Leviticus Movie Review: A Gripping Biblical Thriller

In an isolated, drought-parched Australian farming community, two teenage boys - Naim (Joe Bird) and Ryan (Stacy Clausen) - are caught in a suffocating web of religious fervor and rural repression. They are each other’s secret, the only solace in a world governed by Deliverance Healers (Nicholas Hope, gloriously unhinged) and their fire-and-brimstone crusades. But their connection summons something unnatural: a violent entity that doesn’t wear a mask or hide in the shadows. It takes the form of the person they desire most - each other. When Naim and Ryan are together, the thing wears one of their faces, and it is hungry, jealous, and murderous. The plot follows their desperate attempts to separate, to pray away the curse, and to understand why their love has been twisted into a death sentence. The script, lean and propulsive, doesn’t waste time on exposition. It drops you into the heat, the dust, and the fear, and lets the boys’ panic drive the narrative forward.

The genius of Leviticus is that it weaponizes intimacy. The entity doesn't attack from the shadows; it attacks by eroding trust. Ryan will reach for Naim’s hand, and the fingers will feel just slightly too cold. Naim will whisper a secret, and the whisper will come back with a mocking inflection. Bird and Clausen are phenomenal, carrying the film with raw, unguarded performances that oscillate between desperate devotion and paralyzing suspicion. Clausen, in particular, has a terrifyingly still face - he can convey the moment his boyfriend has been replaced by the monster with just a subtle widening of his eyes. Bird, meanwhile, brings a wounded ferocity to Naim, a boy who would rather face a demon than live without the only person who understands him.

Chiarella, working with a clearly limited budget, makes the landscape an enemy. The sun-blasted fields, the creaking corrugated iron of a deserted church, the oppressive silence - every frame feels scorched and fragile. He leans hard into body horror in the scenes where the entity imitates a loved one, using slight distortions - a too-long neck, a smile that stretches a beat too long - that are more unnerving than any gore. The sound design deserves special mention: a low, drone-like hum that builds whenever the entity is near, mixed with the boys’ ragged breathing, creates a constant state of physiological alert.

But the film isn’t perfect. The third act descends into a subplot involving a "Deliverance Healer" that feels rushed and narratively tangled. Mia Wasikowska, as Naim’s mother Arlene, is brilliant but underused, and the resolution - while thematically bold - may frustrate viewers who crave a more concrete monster. There’s also a lingering ambiguity about the entity’s rules: sometimes it can touch, sometimes it can’t; sometimes it mimics perfectly, sometimes it glitches. This inconsistency undermines some of the tension, making the horror feel arbitrary rather than inevitable. The film is also unashamedly arthouse in its pacing; expect long, wordless shots of boys staring at each other, the camera lingering on sweat and trembling lips. That’s a feature, not a bug, but it won’t satisfy a typical horror crowd.

Pros

• Joe Bird and Stacy Clausen deliver two of the year’s most committed young performances.
• The central metaphor - desire as a demonic entity - is fresh, poignant, and brutally realized.
• Chiarella’s direction creates an oppressive, tactile atmosphere of heat and dread.
• The horror is psychological and slow-burning, prioritizing dread over jump scares.
• A genuine, heartbreaking romance beats at the center of the carnage.

Cons

• The narrative loses steam and clarity in its final 20 minutes.
• Rules of the entity are frustratingly vague and occasionally plot-convenient.
• The pacing will test mainstream audience patience.
• Several promising supporting characters (especially Wasikowska) feel sidelined.
• The "biblical" connection is more decorative than substantive.

Leviticus isn't a flawless movie. It’s messy, its final act stumbles, and it demands a level of patience that modern audiences often don’t have. But it is a genuinely singular experience - a queer love story that refuses to be easily redeemed, and a horror film that understands true terror isn’t being chased by a monster; it’s realizing the person you’re holding might be wearing a stolen face. The film’s final shot, which I won’t spoil, is a gut punch that recontextualizes the entire journey, leaving you with a quiet devastation that lingers long after the credits roll. For cinephiles hungry for something ambitious and strange, this is essential viewing. For everyone else, approach with caution - it bites back.