LEVITICUS

Since first seeing the trailer of Leviticus, I have been enamoured with how this film is going to be received and rolled out by distributor Neon. Arriving at this year's Sundance as one of the festival's most talked-about horror premieres, LGBTQ horror has been steadily carving out a bigger space in the genre, and as the feature debut of writer-director Adrian Chiarella, this film feels like exactly the kind of breakout original that festival programmers love to champion - the kind of title that builds word of mouth one stunned audience at a time.

The setup is a nasty piece of work in the best way: a devoutly Christian town has turned conversion therapy into something literally supernatural, with parents allowing their gay children to be infected by a vengeful spectral parasite. The entity takes the shape of whoever the infected person desires most, and giving in to that desire means a violent, often fatal attack. It's a premise that guarantees there's no safe way out - loving anyone becomes the trap itself.

Religious horror has always been my favorite corner of the genre, and Leviticus, of course being titled after the Old Testament book often used to justify homophobia, understands exactly why it works so well. There's something uniquely unsettling about dread that's sanctioned by faith and community rather than coming from some outside force - it makes the horror feel sanctioned, almost righteous, which is far creepier for me as a viewer than a masked killer in the woods.

The scares here are patient and cumulative rather than cheap; the tension builds in a way that gets under your skin and stays there, and the attack sequences are staged with a brutality that never feels gratuitous, just devastating.

The two young leads, Joe Bird and Stacey Clausen, carry the film beautifully. Their performances feel lived-in and raw, capturing the confusion, longing, and fear of being a teenager who's already at odds with everyone around him, let alone a monster that wears the face of who he loves most. That first act is both beautifully paced and endearing, as Naim and Ryan get to know one another. There's real chemistry between them, and both actors find the specific, messy humanity in characters who could have easily been reduced to symbols. It's the kind of acting that makes you forget you're watching a horror movie at all during the quieter scenes, right before the film reminds you, brutally, that you are.

Low-budget horror is having a real moment right now, with smaller, sharper, more original films consistently outshining bloated studio fare. Backrooms and most importantly Obsession are craving out a new mainstream landscape this summer and Leviticus feels like it belongs in that pack. I'm genuinely hoping this becomes one of those surprise summer success stories - the kind of film that starts as a festival darling and ends up as the movie everyone's talking about by August. It has the hook, the craft, and the cultural moment all lined up in its favor.

All told, Leviticus is a smart, vicious, and surprisingly emotional piece of horror filmmaking that won me over. The scares and brutality of it are able to outweigh a couple of pacing hiccups but as a calling card for Adrian Chiarella and a showcase for the two excellent young performances, it's well worth seeking out.