Since he first hit the big screen in two wildly different 1995 movies, Clueless and Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers, the seemingly ageless Paul Rudd has spent time in plenty of imaginations. Who hasn't filled seconds, minutes or hours thinking about how Baz Luhrmann chose him as the unwanted romantic alternative in Romeo + Juliet, or how nothing Wet Hot American Summer-related would be the same without him? Who hasn't pondered how Rudd was ideally cast as Ant-Man, and also in both Parks and Recreation and Only Murders in the Building, too? Given how far the actor's resume stretches on around all of those projects, there's always a reason to have Rudd on the brain. Writer/director Alex Scharfman initially met him after penning a screenplay called The Cats of Baxley, then had a Rudd-centric idea pop into his head: the extremely likeable actor killing a unicorn. Getting one of the most-beloved actors currently working to slay one of the most-cherished mythical creatures there is: now that's quite the concept for anyone's mind to conjure up, and also quite the unique way to start a film. That movie is Death of a Unicorn, the A24-backed genre mashup that kicks off with a widowed father and his college-aged daughter — Elliot and Ridley Kintner, played by Rudd (Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire) and Jenna Ortega (Beetlejuice Beetlejuice) — stunned that they've accidentally hit one of the titular creatures. They're also in shock that such a critter is real. The pair are meant to be on a business trip to the Canadian Rockies, to the estate owned by Elliot's boss, who is in pharmaceuticals and loaded as a result. Elliot sees the getaway as way to boost his career; Ridley would rather be anywhere else. A unicorn encounter isn't something that can just be shaken, though — especially if a billionaire can monetise it, and if nature isn't fond of being messed with. Scharfman's debut feature is a monster movie about unicorns, so a film firmly in the horror-comedy mould. It's an eat-the-rich satire, too. Death of a Unicorn plays with viewer expectations of a picture with Rudd at its core, getting someone so adored for so long portraying a man who constantly makes terrible decisions. Equally, it tasks Ortega with being the film's emotional and empathetic centre as the person instantly attuned to the unicorns, and to the fact that every choice being made around her is wrong (and driven by chasing cash and power). With a killer cast that also spans Richard E Grant (The Franchise) as pharma company head Odell Leopold, Téa Leoni (Madam Secretary) as his wife Belinda and Will Poulter (Black Mirror) as their son Shepard — as well as Anthony Carrigan (Barry) and Jessica Hynes (Am I Being Unreasonable?) among the clan's hired help, plus Sunita Mani (Fantasmas) and Steve Park (Mickey 17) as scientists — it's also a playful creature feature that digs into unicorn lore alongside class structures and hierarchies, commodifying nature, plus capitalism, colonialism and imperialism. That all sprang from the flick's first scene materialising in Scharfman's imagination, then from the filmmaker's deep dive into the mythology surrounding the fabled one-horned animals — and realising what those stories say about society, not merely centuries back but also now. The picture works The Unicorn Tapestries from the Middle Ages into the plot prominently, courtesy of Ridley studying art history; however, as the Leopolds, especially the dying Odell, focus on potential miracle cures and the big bucks that their wealthy peers would pay for them, that's just one of the director's touchpoints. As always evident to Death of a Unicorn's audience, Scharfman has followed the path that his unicorn research has taken him down— through tales typically "about a lord, it's about a king, a nobleman, sending out their court, all their servants, the people who have no choice in the matter, the people who have to do it, and sending them out into nature to capture the uncapturable, so that this this object of purity, this resource, can be owned and possessed and commodified", he tells Concrete Playground — and found modern-day parallels in the pharmaceutical realm. He's interrogating commodification not just of nature and animals, but resources, knowledge, medicine, health and life-saving treatment, and tearing into the imbalance in access that comes with it. That said, never forgetting the type of movie that he's crafting, Scharfman has equally gleaned inspiration from a wealth of films and TV shows, resulting in a mix of Jaws, Jurassic Park, Succession, ET the Extra-Terrestrial, The Creature From the Black Lagoon, Evil Dead, The Rules of the Game, John Carpenter flicks, Korean cinema and more as clear influences. Before dreaming of Rudd dispensing with unicorns, and before turning that idea into a cinematic reality in a SXSW-premiering picture, Scharfman started solidifying his filmmaking voice by writing and directing his own shorts — and also producing features. Keep the Lights On, Selah and the Spades, Resurrection, House of Spoils: they're just some of the projects that he's been involved in. How did that background assist with Death of a Unicorn? Did Scharfman ever imagine a version of his directorial debut without Rudd? How crucial is Ortega in grounding the feature's chaos, and how pivotal is the scene-stealing Poulter in helping set the comedic tone? We chatted to Death of a Unicorn's guiding force about all of that, coming up with the initial concept, his research, that huge lineup of inspirations and more. On Conjuring Up the Concept for the Film — and for Starting It