Editorials
“There Are No Happy Endings Because Nothing Ends” – ‘The Last Unicorn’ Is Animated Escapism at Its Finest
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.
College kids, strippers and vampires—those were Donald P. Borchers’ only requirements when he approached Richard Wenk about writing and directing a movie for New World Pictures. As requested, Wenk cooked up Vamp (1986), a tailor-made blend of the decade’s teen movie craze as well as its horror boom.
Grim and earnest stories were still very much a part of the ’80s horror landscape, yet Vamp is something of a comedy. One difference between it and, say, Saturday the 14th, though, is the former avoids using schtick. Wenk’s movie proves that horror comedies also don’t have to subtract thrills from their recipes. Of course, it takes a minute before reaching that point; college antics and culture shocks preface this one macabre misadventure.
Vamp‘s initial setup is apt for a typical college-set, sex-driven comedy; to bribe their way into a fraternity house, two pledges (Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler) go looking for some adult entertainment. Without wasting time on any further exposition, the characters embark on an all-in-one-night trip that quickly detours into terror.
To procure their elusive MacGuffin—a stripper willing to gyrate for some frat boys—Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler), plus a third wheel named Duncan (Gedee Watanabe), trade the safety of their remote college campus for the seediness of some unnamed city. The setting is recognizably L.A. by day, but as soon as night falls, downtown, along with the characters, slips into a kind of surreal universe. Director of photography Elliot Davis gave this early entry on his prolific résumé an unusual yet distinctive look; that Mario Bava-esque, magenta-green lighting is omnipresent, so much so that it’s almost its own character.
Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler in Vamp
The faint comparisons to Martin Scorsese’s After Hours are merited, although not just because of Vamp’s distinguishing nighttime aesthetic. Save for the primary characters, the supporting roles in Wenk’s movie are also quite colorful and transactional in their behavior. The difference here, though, is the additional urge to ruin Keith and his friends at every turn. Some of that harm is humorous and tolerable enough, whereas the moment Vamp dishes out its first fatality, it’s abundantly clear how this movie qualifies as horror.
Vamp falls into that category of horror movie that reveals its genre with a scream rather than a series of whispers. The opening scene can function as a hint of what lies ahead—things are not at all what they appear to be—but otherwise, Wenk is more than happy to hold off on the horror. When that time does come, though, it catches the viewer off guard. In addition to the pure shock value is that sudden decision to upend the movie’s foremost feature. Or so it would seem.
If afraid of major spoilage, those new to Vamp would be wise to stop reading here. There’s just no skirting around the fact that the central fellowship in this buddy movie hits a serious snag when AJ is killed. That development causes the story to become more of a “long, bad night” journey for Keith and his romantic interest. So while Wenk scores points for subverting expectations, there is also a touch of sadness in his decision. Because if Vamp does anything well, it’s making the characters likable.
Something that comes easily to Vamp—and other teen horror movies from this same era—is its ability to invent young characters worth caring about, or at the very least, are interesting and not so immediately off-putting. More impressive is how Wenk did all this without actually fleshing out those characters. Still and all, Keith and his kind are a grade above cookie-cutter, and in some cases, aren’t completely devoid of growth.
Grace Jones in Vamp
Vamp appeals with an assorted cast of characters. No two are the same, nor are they operating on the same wavelength. The cinematically extroverted AJ, whose actor conveyed charm and vulnerability in near equal amounts, comes alive when he’s at his most undead. Makepeace then makes the chronically cautious Keith a sympathetic fellow, even as he’s more and more affected by the night’s bizarre events. Meanwhile, Duncan is indeed the designated loser of the whole bunch, but Watanabe still manages to humanize him. As a bonus, the role didn’t require him to pull a Long Duk Dong.
As for Dedee Pfeiffer, she is plain adorable as the mysterious After Dark server nicknamed “Amaretto”. She spends all night fixing her dress strap while at the same time trying to get Keith to remember how he knows her. As their offbeat romance grows, it becomes another highlight of this movie. Whether or not Pfeiffer’s character is really a vampire also creates some welcome tension in the story.
Like a lot of its contemporaries, Vamp went on to become a bit of a cult classic. That current status is determined by several factors, but without a doubt, the casting of Grace Jones is the most considerable. The image of her writhing on that unique-looking chair, a Keith Haring original, springs to mind whenever this movie is brought up.
Chris Makepeace, Billy Drago and Paunita Nichols in Vamp
Prior to that first display of unequivocal horror, local vampire queen Katrina (Jones) took to the stage and delivered a strip show like no other. One would expect nothing less from that renowned model and performance artist. By now reports of Jones’ tardiness on set are no secret, yet it’s also hard to deny her commitment to the part of Katrina. It was, in fact, Jones who took charge of her character’s appearance—on top of Haring painting her body and that now-iconic chair, she had Andy Warhol handle her costuming. And not too many actors could seize a room’s attention without saying a single line of dialogue.
In 2022, Vamp received a retrospective novelization from Encyclopocalypse. This literary union of preexisting source material—Wenk’s original screenplay—and new ideas from author Christian Francis amounts to a more comprehensive visit to the After Dark Club. The basic story there is no different than what’s shown on screen; however, Francis gets creative with the characters’ origins and designs, and he enhances a number of key scenes.
The novelization expands on the urban and social decay of the main setting, and supplies a background for the After Dark Club. Sandy Baron’s character, Katrina’s emcee and familiar, is given ample motivation for sticking around; up until the fiery end, he is loyal to his friend and former business partner “Squeak”, who looks like he was “fed through a combine harvester, and left as nothing more than a heap of mangled remains”. Then there is Billy Drago’s character Snow, the leader of a street gang called The Dragons. His reason for menacing Keith and AJ is more altruistic than in the movie; he and his peers act tough to scare off any potential food for the vampires.
Lisa Lyon in Vamp
If not for all the backstories, Francis’ Vamp would be a hell of a lot shorter. Instead, this tie-in read dives into how AJ met Keith—the orphaned Anthony Joseph hailed from a broken home back in Brooklyn—and how their friendship flourished over the years. Keith’s archership is no longer just an assumed part of his entire being; it’s a confidence-building extracurricular for a boy who got picked on before coming into the protection of the new kid in town. These supplemental, in-depth looks at the protagonists, plus their close connection, are maybe unnecessary. The movie already did a fair and concise job of addressing their platonic intimacy without the need for flashbacks and insights, specifically in that scene where AJ lays it all out as he sacrifices himself.
Where the novelization gets off course is its approach to the minor characters. Intermittently backstorying the likes of Katrina’s indentured servants, Seko (Leila Hee Olsen) and Vlad (Brad Logan), ends up disturbing the flow of the writing. Was it absolutely essential that readers know Vlad was the Grand Duke of the House of Romanov, or how Snow’s accomplice Maven (Paunita Nichols) became so dentally challenged? No, not really. However, one’s mileage with these random biographies may vary.
The novelization is a more substantial experience, but for a movie like Vamp, less is more. And as plentiful as they are, it never simply coasts on its campy charms, either. The character work sits comfortably in that realm between cursory and meticulous, the script is sharper than first realized, and Greg Cannom’s vampire makeup is straightforward yet effective. Most of all, the movie didn’t squander its out-of-the-box concept. Richard Wenk made his vision of a “comic nightmare in which just about anything that can go wrong does” come true, and it is very enjoyable.
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