Review: Thoroughbreds, 2018, dir. Cory Finley

If I’m a fan of only two things in this world, it’s

a) Intimate, small-scale, character-driven horror-thrillers about the inhumanity of humans, and
b) Anya Taylor-Joy

So there. (I’m a fan of a great deal many more things than a) and b), of course, but work with me here for once.)

I talked to Taylor-Joy back in 2016 when Robert Eggers’ The Witch opened in theaters, and found her to be, among other things, delightful, which is maybe not what you’d expect from her given her status as one of our budding modern horror stars. (Not “starlet.” Not “scream queen.” I’m not bugged by the latter, per se; I just don’t think she fits the qualifier. It’s the former that I’m avoiding like the plague.)

So maybe I’m biased, but I’m all-in on anything she’s in (though Morgan, in spite of her best efforts, is not a particularly good movie at all). Happily, her new film, Cory Finley’s Thoroughbreds, is excellent, and a great continuance of the common themes of her career (which I won’t give away here in case someone wants me to write a future piece about that; we’ll see). She’s great in it. Olivia Cooke, too, is great in it. Anton Yelchin, dearly departed, is great as well, and Finley, clearly a student of Hitchcock, Park, Fincher, Lehmann, and Harron, is also great. Basically, everything is great, but you won’t be great if you,

c) Do not see this movie, and
d) Skip out on my Paste Magazine review, what am I to you, an insignificant speck of dust or somethin’

 

 

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