Australian writer-director Adrian Chiarella’s feature debut “Leviticus” blends supernatural horror with a poignant exploration of queer identity and religious trauma. The film, which opened widely this month, centers on two teenage boys, Naim and Ryan, whose budding romance unwinds amid violent persecution and otherworldly torment.

Set in a run-down industrial town, the narrative follows Naim (Joe Bird), a reserved newcomer, and Ryan (Stacy Clausen), a more confident local. Their relationship begins in the confines of an abandoned mill, where their initial connection grows into a tentative romance. The dynamic shifts sharply when Naim secretly observes Ryan kissing another boy, Hunter (Jeremy Blewitt), the son of a prominent member of a conservative church recently joined by Naim’s single mother (Mia Wasikowska). Motivated by hurt and confusion, Naim reports the encounter, triggering a disturbing chain of events.

The church’s response involves a harrowing “deliverance” ritual performed by a severe visitor (Nicholas Hope), who uses fire-and-brimstone tactics drawn from the biblical book of Leviticus—often cited in anti-LGBTQ arguments. The ritual leaves Ryan and Hunter physically and psychologically scarred. In the aftermath, Ryan exhibits unsettling behavior, suggesting supernatural possession or internalized pain manifesting as something more sinister. Attempts by Naim and Ryan to reconnect reveal a frightening new reality: they are not only grappling with external hostility but also with forces within themselves.

“Leviticus” uses these elements to evoke a sense of pervasive danger, recalling classics like “Nightmare on Elm Street” and “It Follows” by blending the fear of outside threats with internalized trauma. Editor Nick Fenton’s precise pacing heightens tension, while Chiarella’s direction emphasizes atmosphere, alternating between expansive isolation and claustrophobic dread. The film's mood aligns with a tradition of Australian filmmakers who embed psychological unease into genre storytelling.

Significantly, the film critiques religiously motivated conversion therapy as a form of psychological and spiritual violence without resorting to outright vilification of those who hold such beliefs. Naim and Ryan’s relationship is portrayed with sensitivity and nuance; their affection is not immediately punished by brutal consequences, avoiding common horror tropes that depict queer love as doomed from the start. Instead, the film presents their love as resilient yet fraught, contributing to its multilayered narrative.

The cast is widely praised, particularly Clausen and Bird for their complex portrayal of characters shifting between openness and guardedness. Wasikowska delivers a compelling performance as Naim’s mother, capturing the tensions of maternal love complicated by faith and fear. Although her screen time is limited, the focus remains squarely on the youthful protagonists and their harrowing journey.

At 88 minutes, “Leviticus” combines supernatural thriller elements with a timely commentary on the psychological damage inflicted by conversion practices, highlighting the internal struggle faced by many LGBTQ youth in hostile environments. The film’s power lies in its portrayal of internalized conflict as a form of horror, shedding light on the destructive impact of repression and fear.