In 2023 Danny and Michael Philippou’s genre-saving horror debut Talk to Me revitalized the Midnight section of Sundance, and cemented the duo in the world of horror cinema. Three years later, the films producers (Kristina Ceyton and Samantha Jennings) have reconvened at Park City with a new film, one that reunites them with actor Joe Bird (who played Riley) and young up and coming Director Adrian Chiarella.
Set in the rural outback of Victoria, Australia, the film follows Naím (Bird), a teenager whose clandestine romantic encounters with a local boy attract the ire of the town’s feverishly devout Christian community. In an attempt to “save” Naím from his sinful inclinations, the group enlists the services of a religious “healer” who casts a deadly curse on him. The curse manifests as the person you long for the most, catching you in your most vulnerable moments before closing in for the kill. It is a potent metaphor for the isolation of growing up queer in a fanatical environment; however, it is a metaphor built only with bones, lacking the necessary flesh and blood to make its world feel truly lived-in.
On paper, Leviticus has the makings of a horror classic. With a foundation built on a truly original spin on the genre and a cast featuring stellar talent both new (Joe Bird) and established (Mia Wasikowska), the film should practically write itself. The problem is that Leviticus feels like a production on autopilot, lacking the narrative subtleties that allowed similar “curse” films like Drag Me to Hell or It Follows to truly resonate. Its characters exist on a two-dimensional plane that separates the world into a binary of “us” versus “them.” The villains—in this case, the churchgoers—possess no inner conflict and are stripped of any compassionate or recognizable human traits. While this may be entirely intentional, it is a choice that effectively drains the story of any emotional stakes or believability within its own world.
The more glaring problem, however, is the entity itself. The film’s internal logic is a moving target; at times, the spirit is strong enough to send victims flying or wield heavy metal objects with one hand, yet it later struggles to win a wrestling match with a scrawny teenager. Its “rules of engagement” are equally fickle: sometimes it can manifest in a crowd, while other times the mere presence of a bystander causes it to vanish. This constant rewriting of the monster’s capabilities is a significant distraction that effectively dials down the film’s fear factor. When the viewer cannot grasp the stakes or the rules of the threat, they are unable to truly buy into the world, resulting in scares that don’t hit as hard, and a monster that lacks any real substance.
In the end, Leviticus is a film where world-building and narrative depth take a backseat to its central metaphor for queer struggle. With its brisk runtime and digestible style, it is perfectly suited for a quick, late-night horror fix. However, if you are looking for a film to stimulate the brain or inject some new life into the genre, you may want to look elsewhere. With its heavy share of festival buzz and a worldwide acquisition by NEON, the film will certainly be coming to a cinema or streaming platform near you soon.
