In the bible, the book of Leviticus preaches to “love thy neighbor as thyself.” Adrian Chiarella’s feature directorial debut of the same name explores what happens when religion twists love into punishment and when devotion curdles into fear. Leviticus follows Naim (Joe Bird) and Ryan (Stacy Clausen), two teenage boys navigating first love in a rural Australian town possessed by religious fanaticism. What begins as a tender, secret romance quickly descends into horror. Echoing the dread of 2014’s It Follows, Leviticus’ central terror is a violent entity that takes the form of the person you desire most, literalizing the lust, shame, and danger that can come with queer devotion in a world determined to punish it.
The entity becomes an embodiment of the violence queer youth face—physical, emotional, and generational. Naim never knows whether the Ryan approaching him will be gentle and loving, or ready to punish him for showing desire. That uncertainty mirrors a deeply real fear many queer people live with: the terrifying feeling of not knowing how affection will be received, and whether openness will be met with tenderness or harm.
Chiarella sharpens this theme through Naim’s mother, who tells him, “Someday you will believe in the things you cannot see,” while refusing to believe that his love is as real as any other. “We need fear to survive”, she tells him. Religious fear convinces her that Naim only has feelings for Ryan because he’s been corrupted, showing how parents can love their children deeply yet be driven to commit unforgivable acts. In Leviticus, the evils of blindly following religion don’t erase love; they weaponize it.
Visually and sonically, the film sinks under your skin. Long stretches of dry grass and dilapidated buildings create a landscape that feels hollow yet claustrophobic. The harsh environment stands in stark contrast to the fragile, growing love between Naim and Ryan. The atmospheric, funereal soundtrack keeps the film vibrating with dread, prompting viewers to hold their breath. Yet Chiarella approaches Naim and Ryan’s relationship with unmistakable care and tenderness, never exploiting their vulnerability for shock.
Leviticus is a reminder that love without acceptance can easily cause pain—but also that self-acceptance can be an act of survival. When Naim accepts himself and allows himself to accept Ryan’s love in return, the film offers something quietly beautiful: not salvation through fear, but through compassion.
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