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Writer/director Cory Finley’s debut film “Thoroughbreds” compensates for its lack of profundity in its masterful evocation of mood. Olivia Cooke and Anya Taylor-Joy star as Amanda and Lily, two über-wealthy Connecticut prep-school girls who plot to murder Lily’s cruel stepfather. Anton Yelchin, in one of his final roles before his death, plays a small-time drug dealer enlisted by the girls to execute their plan.

To the extent that the film has insight to offer, it is that the culture of economic elites deprives human connection of its sincerity and renders relationships instrumental. Amanda is something of a sociopath, variously diagnosed with a diverse set of personality disorders. She claims to feel nothing by way of emotion. A pivotal scene depicts Amanda teaching Lily how to cry on command. By contrast, Lily is introduced as an exemplary student and daughter, working a summer internship before returning to her prestigious boarding school in the fall. As the film progresses, we are meant to understand that Lily, too, shares many of the sociopathic tendencies that make Amanda so alienating. Lily is only nice to Amanda in the beginning of the film because Amanda’s mother pays Lily to spend time with Amanda. Lily’s friendliness is as artificial as Amanda’s tears. Finley’s inability to articulate the causal mechanisms by which wealth corrupts genuine connection speaks to the film’s lack of nuance, but the connection itself is clear.

Yelchin’s character, Tim, serves as a counterpoint to Lily and Amanda. He aspires to the conspicuous wealth of the girls–vowing to one day run a drug empire and drive the same sports car as Lily’s stepfather–but he never achieves this dream. The film suggests that Tim, a wannabe, lacks the cruelty required to succeed in elite society. He could have been $100,000 closer to his dream if he had the violent conviction of Amanda or Lily, but he does not and so lives a life of modest successes far short of his aspirations. He is not “thoroughbred.” People are like horses in this world, bred for success from a long line of illustrious ancestors. One cannot become a thoroughbred; one simply is or is not. Tim is not. He is an outsider looking in and will always remain so.

Lily’s stepfather sums up the thesis of “Thoroughbreds” when he accuses Lily of blindness to the humanity of others. Wealth robs people of their ability to see others as full human beings. If that sounds trite, that’s because it is. Attempts to extend an analysis in pursuit of nuance lead to questions the film does not equip the viewer to answer.

But to disparage “Thoroughbreds” for lack of depth is to ignore why we watch film. If we want ideas, there are easier and faster ways to gain access to them. Film promises experience, stimulation. I admit that an ideal work marries intellectual acuity with aesthetic potency, but we should not dismiss films that favor the latter. Attempts to privilege intellectual content over formal qualities reek of Enlightenment residue and should be treated with the utmost skepticism.

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It is in this light that I want to praise “Thoroughbreds.” The film demonstrates a mastery of mood, and that mood is usually unease. Lyle Vincent deserves special commendation for his cinematography. His prowess is evident from Lily and Amanda’s first scene together. Riffing on the standard shot-reverse-shot approach to filming dialogue, Vincent pushes Lily to one edge of the frame and Amanda to the other. As the shots cut between Lily and Amanda, the viewer’s gaze bounces back and forth across the screen. This motion creates a sense of unease as the viewer struggles to keep up, both characters vying for dominance. Another favorite technique places the protagonists in neatly framed scenes of the opulent interior of Lily’s house. The girls roam the frame and upset the careful symmetry, reflecting the chaos these characters bring to a world ostensibly characterized by order.

The film likewise makes use of a subtle approach to sound. The near-infrasonic rhythmic thrum of Lily’s stepfather’s rowing machine lends some scenes an ominous pulse. Sounds repeat and build, cutting off abruptly without a sense of resolution. Composer Erik Friedlander contributes a score light on melody and heavy on atonality. Drums thunder and cellos shriek, creating ambiance through the fracturing of sounds rather than melodic movement. The result is a striking aesthetic of unease and dread, transforming a stuffy and immense home in old-money Connecticut into a house of horrors.

“Thoroughbreds” is the latest entry in the surprisingly prolific genre of cult films about teenage suburban white women committing extreme violence. Like “Heathers” and “Fun,” “Thoroughbreds’” appeal is in its depiction of a ruptured veneer of domestic stasis, its portrayal of violence acted out by those who are not supposed to be violent in a place where violence is not supposed to exist. Though different people may have different investments in this fantasy of suburban gore, the cannon of films that center around this fantasy attest to its allure. It seems only a matter of time before “Thoroughbreds” experiences a revival on a streaming service, earning its inevitable and rightful status as a cult classic.

Marc Greenawalt can be reached at mgreenawalt@wesleyan.edu.