Australian horror film “Leviticus,” the first feature by writer-director Adrian Chiarella, employs supernatural elements to explore the psychological trauma associated with conversion therapy aimed at gay youth. The film draws inspiration from the 2015 horror “It Follows,” particularly its use of an unrelenting, stalking entity connected to sexual tension, but “Leviticus” develops a distinct narrative by linking the curse to a deliverance healer enlisted by a religious community in a small Australian town. The haunting figures unleashed after the cleansing ritual embody the victims’ deepest desires, adding a layered dimension to the horror.

Set against a bleak rural Australian backdrop characterized by isolated homes and overcast skies, the story centers on Naim (Joe Bird) and Ryan (Stacy Clausen), two closeted teenagers navigating a fraught relationship fraught with jealousy and repression. Following a ritual intended to “cleanse” them, the pair become haunted by dark doppelgängers that only they can see. These supernatural manifestations mirror each boy’s desires but also drive them toward violence, which recurrently presents as self-harm or suicide, reflecting how religious communities often conceal the brutal realities of internalized homophobia.

While “Leviticus” adheres to some conventional horror tropes and its scares grow repetitive, the film has been recognized for capturing the aggressive tension and emotional isolation that permeate its characters’ lives. It highlights how repressed desire can become a dangerous mixture of pain and pleasure, and the complicated, sometimes hostile dynamic between Naim and Ryan serves as a microcosm of larger issues faced by LGBTQ youth in intolerant environments. One particularly unsettling sequence depicts Ryan and a soon-to-be victim engaged in foreplay through a violent exchange—symbolizing the thin line between intimacy and aggression that the film returns to repeatedly.

The portrayal of Naim’s subconscious struggle is amplified by the presence of his mother, played by Mia Wasikowska, whose conflicted love is shaped by fear and religious dogma, emphasizing the sense of isolation that leaves Naim vulnerable. This theme of loneliness is reinforced by the setting and the characters’ fraught interactions. Their only source of connection is each other, a relationship fraught with painful complexity as they confront both the external curse and their internalized fears.

By weaving supernatural horror with the real-world trauma of conversion therapy, “Leviticus” contributes to ongoing conversations about sexuality, repression, and violence, presenting a narrative that is at once metaphorical and deeply personal. The film situates itself among recent works that examine the complexities of gay desire, power, and alienation, offering a dark meditation on how these forces intertwine.