There is a particular heartbreak in seeing those you love to turn seemingly against you. Someone you thought was a pillar of love and safety becomes a wall of hate and rejection. For a young queer person in regional Australia finding a romantic equal already feels rare enough; so, to have that connection denied, demonised, and reverse-engineered is an all-too-real horror. In Adrian Chiarella’s unnerving debut feature Leviticus, that fear is realised as two teenage boys are forced to confront their small community, the church and their desire for one another.
Naim (Joe Bird) and his mother Arlene (Mia Wasikowska) have recently relocated to an isolated and industrial town in rural Australia. Naim is lanky, awkward, and struggling to fit in. While Arlene throws herself into the local church led by minister Rod (Ewan Leslie), Naim is far less enthused with communal faith and much more interested in hanging out with the erratic and confident local jock, Ryan (Stacy Clausen). Early into the film the audience follow the two teens as they explore an abandoned mill – two contrasting temperaments once unlikely to be friends now bonding and laughing. After some failed antics with weightlifting and playfighting, their connection quickly evolves: two larrikin mates transform into a couple defined by mutual attraction.
The main conflict of Leviticus emerges when Naim spots Ryan making out with the pastor’s son, Hunter (Jeremy Blewitt). In an act of jealousy, mixed with a level of internalised homophobia, Naim successfully outs the two boys which results in the church subjecting them to a public conversion ritual of horrific and supernatural means. As a heinous act by the ministry to cure them of homosexuality, this creates an invisible entity that manifests only to the “sinner” – the catch being it takes the form of the person you most desire. As the plot unfurls into darker territory, Naim is eventually exposed to the same curse as Ryan, forcing the boys to wrestle with fear and danger at every temptation of intimacy.
Joe Bird and Stacy Clausen have remarkable chemistry as Naim and Ryan, finding moments of warmth and connection as they constantly have their relationship weaponised against them. Their performances amply convey the mixing of coming-of-age, romance, and horror elements, all fighting against the hostile Australian backdrop. A particular scene involving a public bus and a sexual act between them has never looked more nerve-wracking and romantic in equal measure.
As the community collectively conforms to its spell, religion in Leviticus manifests as an oppressive and hateful force, instilling isolation, shame, and guilt upon queer teens who just want to express their desires. Arlene attests to this militant belief system – Mia Wasikowska providing a carefully cold supporting performance. She masks both her faith and her disgust at Naim’s identity, justifying her behaviour as a mother who wants to care and protect her son.
The comparisons to It Follows will be easy to make, but Chiarella ensures his queering of this concept is distinctive. Certain sequences are tense by way of subversion – Naim and Ryan often can’t figure out if it is the real them or the entity enticing them, adding a level of unpredictability and dread to the violently escalating proceedings. The cinematography by Tyson Perkins only adds to this tone, employing a sterile colour grade and filling the frame with increasingly dark shadows.
While thematically and structurally sound, Leviticus does feel less scary than it could be, often relying on tired tropes to get a jump out of people. The screenplay, also written by Chiarella, does feel staged and inauthentic during certain scenes, particularly the soapier moments between Ryan, Naim, and Hunter. All these are qualms that will likely iron out as Adrian gets a handle on his directorial voice.
Leviticus is a confident debut feature from an emerging director who wants to directly critique homophobia and religious extremism. The tender love story between Naim and Ryan shines a lot more than the sections of supernatural horror, but it is not without an inventive premise, one that’s true terror comes from mobilising acts of queer longing into violent hate. With great performances and a discomforting tone, the film asks for love and persistence to resist institutional persecution.
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