‘Leviticus’ Review: Adrian Chiarella Conjures a Timely and Biblically Scary Gay Horror Story [A-]
The beauty of the horror genre is not only in creating thrilling visuals that test your body’s fight-or-flight response, but also in how it tackles difficult political themes in imaginative ways: racism (Get Out), class disparities (Society, The Purge), misogyny (The Stepford Wives), mass media propaganda (They Live, Videodrome), or all of these (Night of the Living Dead) and many more. Religious horror is a fascinating subgenre with an endless catalog because of its universal themes of good versus evil. However, few films focus on certain verses from the Bible and provide a more challenging, nuanced take on current events, like in Adrian Chiarella’s Leviticus. The Book of Leviticus is one of rules and wrath, demanding a high specificity to purity in order to live according to God’s ethical standards. Recently, the Book has become a pick and choose index of Old Testament codes that religious zealots use to condemn others, namely the homophobic interpretations of Leviticus 18:22 and 20:13. For his feature debut, writer-director Chiarella has sharply crafted an empathetic and inventive rebuttal to the distortions of the text with an added spin that highlights the destructive, inhumane effects of conversion therapy.
Leviticus premiered at this year’s Sundance Film Festival in its Midnight section, garnering high praise. It was quickly acquired by NEON in a heated seven-figure battle for distribution and has since continued on the festival circuit sustaining positive reviews. A mid-June wide release in Australia and the U.S. is sure to make a big splash considering Pride Month will have the sky ablaze with rainbow flags and homophobic protesters alike. Leviticus has some clever tricks up its sleeve, including a tense and steamy bus ride, but at its core is a passionate, personal tale that is sure to be one of the summer’s biggest hits and year’s smartest, scariest films.
The opening scene is an ingenious first display of disorientation, a technique the film repeatedly uses to illustrate the mental gymnastics of our crucified characters. The distant sounds of someone showering echo over black before an indoor natatorium slowly nears. Then, before the public shower creeps into view, a young woman’s playful banter soon turns into pleasured moans. By the time she comes into view, the devious camera has already accomplished a handful of feats: its eerie movements and perspective suggest the embodiment of another presence, it teaches the importance of using all of your senses–making you observe novel environments in peculiar ways–while also training you not to trust them, it builds suspense by playing with your expectations, and it confirms what you may have suspected but hoped wasn’t true: she’s alone. Without much time to process things further, she screams and is gruesomely flung out of view. Whomever or whatever she thinks she’s with, that only moments ago allowed her to be completely vulnerable, is invisible to anyone but her and has the nightmarish strength of a ten-foot monster. Blood trickles down the drain as a subversive ode to Psycho, solidifying this exceptional cold open as the most terrifying feat of exposition since Scream (1996) and only the first of many moments that will leave audiences gagged.
The film continues, following teenage Naim (Joe Bird, Talk to Me) and his mom (Mia Wasikowska, Bergman Island) moving to a secluded Australian town with a devout Christian community. Naim slowly adapts, befriending classmate Ryan (Stacy Clausen, Thrash) and eventually becoming romantically involved with him. They hang out at a nearby abandoned mill, a location steeped in their symbolic need to hide their authentic selves under a veneer of unbreakable masculinity. Their undeniable chemistry is immediately apparent, thanks to how Bird and Clausen express a tender affection for each other. However, when Naim goes to visit Ryan and catches him kissing Hunter (Jeremy Blewitt), the preacher’s son, everything changes. A heartbroken and betrayed Naim confesses what he saw, prompting the community to gather for a conversion therapy ceremony best described as a reverse exorcism.
At first, it seems like the overblown theatrics cause enough shame and embarrassment for Hunter and Ryan to understand their wrongdoing. But then a rugged, menacing “deliverance healer” (Nicholas Hope) recites what seems to be more spell than prayer while lighting and extinguishing a lighter. When the boys freeze and start seizing horrifically, it becomes abundantly clear that the situation is no prank. Naim watches in terrified agony, for them and for his own life, for fear that he may be next. When the boys come to, they quickly discover that the accursed is then followed by a spirit that resembles your crush. Succumb to it and you’ll die.
This idea becomes increasingly horrifying as it’s explored throughout the rest of the film. To the victim, the constant, unnerving feeling of being followed unearths the paranoia of It Follows and 70’s thrillers. It reinforces a need for Naim and Ryan to conform while suppressing both their feelings for each other and their own individuality. Constantly looking over their shoulder, not being able to trust each other, and never being alone are all tactics that lead to unhealthy mental and emotional states. The brilliance in the film’s design is how Chiarella uses the horror genre to instill the same dread in the audience. Not only are there killer jump scares and chilling scenes where you can cut the tension with a knife, but also Bird and Clausen give confident, empathetic performances to show how many queer teens feel in coming to terms with their own identity and sexuality.
Oppression takes many forms, even in this small town, in order to wield fear and manipulate its population. This community looks for a moral cleansing of its impious youth when the true horror is in their own behavior and the everlasting trauma they inflict. Anti-LGBTQ bills are introduced every day in order to endanger the lives of queer people alongside ideologies worldwide that further ostracize them. The Supreme Court’s recent ruling against Colorado’s conversion therapy ban considered it a violation of free speech, despite research from major mental health organizations that find the treatment–suggesting sexual orientation or gender identity are curable illnesses–ineffective, leading instead to higher risk of depression, suicidality, and other mental and behavioral health effects.
Leviticus is a bold, timely film that confronts the ongoing homophobic rhetoric in masterful fashion. Cinematographer Tyson Perkins (Went Up the Hill) captures both the Australian landscape and the characters’ devotion with such careful sensitivity. Joe Bird and Stacy Clausen prove themselves as rising stars commanding center stage with broad emotional ranges. Mia Wasikowska, with her gentle yet firm exterior, purposefully only makes a few notable appearances. She represents a slightly absent but key figure in Naim’s upbringing, looking for an easy fix while channeling a hint of Carrie’s Margaret White who is “here on the Lord’s work, spreadin’ the gospel of God’s salvation.” Chiarella has instantly made himself a promising voice in horror, delivering a personal and hopeful perspective for millions of people worldwide while influencing the next generation of subversive horror film lovers. Legislation targeting LGBTQ+ individuals has never been shown to better society or the lives of those involved. Chiarella is clearly proposing the opposite, that regulation only perpetuates pain and a destructive psychosis that makes you second guess the very nature of your being. Instead, comply with another, more accepting verse from Leviticus: “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev. 19:18, NIV).
Grade: A-
Leviticus is being released in theaters by NEON on June 19.
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