Leviticus is a brazen criticism of the systemic abuse of Queer youth at the hands of religion.
Written by Paige Irwin
The book of Leviticus, the third book in the Holy Bible, provides guidance for followers of Catholicism and Christianity, instructing the devout in a "holy life." This book calls for the banishment of those who are imperfect, the disposal of any soul who is not leading a life holy enough to exist in reverence of the lord… Leviticus is a brazen criticism of the systemic abuse of Queer youth at the hands of religion. However, its fatal flaw is that the reality that the film alludes to is far more terrifying than the contents of the film itself.
"Is it about sacrificing the beast for the sake of the boys - Aaron’s sons" (The Book of Leviticus). Foremost in this film is the strength of the central concept, the religious overtones. The two leads, Naim (Joe Bird) and Ryan (Stacy Clausen), are haunted by a violent demonic entity that takes the form of that which they desire most, this being each other… The greatest threat to their lives is quite literally their queerness, their attraction to each other. This transforms from something beautiful that exists between them to a powerful source of violence once religious interference occurs in their relationship. "The nearness of God not only accentuates the people's sense of sin but prompts them to turn to him in sacrificial services of worship" (The Book of Leviticus). This is truthfully an incredibly strong concept, well thought through and rooted in the real-life struggles of Queer people worldwide, while also thoroughly and accurately referencing the text from which the metaphor stems. This is what drew me in as a viewer. I was deeply excited to see this film at Inside Out Film Festival, knowing only of the concept and Australian production, I was shaking in anticipation for its release. Australian horror has a reputation for its abundance of pure terror and truly horrific material. As an avid horror fan, I was slightly disappointed by the lack of this in Leviticus.
Performances by Bird and Clausen ground the film in its most terrifying moments. Without such excellent depictions of the intimacy between the two boys, the switch to brutal violence in place of romance wouldn’t be the source of such antagonism. However, chilling moments quickly turn lukewarm over the course of the film once you pick up on a certain pattern of predictability. I was less shaken by what was being presented to me on screen, of the world created by writer-director Adrian Chiarella, but reeling from the thoughts of the substantiality of their fear. That this is so close to reality, shame will kill you, oppression will kill you. Once the jump scares land flat and the thrill wears off, what leaves you rattled is the meaning behind these moments; it is a deep gutwrenching fear that goes home with you and haunts your consciousness relentlessly. What Leviticus lacks in heart-pounding thrills, it makes up for in soul-crushing realizations.
At only 88 minutes, Leviticus has plenty of room for additional material. Not to introduce new themes, new ideas, but to flesh out the ones that are already there. The material is so ripe for exploration, and I felt myself consistently disappointed by the frequent introduction of a delicious metaphor only for that to be very minimally explored. For example, there are numerous relationships presented on screen that planted the seeds of something great, an even greater exploration of the impact of institutionalized religion on familial and romantic relationships. These seeds were quickly covered with dirt and left without water. Throughout the film, there were several moments like this, where a stirring theme, concept, or plotline is placed in front of us, we’re given a brief look, and we say “that’s incredible, we want more” before the film tells us “that's enough of that”. To truly reckon with the ideas of conversion therapy, religious trauma, the deaths of queer youth at the hands of the church, institutionalized abuse, and generational repression, these topics need to be more thoroughly explored.
In all honesty, I am such a fan of this story that my final verdict on one of my most anticipated films of 2026 is that it deserves a second chance. Chiarella has an authentically powerful creative vision. This is a film that has more than earned thirty more minutes of our time as an audience, just thirty minutes. What a reworking of the script could do for Leviticus is absolutely invaluable. For the first time, I am rooting for a remake.
Regardless of any thoughts or criticisms I have of the film, I have been recommending it to every Queer person I know and have been doubly recommending it to my Queer friends from a religious background. Leviticus is daring and romantic, grim and tender; it won’t let you go, and you’ll be reflecting on it for weeks to come.
Go catch Leviticus in theatres this Pride Month, starting June 19th.
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