide their bodies off-camera.”
No stranger to visual effects either, Rudd took a special pleasure in the retro charm of it all, revealing his phone is chock-full of photos of malevolent unicorns captured in mid-construction.
“I remember the first day when we were all on the soundstage for filming and saw some of the unicorns being built, and how they worked with the puppeteers, and how they made the hooves move,” Rudd says. “I thought the craftsmanship that went into making them was incredible, and every detail, just from the eyes to the hair on the puppets, you couldn’t believe you weren’t looking at the real thing.”
This includes shots where it might just be a guy holding a unicorn’s head on a stick in front of Rudd. It’s ridiculous in the moment but effective onscreen. It also deliberately evokes some of Stan Winston’s velociraptor tricks in the original Jurassic Park.
Smiles Scharfman, “I started realizing the creatures were about the same size as the raptors in proportion to the humans. This led to ‘oh, they can get inside the house!’ which you don’t get with a lot of creature movies. So that became a fun reference point.”
Raptors, xenomorphs, and George Romero zombies were all namechecked among the influences in the film—as were intriguingly the Coen Brothers and Bong Joon-ho. As it turns out, not every “creature” element is meant to terrorize. Some, in fact, are transcendent, such as the first time Ortega touches the fabled horn and communes with the beast in a kaleidoscopic symphony of imagery and harp music.
“It’s this otherworldly supernatural attachment to this creature,” Ortega says of her kinship with the beast. “It takes her on this celestial journey into the unknown. It’s everything that we think the afterlife would be, and it’s like all of these realms existing at once, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life, and it’s the most terrifying thing you’ve ever seen.”
It also hints that there is more at play with these steeds’ intelligence than just an appetite. Says Ortega, “I think in a way they’re almost trying to enlighten Ridley. It’s this understanding that they need to protect one another, that they are one, which I guess makes sense coming from a unicorn who’s endangered. You might want to form some sympathy!”
The Maiden Fair
Death of a Unicorn can be a strange beast. It’s funny. It’s scary. It wants to be, as its director says, “someone’s favorite movie,” provided that fave is silly, highly rewatchable, but never “junk food.” It is perhaps a film meant for someone like the character of Ridley—a vaper who would appreciate that she’s inspired by art history.
“I was trying to think of what is a pure-hearted maiden in 2025,” Scharfman says about the final major influence from medieval mythology: a young woman who can enchant a unicorn. “And that’s probably an idealist empath who’s on a college campus somewhere protesting right now.”
Says Ortega, “I mean down to even that big red jacket that I wear, it was inspired by the cloak the maiden is wearing in the tapestries.”
The movie toys with generational and class differences, and has at least one elite consumed à la carte by stallions, but it is reaching toward something the director hopes is finally aspirational.
“With my generation, it’s a blessing and a curse to have the internet because we have the world at our fingertips, and we can educate ourselves as much as we want to, or we can fall down rabbit holes as much as we want to,” Ortega considers. “But the general feeling, and what kind of gives me hope for my generation, is that for the most part, we are doing our best to be open and empathetic and supportive of so many different walks of life.”
That can include the unicorns they meet along the way. Sure, the ones in this movie are ferocious, ravenous, and sometimes prone to wholesale slaughter, but they’re also inspired by real-life animals. Even that glittery purple blood carries meaning.
“There’s something interesting in creating a fictional creature that somehow lives between warm and cold-blooded,” Scharfman says. “Obviously, red plus blue equals purple.” But he also notes that throughout the movie, Rudd’s Elliot is coded in blue while Ortega’s Ridley is in red.
“As the movie progresses, they’re moving toward each other,” the director adds. “Which gives you purple.” The good stuff.
Death of a Unicorn premieres at SXSW on March 8 and opens nationwide on March 28.
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