By Samuel Van Der Blom
When you enter a cinema expecting a horror film, your body braces itself for what might be lurking ahead. For many, it is the sole reason to never give up two hours of their time to a horror feature. For others, it is precisely the attraction, letting themselves be ripped apart by horrific imagery and jumpscares that feed the soul. But entertainment is flipped on its back and the genre is serving the discussion about social scrutiny, whether you are entertained by horror or not becomes irrelevant, because there is much more at stake when drawn into the world of Leviticus.
Adrian Chiarella’s Leviticus confronts you with a reality that feels unprepared, deeply saddening in a way that lingers long after the credits roll–like a horror film naturally does. Its most disturbing quality is not its supernatural undertones, but the uncomfortable proximity it shares with contemporary social and religious realities.
We set foot in a remote Australian town where everybody knows each other through the intersecting worlds of school and church. Naim (Joe Bird) has just moved here with his mother, and quickly forms a connection with Ryan (Stacy Clausen), who becomes the site of his first experience of love. The community, rooted in conservative, Christian principles and values leaves no space for such sexual orientation, leading the boys to a deliverance session designed to rid them of their same-sex attraction.
Even before the film turns toward the supernatural, these moments are difficult to watch, anchoring the story in the emotional weight of the reality it depicts. But the movie reaches a new depth when the deliverance session produces tangible consequences, and the horror narrative begins to unfold from that moment onward.
A demonic presence is unleashed, pursuing the boys through the landscape of the film. Only every now and then is blood thrown around, and Chiarella largely avoids the familiar iconography that contemporary horror often relies upon. Instead, the tension emerges from a far more unsettling possibility: that affection itself has become something punishable. The film’s suspense is not simply about whether the boys will survive a supernatural threat, but whether they can exist safely within the community that surrounds them. Chiarella has managed to address a potent social issue with the tools of horror storytelling, shown through the camera, leaving the audience both in shock and scared in their seats.
What makes Leviticus so effective is the way it locates horror within an experience that already exists. The freedom, for anyone, to express their love in many countries is still not granted freely. Where it has been, the support has been stalling due to the rise of conservative support. Surely, one can understand Chiarella’s dramatisation of the queer experience in a horrific way, without invalidating the hostility of the world and the harsh struggles of the queer experience. He might entertain homophobes, but does an incredible job in relating the social issue to a conversation many like to turn their heads away from. It is a new, unique, highly relatable and terrifying way of depicting horror. The genre serves the storytelling and leaves a mark on a conversation that has long been avoided, or when addressed, only in a one-way kind of manner. Whatever theological or ethical argument the church may hold, and whether you hold such conviction that same-sex attraction needs to be rebuked or derived out of an individual, the story argues that it does harm.
Some viewers, particularly those from religious backgrounds, may object to the film’s portrayal of faith communities. The saying ‘you can be gay, but you cannot practice’ is flung around often. The movie does not make a difference between the two and thus takes a strong stance in this discussion. As the film’s horrors escalate, Chiarella repeatedly turns to a central question: can criticism of a person’s identity ever be meaningfully separated from criticism of the person themselves? Rather than answering that outright, the film allows its imagery and narrative to carry the weight of that enquiry.
Leviticus is a socially conscious horror film that understands fear as something more complex than monsters and jump scares, positioning itself in the reality that many boys and girls still wrestle with their sexual identity in this hostile world. Its Australian setting is specific, but it would be naive to think this does not reflect queer experiences all over the world. Sundance film festival as a premier stage is appropriate, and distribution goes beyond just cinema business, but is a form of raising awareness, validating the journey of many queer individuals. And taking another step in the emancipation of universal love.
