Unicorns, co-directed by Sally El Hosaini and James Krishna Floyd, doesn’t try to revolutionize the romance genre. But what it does manage—beautifully—is to breathe real life into a familiar template, transforming what might have been a formulaic queer love story into a raw, luminous exploration of identity, belonging, and love. With vivid characters who refuse to be reduced to archetypes, and an emotional undercurrent that surges with sincerity, the film is a powerful reminder that the journey to self-acceptance is messy, beautiful, and deeply human.
At its core, Unicorns follows the relationship between Luke (played by Ben Hardy), a straight-presenting mechanic from Essex, and Aysha (Jason Patel), a charismatic drag performer with a richly complex identity. While the premise might sound like something we’ve seen before—two people from different worlds finding common ground—the execution is anything but generic. The film’s heart lies not in shocking plot twists but in the way it tenderly captures the emotional evolution of its two protagonists.
A Gritty, Unexpected Beginning
The story begins not with a grand romantic gesture or a soaring score, but with a moment of numbness. Luke is introduced in an almost bleak tableau—engaged in a quick, impersonal sexual encounter in a scruffy Essex field. It’s a scene not of passion, but of emptiness. Even as the moment concludes swiftly and unsatisfyingly, it’s clear that Luke is not searching for pleasure—he’s searching for something deeper. He just doesn’t know what it is yet.
By a twist of fate, Luke soon finds himself stepping into a world that couldn’t be more different from his drab, colorless existence. Taking a wrong turn, he ends up inside a lively Indian restaurant that turns into a secretive, vibrant haven for Essex’s Gaysian drag community. It’s here, amidst the pulsating lights and eclectic music, that he lays eyes on Aysha for the first time.
This moment—this first glance—is given the weight of a small cosmic event. El Hosaini and Floyd, along with cinematographer David Raedeker and production designer Robert Wischhusen-Hayes, create a visual and emotional contrast so stark it almost feels like a rebirth. Luke’s world, previously muted in shades of gray, now explodes with neon lights, glitter, and sequins. Aysha, in all her dazzling presence, emerges like a beacon—an embodiment of joy, defiance, and liberation.
Ben Hardy’s performance in this moment is especially affecting. Luke doesn’t know what to do with his body, his eyes, or his breath. He is a man taught to move with mechanical purpose, never indulgence. Watching him try to blend into a world of bodies that move freely, uninhibited by the expectations of masculinity or culture, is both painful and oddly moving. He looks out of place, but something stirs in him, something quietly seismic.
An Awakening, a Rejection, and an Unexpected Reunion
That same night, after Aysha’s performance, the two share a moment of connection that quickly turns physical. But when Luke discovers that Aysha is not a cisgender woman, the spell breaks. He pulls away, his face a storm of confusion and denial. Aysha, however, doesn’t flinch. Her response—“First time you kissed someone like me? Hate that you liked it?”—lands with a clarity that cuts through Luke’s inner chaos. It’s not just a line—it’s a mirror, and Luke isn’t ready to look into it.
Yet despite his efforts to distance himself, Luke can’t shake the impact Aysha has made on him. Soon after, she finds him at his workplace. Aysha, needing a ride to her gigs, proposes a deal—Luke can be her driver. Reluctantly, he agrees. And what begins as a transactional arrangement evolves, slowly and organically, into something far more tender and transformative.
As the two travel through Essex together, from show to show and neighborhood to neighborhood, the real journey unfolds within. They challenge each other, confide in each other, and gradually, they begin to see parts of themselves they had kept hidden for years.
No One Is Left Behind
In narratives like these, it’s often easy to lose one character to the shadows. Too frequently, films that focus on a queer or trans character end up sidelining them in favor of the straight lead’s arc of discovery. Unicorns does not fall into that trap. While it may begin from Luke’s perspective, the film smartly and generously shifts its focus, offering Aysha a rich, layered interiority.
