LEVITICUS (2026) - Review

Two teenage boys must escape a violent entity that takes the form of the person they desire most – each other.

Guilt and isolation go hand in hand with religious trauma. Anyone who identifies as queer with a religious family is no stranger to the cross you are made to carry. Religion thrives on fear; the more fear you have, the stronger its hold becomes. I never expected to relive my traumas on the big screen while watching the Australian queer horror film LEVITICUS, directed by Adrian Chiarellia. Being a young queer boy with feelings for another, while experiencing shame, anger, and conflicting emotions, is heavy to bear.

Leviticus is amazing at encapsulating the horror of homophobia. The story reminds me how isolating it can feel when others meet my very existence with great disapproval and violence. The saddest part is that this movie’s message still resonates today. Naim (Joe Bird) and Ryan (Stacy Clausen) are the two protagonists, teenagers in the midst of self-discovery. They live within a small-town Christian community, which isolates them from the general population.

The town appears barren, and muted colors dominate; it resembles a washed-out painting left out in the sun. It is all so desolate and dilapidated. Which is why the first scene of supernatural activity is shocking. It punches you in the face. No, I won’t spoil it, but let’s just say that with pleasure comes punishment. We soon meet Naim and Ryan, and the film quickly makes it clear that there are romantic feelings between them. As someone who remembers their teenage years quite well, I know the aches and pains of growth. Everything feels so overwhelming, and emotions are hard to regulate.

I grew up in a religious family, so I understand the isolation and confusion of that environment. People around you seem brainwashed by religion to the point where it’s unsettling. Sometimes, the only self-defense is to hide by pretending you believe in what the community believes. Naim and Ryan wear a solemn expression as a mask unless they’re with each other in secret. As a viewer, you see their drastic shift in energy, from cold to warm. They know they don’t belong within that Christian community, and their ties to family make it hard to escape.

There is no queer love story without its fair share of drama and demons (and in this case, it is quite literal). Due to feelings of distrust, hurt, and being outed, Naim, Ryan, and a teenager named Hunter (Jeremy Blewitt) become haunted by a demon. How, do you ask? A deliverance preacher (Nicholas Hope) performs a cleansing ritual (to clean the gay away, of course) at the request of Naim and Hunter’s parents, but it clearly goes awry. Who knew that a lighter and repeating certain words could conjure a demon into the mortal world? Man messing with what they don’t understand. A tale as old as time.

The demon was a clear manifestation of bottled-up emotions and Christian sin. The pattern the story presents is that the more you run from something, the worse things become around you. With this curse, the demon takes the literal form of the person you care for the most. This detail adds an interesting element to the narrative, as I was on the edge of my seat trying to figure out whether the characters were interacting with the demon. The film forced me to be in the characters’ shoes; I felt my heart beat as fast as theirs, my breath shaky, and my body tense.

Leviticus is well-paced and balanced, giving you room to absorb the action, then the consequence. Although the parents cried and grieved, I felt no sympathy for them. Instead, I felt anger because this series of tragic events could have been avoided. Hunter’s dad, who is also a pastor (Ewen Leslie), cried in front of the church. It seemed to me that his tears stemmed from shame and guilt over his actions, rather than sadness for his teenage son. Naim’s mom (Mia Wasikowska) was also fantastic at demonstrating how a religious parent can do more harm than good. She portrays indifference, even as she witnesses her child’s suffering, which is all too relatable.

I did say this is a non-spoiler review, so I will not explain what happens to these two lovebirds, united by religious trauma and a demon. What I will say is that ultimately, their actions throughout the film and to the very end are a reminder of the vulnerability and strength a person can demonstrate during difficult times.

As mentioned earlier, this movie resonates deeply within me. This film made me realize that I am still healing from being a victim of religious trauma. Unhealed parts are like a shadow, a demon that follows you no matter where you go. This makes perfect sense, as in the film, the ritual of salvation goes terribly wrong, and the victims pay a heavy price.

Whether you identify as queer, an ally, questioning, or anything in between, please watch Leviticus in theatres on June 19th. Great queer horror films are rare, and this movie deserves recognition. It’s also perfect timing for Pride Month.