with Paul Rudd Killing a Unicorn "The first thing I thought of in the movie is the opening sequence. A family kills a unicorn, and a father and daughter specifically, then need to put it out of its misery — for lack of a better turn of phrase. So that was always the initial intention, and that was where the movie started for me. Then it grew out of that seed and that premise and that idea, not knowing where it was going to go, and it took the shape that it did hopefully organically. And I also wrote that role for Paul. So they were both always the plan. Paul is incredibly likeable. And Paul is, frustratingly — he's likeable as a performer, and he's frustratingly likeable as a person, too, because you want to find something wrong with him and he doesn't have it. He's just an incredibly at-peace, generous, kind person. And there was something that I thought was interesting on a narrative level of making him unlikeable, because I think he has this inherent likeability, and that we could tolerate a lot of bad behaviour from him and wait until he comes around, or hope that he comes around, to become the Paul Rudd who we love. So I think there was something that was interesting to me about veiling that Paul Rudd we know and love, and shrouding him in anxiety and stress at the beginning of the movie — and telling you 'he's going to become the Paul Rudd we love by the end of the movie, but he's not going to be that guy at the beginning of the movie', and to give him an arc to become that. And I think that came through, I hope, in this sense of this character who's had some misfortunes — the universe has thrown him some curveballs, and he's gotten some bad luck along the way — and what that might do to someone to start ratcheting up their anxiety with financial, personal, otherwise, in a way where they're always trying to look ahead at what might go wrong. The real Paul Rudd has had an incredibly blessed life and is a really sweet person, and is totally present and in the moment and wonderful. And the thought was 'well, how we get the opposite of that to that place?'. And so, yeah, I thought it was an interesting challenge to weaponise Paul Rudd's likeability." On Always Imagining Rudd in the Lead — and the Journey That That Key Piece of Casting Takes Audiences On "The hope was to understand why he's making bad decisions, and to understand his moral compromise and the perspective of moral relativism that he's had to adopt as a means of coping with the world, navigating his way through the world, and also providing for his daughter — who I think he's taken a very literal approach to 'how do I be a good parent?'. It's 'I provide for her and that's what I'm supposed to do, and as long as I have amassed enough financial security, then anything that comes our way, we'll be able to tackle and address as best we can'. Because they've had, as I said before, he's been kicked in the teeth from the universe before. Things have happened to him that were no one's fault that just sort of happened, and that happens to people. And I think that that gave him a certain kind of limp, that's an invisible limp that he walks with for the rest of his life until the events of this movie — and he hopefully shakes that limp. But in terms of 'was it ever anyone else?', no. I always liked the idea of it being this morally compromised lawyer, because I think something interesting about lawyers is that's a skillset that could be applied in any direction. And there's something interesting about the nature of the legal system and that everyone's entitled to representation, even guilty people. There's a certain moral vacuum. That's literally what they refer to it as, lawyers: the moral vacuum, a place where you don't make a moral judgment. And I thought that was always an interesting perspective to have for a protagonist. And usually I feel like the lawyer in Jurassic Park was killed quite unceremoniously, and I thought it would be interesting to say 'what if that guy was the hero?'. Or I thought a lot about the actress who's married to Kenneth Lonergan [Manchester by the Sea], who played Gerri in Succession, who's so great: J Smith-Cameron [Hacks]. I was like 'oh, what if she was the lead of a movie, that character?'. And so was it ever not that? I always hoped it would be Paul. I certainly entertained 'well, what if Paul says no'. And I thought about other people in the role if I had to, but thankfully he said yes and I never had to." On the Wide Range of Influences, From Succession and Jurassic Park to ET and Korean Cinema, That Helped Inspire Death of a Unicorn "I wish I could say that the tone was something I thought about and meditated on for a long time. It always felt like that was just the expression of the movie to me. I think unicorns are, in our consciousness, magical, in a way that they're not just monsters. You can't treat a unicorn like a xenopmorh, because I don't think then you're treating a unicorn — you can make a horror movie that features unicorns that isn't a unicorn horror movie, if that makes sense. You want to be true to the emotional associations that we all have with unicorns, to make sure that you're doing justice to that for all the unicorn lovers out there and for everyone who has a passive understanding of a unicorn that has a certain magical association. And so that sort of conjured, in my mind, a certain Amblin kind of magic — you know, that ET kind of way. And The Abyss also has that in spades, certainly. But then I also thought about subverting that, and that led me down a road of the Alien and Aliens and Evil Deads of the world. And An American Werewolf in London, certainly, too. So