Hello, dear reader! Do you like what you read here at Omnivorous? Do you like reading fun but insightful takes on all things pop culture? Do you like supporting indie writers? If so, then please consider becoming a subscriber and get the newsletter delivered straight to your inbox. There are a number of paid options, but you can also sign up for free! Every little bit helps. Thanks for reading and now, on with the show!
Warning: Full spoilers for the film follow.
I think it’s safe to say that horror is having a bit of a moment. Of course, horror is one of those genres that can always be counted on to be financially profitable, both because it often requires less money and because it’s so effective at tapping into the anxieties, fears, and desires of a particular cultural moment. I’ve loved almost every horror movie I’ve seen this year but, even in a year known for its strong offerings, Adrian Chiarella’s Leviticus is something special. I knew going in that it was going to be one of those films that got into my mind and under my skin. I’ve been on a long and winding journey back to Christianity over the past year or so, and so the issue of faith and queerness has been much on my mind. This film crawled into my mind and my soul, latched its hooks in me, and hasn’t let me go since.
The film begins with an amorous encounter between teens Naim (Joe Bird) and Ryan (Stacy Clausen), and at first it seems the two of them have found a connection they both clearly need. However, when Naim discovers Ryan kissing their pastor’s son, Hunter (Jeremy Blewitt) and tells the pastor what’s happened, things take a sinister turn. Ryan and Hunter undergo a terrifying encounter with a healer, who curses them to be haunted, tormented and, in Hunter’s case, killed by the thing they desire most. Unfortunately for Naim, his mother Arlena (Mia Wasikowska), soon hands him over to the healer, and it’s not long before he’s set on a terrifying course with his beloved Ryan.
Both Joe Bird and Stacy Clausen are phenomenal in this film, with each bringing something unique to the table. Bird perfectly captures Naim’s adolescent angst, as well as his sense of alienation and yearning for something more, some human connection that neither his mother nor their devout religious community can provide. He finds it unexpectedly in Clausen’s Ryan, and the two actors have palpable chemistry. And yet, all the while, Naim is also haunted by his resentment of Ryan and the fact that his own actions were what brought about their harrowing.
For his part, Clausen captures the nuances of a very complicated figure. Ryan is a rougher type than Naim, or at least it seems at first, but as the film goes on he shows a deep well of sensitivity and kindness. Like Naim, he yearns for queer connection. Clausen also superbly captures the menace and danger of Ryan’s doppelganger, even his silent movements conveying a sense of murderous menace. It’s not every actor who could play both characters with equal depth, but Clausen is more than up to the task, his wounded angelic beauty lending even his more terrifying moments an erotic charge.
Though there are moments of gore–including a disturbing moment in which we see Hunter’s head in a field–for the most part Leviticus relies on slowly spreading dread and suspense as the spectral Ryan torments and pursues Naim relentlessly any time he’s alone. Jed Kurzel’s score is also haunting and potent, with an ever-present thrumming that settles into your bones. Combined with the frequent shots of the heavily industrialized area in which these boys live–as well as the eerily intense church scenes–this score keeps us on the edge of our seats, waiting to see what new horror is going to unfold.
Indeed, there’s something particularly deeply unsettling about the premise of being tormented and, in Hunter’s case, literally killed by a demon that takes the form of your innermost desire. From a certain perverse Christian point of view this is exactly what queer desire itself is, so it makes sense that a “healer” like the one we see in this film–or, for that matter, Hunter’s family–would resort to such a desperate attempt to “save” these boys from themselves. The whole ordeal is made all the more upsetting because the being isn’t content to just torment you: as both Hunter’s death and that of the young woman who dies at the beginning of the film reveal, it wants you to suffer. Naim’s own encounter with the demon late in the film is especially disturbing, particularly once the creature tries to literally tear his throat out from the inside.
While the portions with the demon are obviously harrowing and heartbreaking, for me the most traumatic and insidious moment is the one in which Arlene admits she knew from the get-go that the “exorcism” would have terrible and lasting consequences, that Naim would have to live the rest of his life in fear. It’s a moment that’s stunning–devastating, really–for both Naim and those of us in the audience–because it reveals the extent to which Arlene’s own terror of the unknown has poisoned her relationship with her son. It’s also one of those moments that cuts to the bone precisely because it matches so neatly with so many lived experience; there are a distressing number of “Christian” parents who would rather see their children destroyed, both emotionally and physically, rather than have them be their true, God-given selves.
And yet, despite the terror and the horror and the betrayals, there are moments of genuine beauty and affection and erotic connection. The scene in which Ryan admits he wouldn’t want to be haunted by anyone other than Naim is genuinely affecting, and their shared erotic encounter on a bus is also beautifully staged. Somehow, these two young men manage to find an island of calm and love amid all the fear and dread and violence. To be sure, though, these moments are always tinged with terror. While I was watching the scene on the bus I still felt nervous, terrified lest they be discovered and unsettled by the fact that it was precisely this desire that was poised to seal both of their dooms. The film thus powerfully evokes the sinister effects of internalized homophobia, the way that a noxious religious ideology can crawl into your brain and make you fear yourself, your desires, your love, and the person who you feel the greatest connection to. In some terrible ways, the film suggests that the most damaging aspect of this haunting isn’t the violence itself; it’s the sundering of the self.
It would’ve been easy–and, for some no doubt, very satisfying–for the film to conclude with Naim and Ryan defeating their demonic tormentor and riding off into the sunset to have a happy gay life in the big city. However, Leviticus is a far cannier and subtler film than that, and it is smart enough to realize that such an ending would feel cheap and unearned and, more to the point, that it would rob the film of its essential power. By leaving the ending tinged with melancholy and ambiguity, the film suggests that our heroes will be haunted by their ordeal and that there is no easy happy ending in a world in which such homophobia is still very real and very present. (As a brief side note, it’s very satisfying to see Arlene frantically searching for Naim after he abandons her. One can but hope that the rest of her life is spent in misery as she reckons with her loneliness and her complicity in her son’s torment).
However, there is still hope in the conclusion, and it’s fitting that the last we see of Naim and Ryan is the two of them with their heads together, sharing a set of headphones. Queer life is difficult, sometimes, and there is always another hill to climb, another battle to be won. We’re led to hope, though, that these two troubled young men will manage to find their own form of peace and love and happiness, both with one another and with the queer community they’ll one day find.
