The Whimsical Weight of Growing Up: Brie Larson’s 'Unicorn Store' and the Fantasy of Adulthood
There’s something undeniably captivating about Brie Larson’s Unicorn Store—a film that, on the surface, seems like a lighthearted fantasy but digs its heels into the messy realities of adulthood. Personally, I think what makes this movie stand out isn’t just its quirky premise or Samuel L. Jackson’s scene-stealing performance as The Salesman. It’s the way it uses fantasy as a mirror to reflect the struggles of growing up. What many people don’t realize is that this film isn’t just about a unicorn; it’s about the tension between childhood dreams and adult responsibilities, a theme that feels both universal and deeply personal.
The Fantasy We Can’t Outgrow
Brie Larson’s Kit is the kind of character who feels immediately relatable—an artist stuck in a dead-end job, clinging to the whimsy of her younger years. What’s particularly fascinating is how the film frames her journey. The Salesman’s offer of a unicorn isn’t just a magical plot device; it’s a metaphor for the fantasies we all hold onto, long after they’ve outgrown their practicality. From my perspective, this is where the film shines. It doesn’t dismiss Kit’s dreams as childish; instead, it asks whether those dreams are sustainable in a world that demands practicality.
One thing that immediately stands out is the film’s ambiguity about what’s real and what’s imagined. Is The Salesman a magical being, or is he a manifestation of Kit’s subconscious? In my opinion, this ambiguity is intentional. It forces us to question whether the magic in our lives is something we create or something we discover. What this really suggests is that growing up isn’t about abandoning fantasy—it’s about integrating it into a life that also requires stability and responsibility.
The Practicalities of Magic
What makes Unicorn Store so compelling is its refusal to romanticize adulthood. Kit’s quest to prepare for her unicorn isn’t just whimsical; it’s painstakingly practical. She builds a stable, gathers food, and even confronts her strained relationship with her parents. A detail that I find especially interesting is how the film uses these tasks to highlight the emotional labor of growing up. It’s not just about earning money or keeping a job; it’s about mending relationships and confronting unresolved feelings.
If you take a step back and think about it, the unicorn itself becomes a symbol for the unattainable—the perfect life, the perfect career, the perfect self. Kit’s realization that she can’t sustain a unicorn (or her fantasies) without addressing her real-world issues is both poignant and relatable. This raises a deeper question: How often do we chase fantasies at the expense of our own well-being? The film doesn’t provide easy answers, but it does invite us to reflect on our own unicorns.
Brie Larson’s Duality: From Captain Marvel to Kit
Brie Larson’s career trajectory adds an intriguing layer to Unicorn Store. Coming off the heels of Captain Marvel, a film that celebrates power and heroism, Larson’s directorial debut feels like a deliberate counterpoint. Personally, I think this duality is what makes her such a compelling artist. She’s not afraid to explore both the fantastical and the mundane, the powerful and the vulnerable.
What’s particularly fascinating is how Unicorn Store positions itself as an antidote to the escapism of superhero films. While Captain Marvel invites us to lose ourselves in a world of limitless power, Unicorn Store grounds us in the limitations of everyday life. From my perspective, this contrast isn’t just thematic—it’s personal. Larson seems to be asking: What happens when the fantasy ends, and we’re left with ourselves?
The Critics’ Dilemma: Too Light or Just Right?
Critics were divided on Unicorn Store, and I think their reactions reveal more about our cultural expectations than about the film itself. Some dismissed it as too whimsical, too light, too insubstantial. Tomris Laffly’s critique that the film feels like a ‘perplexing stylistic disagreement’ is particularly telling. What many people don’t realize is that this ‘disagreement’ might be the point. The film’s tonal shifts—from magical to mundane, from funny to poignant—mirror the chaos of real life.
On the other hand, those who embraced the film’s sweetness seemed to understand its underlying message: that growing up doesn’t mean abandoning magic; it means finding it in unexpected places. Personally, I think the film’s 66% Rotten Tomatoes score is a testament to its uniqueness. It’s not for everyone, but for those who connect with it, it’s unforgettable.
The Broader Implications: Fantasy as a Survival Mechanism
What this film really suggests is that fantasy isn’t just an escape—it’s a survival mechanism. Kit’s unicorn isn’t just a whimsical dream; it’s a way for her to process her disappointments and fears. This raises a deeper question: How do we balance our need for fantasy with the demands of reality? In a world that often feels overwhelming, Unicorn Store offers a gentle reminder that magic can coexist with maturity.
One thing that I find especially interesting is how the film challenges the notion that adulthood requires us to ‘grow up’ in the traditional sense. Kit doesn’t abandon her dreams; she redefines them. What this really suggests is that maturity isn’t about letting go of fantasy—it’s about understanding its place in our lives.
Final Thoughts: A Unicorn for the Real World
Unicorn Store isn’t a perfect film, but it’s a deeply human one. It doesn’t offer easy answers, but it does invite us to reflect on our own journeys. Personally, I think that’s what makes it so special. It’s not just a story about a woman and a unicorn; it’s a story about all of us, navigating the messy, magical, and often mundane realities of adulthood.
If you take a step back and think about it, the film’s message is both simple and profound: Maybe we don’t need to choose between fantasy and reality. Maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to have both. And in a world that often feels devoid of magic, that’s a pretty revolutionary idea.
Stream it on Netflix, and see what you think. But fair warning: you might just find yourself questioning your own unicorns along the way.
