Title: Unpacking Unicorn Store (2017): A Thoughtful, If Uneven, Directorial Debut from Brie Larson
Brie Larson’s Unicorn Store (2017) offers a slim coming-of-age narrative centered on Kit, an art-school dropout whose lifelong fixation with unicorns—rainbows, glitter, and all—shapes her ambitions and worldview. The film follows Kit as she navigates the drudgery and pressure of the corporate world, only to be beckoned into a mysterious brick-and-mortar shop that promises her the very creature she’s chased in imagination.
The core premise hinges on Kit’s desire to prove her readiness by creating a stable, safe home environment. This mission collides with the tense dynamic at home, where Kit has moved back in with her parents, played by Joan Cusack and Bradley Whitford. Enter Virgil, a patient hardware-store employee who agrees to help on the condition that he not fully grasp what he’s involved with. The onscreen chemistry between Kit and Virgil is notable, though the exact appeal of Kit from his perspective isn’t fully clarified beyond her star presence.
As the film progresses, the construction of a backyard unicorn habitat aligns the store’s fantastical premise with Kit’s personal life and family dynamics. This element, in particular, invites a stronger emotional payoff if the narrative had traded some of the office-set scenes for more time with Kit’s family unit. The office sequences, which depict a conventional critique of corporate culture—artistic suppression and predatory dynamics—tend to feel weightier and more somber than necessary, contributing to a tempered pacing in the first half of the film.
Casting choices generate further discussion. While Larson’s lead performance carries a distinct psychological depth, questions about the believability of Kit’s age and life stage linger for some viewers. Larson’s star power undoubtedly influences the project’s reception, and there’s a reasonable debate about whether the film might have yielded a different energy if she had opted for a supporting role. Samuel L. Jackson’s Willy Wonka-esque unicorn-store proprietor brings a memorable, eccentric flair that complements the film’s whimsical premise, though some may wonder if Larson might have inhabited that role with equal an effectiveness.
On the whole, Unicorn Store remains a cohesive directorial debut in which Larson maintains a consistent tonal vision: a narrative that balances whimsy with grave, earnest delivery. The result is a film that can feel unexpectedly moving in its final act, delivering moments of genuine poignancy that catch the audience by surprise. It’s not a universal favorite, but it proves to be a charming, 90-minute diversion with enough cinematic promise to warrant attention from viewers curious about Larson’s evolving directorial voice. If Larson returns to filmmaking, there’s a compelling case to anticipate her next project with interest.
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