Growing up is hard enough. Growing up gay in a deeply religious rural community is something else entirely. Life isn’t working out for the Australian teen Naim (Joe Bird) in debut director Adrian Chiarella’s Leviticus (2026). Naim just lost his father, and his mother has moved him to a rural town in Victoria. In addition to being a lonely place for the youth, the community is incredibly religious, making it difficult for Naim to fit in. The only comfort he takes is with the other local teenager, Ryan (Stacy Clausen). The two form a deep bond. Bike rides and wrestling progress from friendly activities to something more. Unfortunately, this is a young love that the religious residents won’t stand for.
Trying to keep their community free of any gay relationships, the superstitious community commits to a strange ritual. It’s a curse that preys upon passion, where the scariest element might be what the boys desire most. Heated emotions, bigoted adults, and a dark force threaten to keep Naim and Ryan apart. Finding the path back will involve honesty about their feelings.
The movie touches on the fears that might lurk in passion. There’s a shame that festers when such urges are deemed unworthy. Away from prying eyes, those urges become stronger, even if love can only survive behind closed doors. Filmed in a quiet Australian countryside with washed-out colors, there’s an overwhelming sensation of longing in a community so cold. Naim becomes the perfect character to embody that thirst for connection as the new kid in town. As a teenager, he’s still trying to figure himself out.
The last thing he needs at a time like this is the scrutinizing eyes of a new, most prejudiced neighborhood. Unsure of how to process his feelings, his jealousy gets the better of him. He doesn’t fully realize the consequences of his actions when acting on his inner feelings. For many gay people living in rural areas, it’s dangerous to be so open with heated emotions. One wrong move could be a step towards death, and there are more than a few ways that can go wrong in a movie like this.
The film draws on the horrors that come with conversion therapy. There is a belief among some Christians that homos**uality can merely be prayed away. This damaging belief festers in a town that would rather preserve the chilling silence of repressed emotions than allow the youth to blossom. They can make someone terrified of what brings them joy. The comfort of a romance is transformed into a deadly presence that must be denied for survival. Confusion arises when Naim and Ryan are deceived by their presence. So many forces conspire against them that it’s painful to watch, but also hopeful they’ll see it through.
It’s fitting that the movie carries the title Leviticus, referring to the Bible passage. Specifically, Leviticus 18:22 and 20:13 are used as evidence that homos**uality is forbidden. However, these texts are debated in theological circles over their translation. Many scholars have come to view many of these passages forbidding homos**uality as actually being against incest, pedophilia, and abuse. This reflects the curse within the movie. Homophobia isn’t utilized with logic against the boys in love. Instead, the boys are scared straight by the threats and powers of the religious. Being gay is seen less as a s**uality and more as a disease that needs to be cured. It is cruel and exclusionary, based on an irrational fear of the other. Like many rural towns, religion becomes a fallback to not only defend against outsiders, but also to weaponize it.
What makes this movie work is the dynamic between Naim and Ryan. They have some genuine chemistry as their relationship is put to the ultimate test. There are many quiet moments between the two where the spark can be felt in the haunting and maddening dullness of their lives. The relationship between Naim and his mother, played by Mia Wasikowska, feels far too distant for a story like this. The unspoken might be part of the muted tone, but it also leaves a few angles underdeveloped. The movie reduces the mother-son relationship to one that creates a vast chasm between them, with little thought given to how it formed. By the third act, the film mostly plateaus in its concept and characters, reducing their plight to an easy-to-read allegory amid frights. While the messaging becomes clear and comes from a genuine place, it also feels as though only a few roads on this complex map have been explored.
Leviticus mostly works for what it wants to say about homophobia and persecution, leaning more into romance than one might expect. It taps into a real-world issue and wraps it with a slow-burning supernatural horror. There’s a freedom in how the film isn’t afraid to address the psychological but also the physical impact of denying who you are. That anxiety is not something that is easy to convey, but serving it up with a horror element of curses, exorcisms, and haunting temptations does present a far more digestible story.
The performances by Joe Bird and Stacy Clausen are also quite strong, making their relationship worth rooting for, even in the most dire moments of conflict. And, thankfully, the gay relationship doesn’t feel like a vessel for a message, but has a genuine heartbeat worth listening to. This is one of the few horror romances that manages to dig deep into the soul and reveal so much about what manifests in a world that prefers mouths shut.