Patel’s Aysha is no mere muse or plot device—she is the emotional spine of the story. She lives boldly on stage, yes, but also harbors quieter, more painful truths behind the makeup and performance. Her double life becomes evident when she visits her family and sheds her drag persona to become Ashiq—a straight-presenting son trying to honor his parents’ wishes while suppressing his truest self.
The film doesn’t sugarcoat this duality. At home, Aysha’s vibrant colors vanish, replaced by dull, emotionless hues that mirror the ones Luke wore in the beginning. The message is subtle but clear: the weight of societal expectation can drain the life out of even the most radiant soul.
Aysha’s return home raises vital questions: Can you be your full self and still be loved by your family? Is there a way to reconcile authenticity with tradition? Her struggle is not one of indecision, but of painful awareness—she knows what she is giving up every time she compromises. And she also knows what the price might be if she doesn’t.
Cultural Clashes and Honest Conversations
The tension between personal desire and familial obligation is at the heart of Unicorns. In one poignant exchange, Aysha says to Luke, “Don’t make me choose between you and my family.” For Luke, raised in a culture where independence is prized, this is baffling. But Aysha’s Southeast Asian heritage makes clear that individuality isn’t always the default. Family ties come with invisible strings—strings that tug at you no matter how far you run.
This cultural dissonance is one of the film’s more quietly radical elements. It doesn’t pit one worldview against the other; instead, it shows the friction, misunderstanding, and possibility of growth that arise when two people from vastly different backgrounds try to build something meaningful together. Their differences aren’t obstacles—they’re opportunities for deeper empathy.
Stellar Performances That Reveal the Soul
Ben Hardy delivers what is arguably the best performance of his career. Luke is a man trapped within himself, bound by expectations of what it means to be masculine, to be a father, to be a “good guy.” His physical strength, initially presented as a symbol of control, becomes a metaphor for repression. It’s in the little things—the way he averts his gaze, folds his arms, or hesitates before speaking—that we see the emotional war waging inside him.
As Luke begins to unlearn the rigid definitions of gender, sexuality, and self-worth, Hardy’s performance blossoms. His relationship with his son Jamie (Taylor Sullivan) is particularly affecting, as Luke struggles to model a version of manhood that isn’t based in denial or anger but in tenderness and truth.
Jason Patel, too, brings tremendous depth to Aysha. While she may dazzle onstage, it’s in her quieter moments—wiping off her makeup, staring into a mirror, or flinching at a family member’s comment—that her vulnerability shines. Patel portrays Aysha as a woman of fierce confidence and deep-seated uncertainty, someone who has built herself out of glitter and grit and is still figuring out where she fits.
Beauty in the Imperfections
The film isn’t without its imperfections. At times, the dialogue feels a little too on-the-nose—characters saying exactly what they feel without much subtext. But in a way, this makes sense. These are people learning to articulate feelings they’ve spent their whole lives burying. Their awkward honesty becomes part of the film’s charm.
One particularly intense moment comes when Aysha says that for people like her, options are limited: “Forced marriage abroad or jumping off a bridge.” It’s blunt, even jarring—but perhaps that’s the point. The film doesn’t just want to entertain; it wants to confront the stakes of living a life that society refuses to acknowledge.
A Celebration of Liberation
What Unicorns ultimately delivers is something remarkably rare—a love story that doesn’t erase the complications of identity, but instead embraces them. It’s not about perfect endings or neatly resolved conflicts. It’s about transformation. About learning to live truthfully, even when the world isn’t ready for your truth.
The film is a celebration of joy amid adversity, of dancing through darkness, and of allowing yourself to be seen. It honors the unexpected connections that change us forever. It understands that to love another, you often have to first learn to love yourself.
And sometimes, all it takes is one wrong turn, a little glitter, and the courage to move your body—awkwardly, clumsily, gloriously—in a room full of strangers, to begin that journey.
