Queer Horror At The Fittest (Leviticus review)

 

The horror renaissance continues, and in celebration of Pride Month, Neon finally releases the film we've been waiting for. Leviticus' dark take on a coming-of-age queer romance through a supernatural horror lens is something audiences might want right now. With the two genres experiencing an unprecedented resurgence, does this plot manage to create its own space as iconic or as fodder before the resurgence runs its course? 

Leviticus centers around two young boys in a heavily religious rural Australian town, and as a form of conversion therapy, queer kids are faced with a ritual that engages their confusion and sexuality with fear. At first, the film seems like your average forbidden-love story, with stolen glances, a secret hideout, and some teenage jealousy. 20 to 30 minutes in, that does take a turn, but rather in the sense of finding its balance, it manages to seamlessly let you go with where it is heading when we, as an audience, are facing the complexities of these young characters, especially in facing external and internal homophobia that kickstart this plot.

This is an indie horror film, so do not expect to see much monstrosity or gore, for the themes of this film are very resonant to the lengths some communities have gone to promote shame and fear within impressionable queer individuals. The theme that sets the tone for our young lovers is that what keeps you apart only brings you closer, an especially timely statement that shines through at the end of his horror film. With the impending stakes introduced here, one cannot help but root for a happy ending and hope these characters find peace in lasting trauma. 

There are certain plot points and scenes in the movie that can be jarring and sometimes come off as a checklist of what makes a sad queer film, something that queer audiences may have grown tired of and are vocal about, with what has grown to be more recognizable than other films with more nuanced takes. But with the topic at hand and the finger-pointing it manages, it does not feel preachy, nor does it seem like we are taking steps back in what queer storytelling is boxed up to be. 

With the genres fused here, it solidifies that writer and director Adrian Chiarella, an up-and-coming Asian director, is breaking the box apart, creating new ways of storytelling, and also introducing us to such great young talent. Especially after Obsession and Backrooms, it is very nice to see another set of young creatives who deserve recognition. The actors, both Bird and Stacy Clausen (Ryan), do phenomenal jobs at portraying yearning teenagers who are alone in this horrifying predicament. With nothing to rely on but themselves. And maybe even each other. A fitting resonance among queer individuals in less accepting communities that still exist. 

Personally, this does set itself as part of the horror renaissance pantheon, as well as being a great queer indie film. It does have the potential to be iconic and talked about for years, or at least for the next year or so. Or it will be overshadowed by its counterparts that have made waves at the box office and in pop culture, merely getting lost in conversation. It can feed off the success, but will it create its own? I hope it does, but unfortunately, it does nothing particularly revolutionary for the genre, despite having a moving script and stellar performances.