‘Leviticus’ Review: Adrian Chiarella’s Hauntingly Allegorical Queer Supernatural Tale

Adrian Chiarella wastes no time establishing the central thematic tussle of his debut feature, Leviticus. After two newly befriended teenagers, Naim (Joe Bird) and Ryan (Stacy Clausen), break into an abandoned warehouse in their provincial Australian town, their rough physical horseplay gives way to sensual pleasure. From there, the film’s tragedy is rooted in outside forces using that pleasure as an instrument to inflict violence against them.

While the teens might resent attending church, it’s the main reason they become acquainted after Naim’s single mother (Mia Wasikowska) uprooted her family to the town. Yet when rumors of burgeoning same-sex attraction among young congregants surface, Naim and Ryan learn how forcefully the group will reassert the rules of who belongs among the faithful.

Inside their community’s dimly lit church, an incanting “deliverance healer” (Nicholas Hope) places a curse on the boys against their will. In Leviticus, each recipient of the so-called healing is paid nightly visits by a monster resembling the object of their affection. Their haunting demon turns what its victims love into a weapon against them, and it can adapt to grow more cunning in its impersonation. The more time Naim and Ryan spend around each other, the better they equip their predator with information that can seduce and ensnare them.

The true horror of the film’s central conceit lies in the way it vividly visualizes how two boys coming to terms with their budding sexuality are terrorized by a demon doing the dirty work for the church of converting desire into shame. Leviticus dwells little on the peril posed by the condemnation of pious peers. Apart from the healer’s ceremonies, the religious community’s judgment exists primarily on the sidelines of the film. Its wrath is palpable because of how the group makes Naim and Ryan internalize their limited conception of sexual propriety.

By convening with others in the congregation dogged by their own monsters, Naim and Ryan discover one solution to cease the terror: stop seeing one another. But that’s easier said than done, as the boys find themselves unwilling to forsake their connection without a fight. As the star-crossed lovers resolve to battle their demons rather than surrender, this at times intensely creepy horror tale reveals itself to also be a potent and poignant teen romance.

Indeed, Chiarella is more effective at eliciting swoons than screams. Apart from one jump scare timed for maximum impact, the film takes a more restrained approach to horror tropes. Leviticus feels particularly indebted to David Robert Mitchell’s It Follows in its evocation of sexual anxiety as a stalking, spectral individual. Yet while his visualization of “metaphorror” scares may lack nuance, Chiarella compensates with the sweetness of his central relationship.

The film’s heart lies with Naim, the shier of the two boys. Watching the character’s tentativeness solidify into true tenderness proves tremendously affecting thanks to Bird’s performance. The young actor harnesses the probing spirit of an adolescent still in the process of discovering so much more about himself and his new surroundings. Bird renders the prospect of Naim losing Ryan, one of the few things he feels sure about, as heartbreakingly realistic. This volatile, vulnerable leading turn ensures that Leviticus never loses touch with human emotion, even as Chiarella steers the film’s conclusion more firmly toward genre terrain.

Leviticus also embodies its creed of letting love rather than fear guide decision-making in the grace it shows those responsible for the queer teens’ pain, especially Naim’s mother. Chiarella attempts to understand, not excuse, her logic in putting her son in harm’s way. She’ll always have that guilt, the film makes clear. But, at least for a while, Naim and Ryan have each other.