Australia has given Hollywood a run for its money in the horror genre over the past few years, with films such as Relic (2020), Talk to Me (2022), and Dangerous Animals (2025) all transferring festival buzz into theatrical and streaming success. Who knew that something sinister was bubbling Down Under? Apparently, many new Australian directors have an affinity for the macabre and a subsequent desire to share their twisted visions with the rest of the globe.
At this year’s New Directors/New Films festival in New York City, Adrian Chiarella delivered his first feature film, Leviticus, as the Opening Night selection. Riding the high of its Sundance world premiere, Leviticus captivated New Yorkers over the past two nights with its screenings at the Museum of Modern Art and Film at Lincoln Center. At the sold-out Walter Reade screening, the film swept spectators under its spell, gripping us with its unrelenting tension and heartbreaking lead performances.
Drawing inspiration from the third book of the Bible (also titled Leviticus), the film confronts notions of holiness, purity, and other Christian pillars through the irresistible attraction between two teenage boys. When Naim (Joe Bird) and his mother (Mia Wasikowska) first move to a small town in rural Australia, Naim struggles to adapt to his new neighborhood. While he does not face the bullying trope that plagues most films with this conceit, he does fail to make friends at school or at the new church his mother insists they join. However, Naim finds some solace in an angsty blonde boy named Ryan (Stacy Clausen), whose propensity for smashing windows at the abandoned mill after school creates an oddly safe space for the two to be vulnerable with each other.
After the two boys break their sexual tension with an aggressive first kiss, they spend their afternoons sneaking around town and hiding in the shadows, not to reveal their homosexuality. On a particularly fateful evening, though, Naim bikes over to Ryan’s house and catches him making out with the preacher’s son. In his fit of rage, Naim tells the preacher about this indiscretion, which causes both Ryan’s parents and Naim’s mother to come to the preacher’s house for a religious ceremony that will “cleanse” these boys of their sins.
Cliché as it seems, Leviticus resists treating these types of conversion therapies or exorcisms as other modern, queer horror films have, opting for a depiction of queer boys in on the joke of how antiquated these religious beliefs remain. Even as the so-called “Deliverance Healer” recites a prayer over Ryan and the preacher’s son, they giggle under their breath at the whole charade. Yet, Chiarella introduces just enough laughter in this scene to disarm even the smartest horror fans, and the boys’ mockery instantly flips into terror as they writhe on the floor, gasping for air through screams and vomit.
In the ritual’s aftermath, Ryan can no longer tell the difference between the Naim he desires and the Naim that wants to kill him. The key to Leviticus’ horror is that we cannot see the demonic version of each boy that the other sees — at least, not until Naim undergoes the same ritual. The boys now live in a reality where they cannot tell if the other is the “real” Naim or Ryan, and that same guessing game infects the audience for the rest of the film.
It’s incredibly impressive how steady each character’s paranoia travels across the film, and it never feels repetitive when they mistake each other for their demon version. Part of this feat lies in the tender scenes between Naim and Ryan, where their intimacy occurs uninterrupted, and their chemistry authentically reflects the sense of safety queer couples feel in one another’s arms.
Leviticus only stumbles when it has to overtly remind us that homophobia exists, often turning to the born-again Christian characters as the harbingers of this evil. While the church certainly enables its followers to seek sinners to convert, the more fascinating aspect of this curse is the Deliverance Healer that the church calls upon for its rituals. Why is this priest able to lay this curse on children? Why is fire Naim’s only defense against Ryan’s demonic self? Unfortunately, Chiarella leaves us with more questions than answers, but that may be Leviticus’ thesis after all.
Homophobia and hate crimes against queer people persist, and those who perpetrate such violence against these identities do not care about the consequences of their actions. Naim’s mother personifies this ambivalent and cold mentality, and Wasikowska’s subdued performance allows that disregard to register as cruelty. She tells Naim that the Deliverance Healer’s curse cannot be cured, and instead of showing any interest in saving her son’s life, she just drives them to the grocery store like any other Saturday.
For a film that unmistakably functions in the horror genre, Leviticus does leave you with less dread than expected. Chiarella balances shock with softness in a story that does not provide the antidote for ignorance, but it does depict the torment that queer people experience far too early in our lives. We all have our own demons, so why thrust more onto others? If faultlessness is the goal, then we’re already doomed.
Review Courtesy of Kyle Saavedra
Feature Image Courtesy of NEON