In Death of a Unicorn, the high-concept horror-comedy from Alex Scharfman, we get a delightfully gruesome and bitingly satirical take on corporate greed and scientific hubris. Anchored by a sharp script, an enviable cast, and some genuinely gnarly kills, the film is a wildly entertaining ride that feels Jurassic Park-coded in all the best ways. A certain modern-rustic aesthetic to the mansion setting recalls Hammond's dino-cloning estate and a late-game set piece in the kitchen might as well be a spiritual successor to that Velociraptor scene. But unlike Spielberg's masterpiece, Death of a Unicorn takes a more anarchic and irreverent approach, blending class warfare with creature-feature carnage in a way that will have you cackling in delight one moment and wincing at grisly disembowelments the next.

Paul Rudd stars as a well-meaning but weak-willed father, constantly sucking up to his morally corrupt corporate overlords in the hopes of securing a better future for his daughter, played by Jenna Ortega. Ortega is fine in the role, though she does play another variation of her now-signature brand of angsty teen—sarcastic, rebellious, and unwilling to entertain the self-serving justifications of the adults around her. At the same time, she casually exhales a plume of vape smoke, letting her disinterest linger in the air as thickly as the vapor itself. But it works well here, nonetheless. While her father tries to toe the corporate line, she's very much against everything these one-percenters stand for. This makes for entertaining clashes as they attempt to justify their greed in ways that only make them sound more oblivious.

The catalyst for the madness arrives when, en route to a lavish corporate retreat/nature reserve, Elliot (Rudd) and his daughter Ridley (Ortega) accidentally hit what seems to be a unicorn with their car. At first, Elliot is wont to hide this from his superiors, fearing it will cost him his chance for advancement. But when this mythological creature turns out to have immense pharmaceutical potential, it sets the corporate machine into overdrive. If a single unicorn could provide miraculous medical advancements, what if more are out there? The film gleefully escalates as corporate interests shift from cautious research to a focus on rapidly pursuing high-value success stories. While the discovery boosts Elliot's standing with his superiors, it intensifies the conflict between him and Ridley. Ridley attempts to warn everyone about the potential repercussions of the surviving unicorns still roaming the reserve.

Will Poulter, easily my favorite performance in the film, plays a member of the obscenely wealthy family that owns the facility alongside Richard E. Grant and Téa Leoni, who are all equally delightful in their cartoonish villainy. This family, in particular, feels like a perfect embodiment of the Martin Shkreli types of the world—those who hoard resources, exploit scarcities, and feign benevolence while padding their own pockets. The writing doesn't just make them despicable; it makes them enjoyably despicable, the kind of detestable elite you love to hate and can't wait to see meet their inevitably bloody ends. Their casual disregard for ethics is summed up in a moment when Shepard, barely containing his excitement, exclaims, "Cancer?! That's the biggest one!" at the pharmaceutical potential of unicorns. Each member of this twisted dynasty has a different angle on the situation—some are in it purely for the money, others for the legacy, and a few, terrifyingly, for the sheer power of playing god, delighting in the ability to control life and death as though they were untouchable. The film ensures that their greed and hubris are fully displayed, painting them as cartoonishly evil yet all too believable, making their inevitable comeuppance all the more satisfying.

The kills are spectacular. While the film's satirical jabs are sharp, they never get in the way of the horror elements. Once fully unleashed, the unicorns exact their revenge in a series of kills that are grotesque and darkly comedic. These aren't the dainty, ethereal creatures of fairy tales—they are creatures with righteous fury, and the film emphasizes the contrast between their majestic, shimmering beauty and the brutal ways they dispatch their prey. One sequence involving a particularly ruthless impalement had me fully satisfied in my bloodlust. But there are plenty of surprising and fun kills abound.

Low key, this film might also explain how Paul Rudd has seemingly achieved eternal youth. There's something amusingly meta about seeing him in a movie centered around the pharmaceutical secrets of unicorns, given that Rudd himself looks like he's been drinking from the fountain of youth for decades. It's the kind of casting that feels like an inside joke, and it only makes the film more fun.

For all its satire and carnage, though, Death of a Unicorn is just a super fun flick. The tone perfectly balances horror and humor, with moments of genuine tension giving way to laugh-out-loud absurdity. It's a film that relishes in its own ridiculousness without ever feeling like it's winking too hard at the audience. Scharfman understands precisely the kind of movie he's making and commits to it fully. There are even moments of unexpected heart, particularly in the relationship between Elliot and Ridley, which gives the story just enough emotional grounding amid all the blood and mayhem.

The film's visual style similarly balances humor and horror, seamlessly blending fantastical, cartoonish elements with moments of brutal, graphic violence. Scharfman directs with a heightened aesthetic, using bold, saturated colors and dynamic camera movements that amplify the comedy and the carnage. The striking imagery of shimmering purple unicorn blood and other whimsical details contrast sharply with the gruesome carnage, creating a uniquely stylized experience. This distinct tone makes it a film I'm especially eager to revisit with my kids—not because it's a family-friendly movie (it certainly isn't), but because my children, in particular, aren't fazed by violence when it leans heavily into fantasy rather than realism.

Death of a Unicorn is a rare beast: a genuinely hilarious and thrilling horror-comedy. With a pitch-perfect cast, gnarly kills, and a biting satire of the ultra-wealthy, it delivers everything I wanted. Consider me ready for another ride when it inevitably gains cult status. And if there's any justice in the world, someone will make an equally insane sequel.