Imagining Things

 A trio of duds from debut filmmakers ...

DEATH OF A UNICORN (D+) - Very little makes sense -- even in a world of unicorns -- in this unfunny and needlessly gory black comedy about a nerdy lawyer and his daughter whose car strikes a mythical creature on the way to a dying rich client's mansion. 

Debut writer-director Alex Scharfman has way too many creative but dumb ideas about how a unicorn (and its unicorn army) can wreak havoc and exact revenge. This is part "Ghostbusters" and part "Alien," with no discernible payoff in either comedy or horror. 

You might be lured in by the cast. Don't be. Paul Rudd is a dud as the bumbling Everyman. Jenna Ortega ("Wednesday") is asked to bug her eyes a lot and act frightened. She has one scene where a delightful side of her character comes out -- on the early drive before the accident -- but she is throttled the rest of the way. Richard Grant plays that insufferable twit he always plays. Tea Leoni ends a long screen drought but is drained of her appeal. Anthony Carrigan (HBO's "Barry") makes the most hay as the put-upon servant, flirting with breaking the fourth wall with his deadpan asides.

But none of this adds up. The plot is a familiar one -- the horn and the blood of the dead unicorn (or IS it dead??) have miraculous healing powers, so the government scientists descend immediately to not only try to cure Grant's character, but also to lay claim to world-changing potions that seem to be the inevitable byproduct of this serendipitous hit-and-run. 

But none of this is interesting. It's hectic beyond belief. The plot twists are ludicrous. Once unicorns start rampaging throughout the compound, you roll your eyes at the inventive ways Paul Rudd can somehow outrun these Jurassic wonders, time and time again. I was exhausted halfway through and hated myself for finishing it.

MY DEAD FRIEND ZOE (C) - This earnest but trite drama follows the journey of an Army veteran who avoids confronting her trauma by conjuring a fallen mate as a crutch and a comedic diversion from the horror of the friend's death. 

Another newcomer, Kyle Hausmann-Stokes (with two co-writers), pours his heart into this passion project informed by his own military service. But the result is too trite by half and saccharine enough to numb your teeth.

Natalie Morales (above, center) is always a comic wonder, but her shtick as Zoe, the wise-cracking dead vet who shadows Merit (Sonequa Martin-Green), crackles at first and then quickly grows stale. Zoe's presence is a giant symbol of Merit's refusal to confront her past and exorcise the demons from Afghanistan. That includes dodging her obligation to attend group-therapy sessions led by the wise and sympathetic Dr. Cole, portrayed in the millionth iteration by Morgan Freeman, criminally underused.

Meanwhile, Merit is stepping in for her too-busy mom and is looking in on her grandfather, Dale (Ed Harris), who lives by the lake but is showing signs of needing assisted living. Also an Army vet (Vietnam, still not played out, apparently), Dale is gruff and resistant, in part because he is played by Ed Harris, who lately specializes in that sort of thing.

I cheered for this to succeed. Martin-Green and Harris have some touching moments. But there is something way too corny about the overall production and its weepy worship of military service. You can spot dialogue -- major and minor -- coming a mile away in the paint-by-numbers script. A clever twist at the end is appreciated but not enough. I wanted it to work, but it's too much of a chore.

OPUS (D) - Movies don't get much more far-fetched than this goofy would-be thriller about a secluded legacy rock star who invites select media members to his vast compound to witness the unveiling of his self-proclaimed masterpiece. Strike one: John Malkovich plays the Bowie-style pop idol with not a lick of authenticity.

Strike two: The film wastes the vast talents of Ayo Edebiri ("Bottoms," "Theater Camp") who is reduced to mugging to the camera, either with a Woody Allen stammer or having to express shock over and over again as the weekend goes off the rails into cartoon horror. She's not the only one misused; there also is Murray Bartlett (HBO's first season of "The White Lotus"), who is just stripped of his typical appeal. And what is up with Tony Hale as a long-haired worshipper/enabler of Malkovich's Moretti? The star has surrounded himself with his own personal Manson Family, who will help Moretti turn the weekend into a torture chamber for his media guests.

Strike three: The script and execution are profoundly idiotic. First-time writer-director Mark Anthony Green must have thought he had something profound to say about idol-worship (the tagline is "There is no cult like celebrity"). And so we get to watch legacy journalists and online influencers alike get their comeuppance ... but just deserts for what, exactly? For making Moretti beloved and rich over the years? What exactly is Moretti's beef here? Is he just crazy? Did any of the guests in particular slight him in the past? 

Don't try to figure it out. By the time the violence kicks in, it is so out of left field and so granular in its tactics (a mild scalping, anyone?) that many will want to shut this off by the time the final-reel bloodbath escalates. That is, if you can make it past the idea of Malkovich as a bald rock god, croaking out tunes written by Nile Rodgers and someone who goes by The-Dream (don't forget the hyphen). 

Like the two previous efforts, this is an example of a newcomer regurgitating too many ideas on the screen at once. Let's see if any of these filmmakers settle down and eventually make a good movie.