there was a lot of that hybridisation. But then at the end of the day, I was also thinking 'well, I don't think you could do a unicorn movie with a total straight face, as a unicorn horror movie. You have to be funny'. I think there has to be some awareness of the absurdity in that. I think if you just did that with a straight face, it would get real boring real fast. And so it kind of presented itself in this way, that it was like 'well, it's a monster movie' so it has to have these things like Jaws and Alien and Aliens, and those sort of movies — and Creature From the Black Lagoon and so forth. But then we have all this warmth associated with them. And so that brings in the ETs of the world. And there's a great Val Guest movie, The Abominable Snowman, which is wonderful and has these benevolent yeti monsters that are really interesting. And The Abyss, also again, to go back to that one, has these benevolent monsters, that it's on us not to fuck with them, you know? Like, they will decimate us if they decide to, but it's our prerogative to make sure they don't want to. So anyhow, these influences all coalesced, and I think it became clarified through a certain Korean sensibility — thinking about The Host or Train to Busan, or Thirst, which is a very different movie. But there's something about those movies, and I think a general Korean sensibility, is that they aren't afraid to combine influences and to swing, and to say 'we're going to be funny here and absurd, and then we're going to be scary over here, and then this emotionality is going to be building underneath all of that'. The Host is such a favourite movie of mine. It opens with Song Kang-ho [Cobweb] doing these brilliant pratfalls and physical comedy, and then it ends with this tragic loss at the end of the movie that's really heartbreaking. And then through the middle, it's almost like The Royal Tenenbaums on a monster hunt. It's this dysfunctional family of adult estranged siblings. And you're going 'wait, what? This movie does all of these things?'. And it has this anti-American, -colonial, -capitalist satire threaded through all that. And yet somehow I watch that movie and I'm like 'what a perfect movie'. My hope was when you watch those kind of movies — and Train to Busan is another one that contained zombies, action and high-concept, but also is a commentary about selfishness and self-interest, and then also this father-daughter story that makes me cry every time I watch it. There's something about that that's like, I don't know, somehow that has a spine that allows it move through all these zones. And I think if you commit to it, hopefully that's okay. So that's sort of what I was aspiring to do, I suppose." On Connecting Unicorn Lore and Mythology to Class Structures, Commodifying Nature, Colonialism and Capitalism "I outline a lot, so I try to accrue a lot of information and thoughts and research and material. John Houston has this great quote where he said 'don't start writing till you can't stop', and so I try to do that. So what I end up doing is, I end up thinking about things a lot. I very early on got to unicorn mythology, and I zeroed in on the Middle Ages — because I think the tapestries are brilliant, and I love them, beautiful pieces of art, but that's sort of when unicorn narratives became really cohesive and codified, in a way. Before that, there were unicorns, but they weren't in a traditional structure. And then in the Middle Ages, the hunt narratives became quite, not formulaic per se, but that was the archetypical unicorn story, it was about a unicorn hunt. And when I realised that, I was like 'oh, well this provides a basis for a parallel to a creature-feature structure', in the sense of those kind of James Cameron-y or Spielberg-y monster movies where very often they're on a hunt. That's what most of that second act of Alien is about. And same with almost the entirety of Aliens, that is about a monster hunt. And so that made a lot of sense to me. And again, that Val Guest Abominable Snowman, that's a monster-hunt movie. The Creature From the Black Lagoon: monster-hunt movie. There's a very traditional structure. But then when I started thinking about medieval unicorn mythology in a contemporary context, it also invites a lot of thought about class structure, and those are very much stories about social hierarchy. It's about a lord, it's about a king, a nobleman, sending out their court, all their servants, the people who have no choice in the matter, the people who have to do it, and sending them out into nature to capture the uncapturable, so that this this object of purity, this resource, can be owned and possessed and commodified. And so when I was like 'okay, well I'm updating unicorn mythology, unicorn myth', that's what the lore is. It's like, well, how could it not be about those things? And when you realise that unicorns were prized for their curative properties, it naturally invites a conversation with healthcare and pharmaceuticals. And so it's funny. How I like to write is just to find a string and start pulling and see where it leads me, and it seems like the story presented itself as being about class, about the social structures that we live in today and also about pharmaceuticals. And so it naturally provided this context to consider an oligarchic, industrialist family as if it was a former nobleman or noble lord's family with their fiefdom, but their fiefdom is an industry." On Enlisting Jenna Ortega to Be the Film's Emotional Centre, Audience Surrogate and Voice of Wisdom "I wrote the role and figured out the characters based on what the story was asking for and what their dynamics were, and then I got to the end of that process and we were like, with the studio, with A24, they're like 'let's start casting the movie'. And I realised, I was like 'holy shit, what have I done? Who can play this role?'