by Foster Harlfinger, Contributing Writer
Naim (Joe Bird) attends the local church service with his increasingly religious mom (Mia Wasikowska) as they attempt to settle into their new Australian small town. As the entire congregation sings with conviction, moved by the spirit of their faith, Naim feels more isolated than ever. Still emotionally reeling from the death of his father, Naim struggles to connect with the other kids his age, finding himself hopelessly alone in the gray, industrial outskirts of Victoria, Australia. Until Ryan (Stacy Clausen).
Whether it’s sneaking a forbidden glance with one another during church or more intimate meetings in the local abandoned warehouse, Naim and Ryan develop an increasingly passionate romance under the shadow of their town’s homophobia. As Naim and Ryan’s “condition” becomes known to their families and the church congregation through a series of unsettling confessions and encounters, the church recruits the assistance of a local deliverance healer to rid them of their attractions.
Though the real-world horror of Leviticus would have been potent enough on its own, it wouldn’t be a true horror film without a dose of the supernatural to truly muck things up. In their attempt to “cure” our two leads, the town takes the power of their romantic passion and twists it into one of guilt, shame, and fear. On a now-literal level, Naim and Ryan begin to experience alluring and haunting visions of the other in which their forbidden encounters turn increasingly violent.
Adrian Chiarella’s debut film conveys a strong command of tone, anchored by a spectacular lead performance from Bird. As one of the child breakout stars from 2022’s Talk to Me, it was never a guarantee that Bird would be able to transform his child stardom into a legitimate career, but his work in Leviticus is nuanced, moving, and complex. Clausen’s performance as Ryan is likewise crucial to the audience’s ability to emotionally latch onto the crux of the story, given the way Naim must be both romantically drawn to Ryan’s presence while at the same time completely and utterly terrified.
Even beyond sharing one of its actors, Leviticus feels unmistakably like a film made by the rainy, dreary, depressed Australia that birthed Michael and Danny Philippou’s Talk to Me and Bring Her Back. As with those two films, there is a central metaphor at play that adds a needed level of depth to the proceedings, though you would have to be blind not to see the metaphor lying beneath the surface of this film. If the title in combination with the queer central romance weren’t enough to give it away, the film operates as a metaphor for attempts at sexual repression and conversion therapy that arise from a small-town fear of homosexuality.
This storytelling device, while stirring, remains largely one note, especially when the real-world supernatural mechanics required to literalize the metaphor don’t always stand up to scrutiny. Questionable character decisions and logical conundrums as to how the supernatural force works abound, a flaw made even more noticeable when the film borrows much of its horror imagery from recent films like David Robert Mitchell’s It Follows. Thankfully, none of these critiques deprive the film of its top-notch atmosphere, and at a crisp 88 minutes, it is difficult not to recommend Leviticus as an earnest, stylish horror film with a heartfelt message on its mind.
Rating: Like It
Leviticus is currently playing in theaters.
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