Humans Are The Real Monsters of Leviticus

The Australian landscape has long been known for its innately sinister and complex past. Its harsh, barren, and unwelcoming environment (particularly referencing the Outback) and the vast geographical isolation have remained an ideal backdrop for Ozploitation horror films since the early 1970s. A deep and agonizing fear of Otherness, stemming from the continent’s violent history, is explored through a religious and symbolic lens in Adrian Chiarella’s debut queer feature, Leviticus (2026), set in a dreary, rural, and heavily religious Melbourne community. 

Joe Bird of Talk to Me (2022) notoriety plays Naim and is new to town. He develops an infatuation with another boy named Ryan (Stacy Clausen). When Naim accidentally sees Ryan and another classmate, Hunter (Jeremy Blewitt), getting intimate, the word gets out to the town’s Deliverance Healer (Nicholas Hope), who is known for conducting a public and disturbing ritualistic form of conversion therapy. However, while hoping to invoke purity, instead, the ritual evokes something far more destructive and sinister than what they are attempting to expel from the boys.

Ironically, it’s chilling that the parents would rather succumb to an “easy” solution than understand what their teenagers are experiencing completely alone. Mia Wasikowska returns as Naim’s single mother, Arlene, an emotionally restrained and devoted member of the local church whose utter lack of empathy for her son’s plight is extremely difficult to stomach. Wasikowska is underutilized, and there is a shortage of intense interactions with Naim or any notable character development. Despite her good intentions, she is an unconventional villain in this story, lacking conviction or depth.

Chiarella’s movie draws conceptual inspiration from David Robert Mitchell’s 2014 cult classic It Follows. Instead of the apparition appearing in the form of a random person that stalks its next sexually active victim, in this film, it’s a supernatural demonic force that appears in the form of the person you most desire. When the desire consumes its victim, they die horrifically. There’s an unnerving and constant sense of dread, paranoia, and a lurking hostility around every corner. Neither Naim nor Ryan is ever safe. Early on, when they are walking in an empty field, they come across a snake swallowing a frog, an eerie foreshadowing of the dark events that will befall them, and indicative of the brutal cycle of life where Naim and Ryan are prey, waiting to be devoured by their lust and yearning for one another. The movie is solid in terms of themes, messages, and storytelling, but struggles with pacing in the beginning and weaving a deeper relationship and backstory for Naim and Ryan.

The dark lighting, cinematography, and shot compositions assist the inescapable doom, with distinct imagery of cages and screens, signifying a barrier between these young men and their unbridled passion for each other. Chiarella and DP Tyson Perkins craft visually appealing and anxiety-inducing sequences that are visceral and never let up on the tension. The film does exhibit some shocking and graphic scenes that are indeed difficult to witness, never pushing its foot all the way on the gas, resulting in an unsatisfying yet somewhat bleakly optimistic resolution for the protagonists. The unforgiving nature of the Australian narrative and the inexplicable darkness of human nature inform the central conflict of Leviticus. It presents itself as an intelligent meditation on religion, fear, homophobia, and how Naim and Ryan can never escape who they are. As long as they have each other, they will survive the literal and metaphorical monsters who are hellbent on destroying them.