. Ridley is such a challenging role because, yeah, she's the vehicle of exposition. She's the character who the audience identifies with. She's the most — I try not to write anyone as like a straight man, I think comedies are most fun when everyone has their own weird game that they're playing, but she's certainly among the most-grounded, probably. I think her and Anthony's character are the most grounded in terms of their perspective. And so, yeah, it's a really hard role to figure out. And I'm so fortunate, we only offered the role to one person and she said yes, and that person is Jenna Ortega. She's an absolutely just knockout performer. Every take is great. So I don't know, what did I have to do? I had to get lucky. I wrote Jenna a letter and I asked her to please be in my movie and save it. And she did. And so I just showed up every day and we'd talk about things a lot, but the truth is Jenna's just an incredible performer. She's so good. She's just one of those actors that you just point the camera at her, she's going to do it." On the Importance of Will Poulter's Comic Timing, and Ability to Lean Into His Character's Privilege and Obliviousness, to Help Set the Comedic Tone "Shep's voice was one that came off the page pretty early in the writing process, where it was hard not to keep writing for his voice. He's one of those characters that — and Will figured it out so beautifully — it's just a character that you just want to keep giving him stuff to say. You just want him to react. He's in a great position, too, as far as comic structure, in that he gets to react to a lot of things. He doesn't have to drive a lot of things. The scenes, he gets to just be present in them and be arrogant and lack any self-awareness. But Will totally landed it and nailed, I think, the tone. And did this amazing feat — that's a very heightened character that he somehow found an emotional centre for, and he grounded that character in a sense of, I think, inadequacy, and bravado around that inadequacy. And wanting to be told that he's enough as a person, trying to earn his parents' love and respect. And I think he, in doing so, built a character that's both heightened and yet grounded, and so both villainous and yet I kind of sympathise with him. I look at that character and I'm like 'oh, man, you've got into a bad situation where psychologically you've been put in this position that your parents have really done a number on you, and there's nothing you can do about it because it's all it's too late now, it's all locked in'. The dark humour of the movie and the pace of the jokes and dialogue all lives in the performance, and the Leopold family really gets to let that rip. They get to be unmoored. And Will totally got it. And Téa and Richard are also comic geniuses, I think, and totally understood the commitment to the bit. And I'm just so lucky they all chose to be in the movie." On How Scharfman's Experience as a Producer for Over a Decade Helped Him Make the Leap to Directing His First Feature "It was invaluable. I've worked as a producer for a long time. And it built up a comfort level on set. To be honest, when I started working in film, I wanted to be a writer and a producer, and I was a little bit scared of directing. It's a really daunting task, and I had, I hope, a respect for it, a reverence for it, that I don't think I could have — I didn't want to go out and be directing at the outset of my career, and I think I only gained that perspective over time, and the desire to do it as well, as I got more comfortable on set. So I would say producing the features that I have just built up my comfort level with the apparatus, of the machine, of a film set, which is such a specific working environment — and understanding how to problem-solve in that kind of context, how to be creative in that context, how to create the right environment. And that trickles into the writing in invisible ways, just the choices you make. I've seen filmmakers make great choices and I've seen filmmakers make choices they regret later. And not that any of those films that I made were dry runs or anything like that, those are films that I'm all proud of, but you just gain experience by being around an apparatus like that, by making movies and by being part of it. And I think I've gained a lot of experience. I've worked as a professional screenwriter for several years as well, not quite as long as I've been a professional producer, but you learn a tremendous amount by working in development on other scripts and by developing your own scripts simultaneously. So I like to think that it's just a holistic perspective. It's hard to isolate an experience that like 'this experience taught me that' — it's just all cumulative to become who you are and the lens through which you see the world. So I don't know exactly how, but I know it's helped me. I know I felt more comfortable on a set, and I know I've been around enough practical effects and stunts and things like that that I felt it was within my capacity to execute an execution-dependent film like this as my first feature. There's a lot to bite off in the film, but I don't think I would have been capable of doing that if I hadn't been building towards this over the course of over a decade of just learning about the filmmaking process." Death of a Unicorn opened in cinemas Down Under on Thursday, April 10, 2025.