Leviticus (2026) Movie Review: A Devastating Queer Horror Romance That Transforms Religious Trauma Into Visceral Terror

Leviticus announces Australian writer-director Adrian Chiarella as one of the most exciting new voices in genre filmmaking, joining the ranks of accomplished countrymen like Jennifer Kent and the Philippou brothers. Premiering at the 2026 Sundance Film Festival on January 23, this 86-minute horror-thriller from Causeway Films and Salmira Productions stars Joe Bird and Stacy Clausen as two teenage boys whose secret romance becomes the target of religious persecution manifested through supernatural horror.

Set in a small, desolate Australian town where Christianity dominates social life, the film follows Naim and Ryan as they navigate young love while being haunted by a demonic entity that takes the form of the person they desire most, conjured through a church-sanctioned ritual designed to punish homosexual feelings. With Mia Wasikowska playing Naim's emotionally distant mother and Nicholas Hope as the deliverance healer who invokes the curse, the film represents a succinct yet devastating exploration of conversion therapy reimagined through paranormal terror. Distributed by Neon, Leviticus arrives as essential viewing that wields horror in defense of queer love, creating an allegorical nightmare that's as romantically tender as it is bone-chilling.

Story and Screenplay: Conversion Therapy as Supernatural Nightmare

Chiarella's screenplay operates with remarkable efficiency, packing profound thematic weight into its tight runtime without a moment wasted. The narrative structure opens with what appears to be a familiar coming-of-age scenario: two teenage boys roughhousing in an abandoned mill, their physical play escalating into something more intimate when blonde-haired Ryan kisses Naim while pinning him down. This initial exchange establishes their relationship dynamic with believable casualness, conveying not just mutual attraction but their awareness of living in an environment where such feelings must remain hidden.

The script's genius lies in how organically it marries blood-curling supernatural horror with incisive social commentary. When rumors surface about same-sex attraction among young congregants, the screenplay takes a disturbing tonal shift that completely disarms viewers. Ryan and Hunter, the pastor's own son, are forced to undergo an exorcism-style ritual in front of their families and congregation. What initially seems absurd quickly becomes shiver-inducing as the boys violently convulse under murmured Latin incantations, cursed with a demon that will torment them by appearing as their lovers.

The supernatural mechanics are clear enough without requiring exhaustive explanation. The entity morphs into the object of each victim's desire to test them, and if they surrender to attraction, brutal violence ensues. This premise becomes a ghostly, heightened reinterpretation of conversion therapy, embodying the self-hatred and shame certain religious groups impose on queer people. The screenplay brilliantly explores how the church makes Naim and Ryan internalize its limited conception of sexual propriety, turning what they love into a weapon against them.

Where the script stumbles slightly is in occasional repetition during the third act, flirting with trope fatigue as it deploys similar scenarios multiple times. The supernatural rules also lack complete consistency in places, though these minor flaws pale against the larger achievement. The pacing builds tension relentlessly toward a graphic, brutal crescendo that refuses easy sentimentalism while avoiding total hopelessness.

Acting and Characters: Chemistry-Driven Performances of Devastating Conviction

Joe Bird delivers a volatile, vulnerable leading performance that ensures the film never loses touch with human emotion even as supernatural elements intensify. His pronounced eyes express both astonishment at the circumstances and genuine sadness for Ryan, while his portrayal of Naim's tentativeness solidifying into true tenderness proves tremendously affecting. Bird harnesses the probing spirit of an adolescent still discovering himself and his new surroundings, making the prospect of losing Ryan heartbreakingly realistic. This is the shier of the two boys, and watching him navigate fear while choosing love guides the film's emotional core.

Stacy Clausen faces the dual challenge of playing both the real Ryan and the malevolent version that stalks Naim. He brings cautiously tender vulnerability laced with mounting dread to the authentic Ryan, creating palpable chemistry with Bird that makes their relationship devastatingly convincing. When embodying the demonic doppelganger, Clausen must shift into something predatory while maintaining enough resemblance to confuse and seduce. The performances between Bird and Clausen achieve something almost absurdly exceptional, making it effortless for audiences to empathize with and root for these star-crossed lovers.

Mia Wasikowska plays Naim's mother with stern coldness, becoming a quietly upsetting force representing ultra-religious apologists who spew scripture while carrying hateful darkness within. She's emotionally stunted and distant, having uprooted her family to this uninviting town, and the screenplay shows grace in attempting to understand rather than excuse her logic in submitting her son to spiritual torment. The most painful realization for Naim isn't being taunted by something only he can see, but knowing the person who's supposed to love him most agreed to bestow this hex upon him.

Nicholas Hope's deliverance healer radiates the kind of righteous certainty that makes him genuinely frightening, a man of God willingly invoking demons to punish those whose sins he deems abhorrent. The supporting cast, including Jeremy Blewitt as Hunter, effectively populate the suffocating world these characters navigate largely alone.

