My escapism ultimately flourished elsewhere, but it began in animation. Baby dinosaurs, guardian angels in the form of bears, and altruistic stray dogs were just some of my babysitters growing up. Of all the colorful reveries that filled my youth and distracted me from formative upsets, however, none have had the same lasting effect as the 1982 film, The Last Unicorn.
This iconic adaptation begins with two hunters coming upon a seemingly vacant forest where neither leaf nor snow falls. This eternally spring wood is home to a legendary creature; a unicorn who remains unseen not because she evades sight but because not all can see her. As the hunters hurry away without even launching a single arrow, one man bids adieu to the local protector of these parts: “And good luck to you, for you are the last.” His parting words of reverence soon set the lonely unicorn on a journey fraught with danger and reflection.
The Last Unicorn was — and still is — my perfect cinematic escape because of its fantastical story; nothing about the film quite ties it to reality at any age. After a stunning opening sequence paired with Jimmy Webb and America‘s equally bracing title song, the solitary namesake of the film dwells on the hunters’ farewell. “I am the only unicorn there is?” she asks herself. Had it not been for these men, the Unicorn (voiced by Mia Farrow) might have never realized her own loneliness. Her life was peaceful if not sheltered, but like so many of us who endure and suffer without awareness of the fact, knowing our troubles have a name as well as a cause only leads to further discontent. There is now an established problem in need of fixing. An eccentric, all-wise butterfly (Robert Klein) eventually sends the Unicorn on her way to find the Red Bull, a fiery horned beast that pushes others like her “to the ends of the Earth.”
Having been introduced to horror at a young age, I was drawn to all things scary. So of course I call attention to the terrifying Midnight Carnival act. After leaving the safety of her forest and going in search of the Red Bull, the Unicorn is captured by witch Mommy Fortuna (Angela Lansbury) and her assistants, Ruhk (Brother Theodore) and Schmendrick (Alan Arkin). The average person sees only a mare when looking directly at a live unicorn, but to a witch-like Fortuna or a wizard-like Schmendrick, they see the truth. The latter has to hide his ability until the time comes to save this rare creature from living life as a cheap sideshow act. The Unicorn, sympathetic toward other magical animals regardless of their temperament or appearance, then frees a real harpy named Celaeno. Although she knew her “death [sat] in that cage,” Fortuna did not fear her imminent demise at Celaeno’s talons. While we never witness the old woman’s grisly fate in detail, our imagination fills in the blanks.
Joining the Unicorn on her voyage is Schmendrick, the amateur wizard whose magic is as unreliable as it is inaccurate. Even though he starts off as the bumbling fool who occasionally requires an enchanted lift from the Unicorn, Schmendrick winds up being an astounding friend who goes to great lengths to help those he cares about. Indeed he is initially consumed by his own desire to become a masterful magician, but Schmendrick realizes magic does not necessarily make him happy. He stands out in the best ways from the majority of the male characters shown in the film.
Also present is Molly Grue (Tammy Grimes), whose first encounter with the Unicorn is downright hostile. She approaches her in anger — “Damn you! Where have you been?” — before bursting into tears. Author and screenwriter Peter S. Beagle does not go into great detail about Molly’s background aside from mentioning a tapestry contest she placed fifth in. However, we can assume her capricious disposition has all to do with a laundry list of life’s regrets. Molly might not have an agenda like everyone else does in the movie, but at the same time, she is aware of her lack of ambition and how miserable that makes her feel. Of course, all that will change now that she is on a new path.
No hero is complete without a villain. Although The Last Unicorn lacks the standard good versus evil story, it does provide an antagonist. The Red Bull would appear to be the Unicorn’s main adversary; the monster rips through the night like a demon and mercilessly stalks its prey. As it turns out, the Red Bull is a mere elemental created to do its master’s bidding. And that master would be no other than King Haggard (Christopher Lee), a tyrant whose appearance matches his name. Haggard’s wish to catch and imprison every unicorn points to his resentment toward all things young and eternal. Nothing pleases him for long; be it an adopted son, Prince Lir (Jeff Bridges), or a wizard’s party tricks. His only delight is removing joy from the world because he can.
Like any child entranced by visuals first and story second, I was immediately snared by the sheer beauty of The Last Unicorn every time I rented it from the local video shop. The film is a medieval tapestry brought to glorious life. The character designs all possess extraordinary weight and energy in spite of their two-dimensional origins and the film’s smaller budget. The landscapes are evocative, the colors are rich, and the backgrounds are finely detailed. The Last Unicorn having been animated by Topcraft, a Japanese team of animators that would later form the heart of Studio Ghibli, explains why it looks so crisp and fluid even after four decades.
This distinct era of hand-drawn films refused to treat its younger audience with kid gloves. A contrast to the Saturday morning cartoons were the more full-fledged stories that appealed to broader audiences. Disney had its small share of mature productions before going the other direction, and Don Bluth is synonymous with darker and less safe animation. Rankin/Bass has always managed to sneak in questionable material in their works; their vintage, stop-motion Christmas specials are home to incidental frights. The Last Unicorn is no different in view of the fact it delivered overt scares on top of existential unease. Knowing that, it was undoubtedly difficult to market The Last Unicorn back then as something it clearly is not.
When younger, I felt confused and disappointed when the Unicorn’s temporary human form, Princess Amalthea, and Prince Lir parted ways rather than live happily ever after together. Other fairytale narratives had me thinking there was no other way to end these kinds of stories. Especially after the Unicorn experiences a crash course in the human condition. According to Schmendrick, though, “There are no happy endings because nothing ends.” Today that specific line resonates deeply and brings solace in hard times. I shuffle between periods of content and malaise, community and withdrawal. But like the Unicorn and Prince Lir who go their separate ways (for now), I remember the story always continues. There is still time to find that fabled happy ending.
What I lack in fond childhood memories I make up for in runaway nostalgia. Being raised by movies and television had a silver lining; I found my way to something as exceptional as The Last Unicorn. The characters, the music, the themes. Every aspect of this gorgeously animated, poignant fantasy still courses through my mind and brings immeasurable comfort when reality starts to feel like too much.