Direction and Technical Aspects: Social Realism Meets Supernatural Dread

Chiarella demonstrates assured control over his ambitious concept, crafting a film that visually reads like social realist drama while delivering genuine horror. Working with cinematographer Tyson Perkins, he grounds even the most gruesome events under a veil of unnerving normalcy, suggesting such persecution could happen anywhere. The dense fumes from nearby industrial facilities frequently float into frame, reminding viewers of the harsh, isolated backdrop where this nightmare unfolds. Perkins delivers many beautiful, immersive shots that capture both the bleakness of the town and the tenderness of stolen moments between the boys.

The direction's most impressive achievement lies in how Chiarella orchestrates tension during scenes where the young protagonists give into desire for one another. Having experienced violent attacks after being tricked into lowering their guards, they're filled with anxiety when trying to kiss or touch, yet they can't resist. One particular bus sequence stands out as more intense than standard jump scares because it's logically built on established mechanics while demonstrating Chiarella's understanding of exactly how long to let a scene run for maximum effect. He expertly toys with viewer expectations, knowing the audience will be on high alert, creating nail-biting suspense through restraint rather than cheap shocks.

The film makes effective use of both practical and digital effects that will have audiences squinting through their fingers. The violence is graphic when it arrives, and the production design creates an immersive yet bleak and suffocating world. Emma Bortignon's sound design contributes significantly to the haunting atmosphere, while the editing maintains the tight runtime without feeling rushed.

Music and Atmosphere: Eerie Soundscapes of Dread and Desire

Jed Kurzel's score proves eerily fitting, enhancing the film's dual nature as both horror thriller and romantic tragedy. The music knows when to amplify dread and when to step back, allowing silence or ambient sound to do the heavier lifting. The overall sound design creates an atmosphere where even quiet moments carry tension, as viewers never know when the entity might appear.

The mood Chiarella establishes is one of constant, creeping unease that refuses to leave until the credits roll. An eerie sense of dread seeps through the screen from the moment the curse is invoked, creating a relentless atmosphere of paranoia and fear. Yet within this suffocating environment, the film finds space for genuine romantic sweetness, making the boys' connection feel precious and worth fighting for despite impossible odds.

The film balances sensuality with horror in ways that heighten both elements. Physical displays of affection carry life-or-death stakes, transforming intimate moments into sources of terror without diminishing their romantic significance. This is ultimately more effective at eliciting swoons than screams, though it delivers both with precision.

Strengths and Weaknesses

What works well:

• Exceptional lead performances from Bird and Clausen with intense, believable chemistry
• Original screenplay that transforms conversion therapy into visceral supernatural horror
• Assured directorial control that builds tension through restraint rather than cheap scares
• Believably casual dialogue that efficiently establishes character and environment
• Social realist visual approach that grounds horror in unnerving normalcy
• Tight 86-minute runtime that uses every moment to instill dread
• Emotional resonance that refuses easy sentimentalism while avoiding hopelessness
• Effective practical and digital effects deployed with purpose
• Incisive social commentary organically married to genre thrills
• Grace shown toward even the film's antagonists, particularly Naim's mother

What doesn't work:

• Third act repetition that flirts with trope fatigue before pulling back
• Some supernatural rules lack complete consistency
• Occasional moments where established mechanics feel slightly muddled
• Could benefit from one or two fewer iterations of similar scenarios
• Minor narrative stumbles where the film threatens to repeat its own tricks

Final Verdict: Essential Queer Horror That Earns Its Place in the Pantheon

Rating: 4.5/5 stars

Leviticus represents the kind of filmmaking that justifies the horror genre's existence as a vehicle for exploring real-world trauma through supernatural metaphor. Chiarella has created something that draws inevitable comparisons to It Follows in its treatment of sexual anxiety as stalking spectral presence, yet stands entirely on its own through specificity of perspective and depth of emotional commitment. This is horror that understands marginalized communities' ongoing struggle for acceptance while refusing to let social commentary overwhelm the fundamental requirements of effective genre filmmaking.

This is essential viewing for anyone drawn to queer horror that uses supernatural elements to explore real persecution. Fans of films like It Follows, The Babadook, and other allegorical horror that transforms internal struggles into external threats will find much to appreciate here. Those interested in LGBTQ+ cinema that doesn't shy away from depicting the violence queer people face, both psychological and physical, should seek this out immediately. The film works equally well as creepy horror tale and potent teen romance, making it accessible to viewers who might not typically embrace genre material.

However, those seeking traditional horror with clear supernatural rules and conventional scares may find the film's approach too grounded in social realism. Viewers who prefer their romance separate from graphic violence will struggle with how intimacy and brutality intertwine. The subject matter is inherently triggering for anyone with experience of religious trauma or conversion therapy, and the film never pretends otherwise. Those who need tidy resolutions or complete consistency in their supernatural mechanics might find minor frustrations.

Leviticus ultimately succeeds as both mercilessly upsetting horror and emotionally resonant love story. It's sensual and horrifying in equal measure, original enough to establish Chiarella as an exciting new voice in contemporary cinema while feeling poised to cement itself as a festival gem destined for cult classic status. The film embodies its own creed of letting love rather than fear guide decision-making, showing that even when demons are invoked to punish desire, genuine connection proves worth fighting for. Time will do its thing, but this tightly conceived debut seems bound to earn a place in the pantheon of notable queer horror, standing as testament to horror's power when wielded in defense of marginalized love.