In a twisted way, an exorcism is a version of conversion therapy, driving out the evil that has possessed an individual. Invert that idea, and you have the premise of this thriller, in which well-meaning religious leaders actually invite demonic possession to “cure” teenagers of their queer identities.
The setting is a shitty industrial town in Anywheresville, Australia, where Naim (Joe Bird) has moved with his ultra-religious mother (Mia Wasikowska). An outsider, he finds a surprising connection with a more popular kid in class, Ryan (Stacy Clausen). Their friendship evolves from playful affection (tussling in the dirt, as boys seem to do when they like each other) into mutual attraction. They know to keep their relationship secret, especially from the devout in their community, but aren’t ashamed in the safety of each other’s presence.
One day, Naim spots Ryan making out with the son of the preacher, and in a fit of jealousy, rats on them. What he doesn’t realize is the consequence of his betrayal, as a “deliverance” preacher casts a cure/curse on the boys in which a violent entity takes the shape of the thing they desire most: each other. Eventually, after confessing that he’s the one who turned in Ryan and the preacher’s son, Naim is also “delivered” (much against his will). Ryan begins appearing whenever Naim is alone, seemingly sweet, until he tries to beat the other boy’s head against a wall. It quickly becomes clear that pursuing the one they care for most will be deadly.
Leviticus twists conversion therapy on its head, using a Clockwork Orange-style method of repulsion to fight what the religious community sees as sinful desires. But the more they are tortured, the more they seek each other out as their only safe haven from the world’s violence (the entity only attacks when its victim is alone).
Joe Bird and Stacy Clausen are both terrific. Since the film is from Naim’s perspective, Clausen has the trickier role of appearing to his friend as Ryan/not-Ryan, and he is so good that the viewers are convinced, “No, that’s the real Ryan…” until a slight glint in his eye or a twitch in his mouth (by then, of course, it’s too late).
It’s especially effective that the demon is never visible to anyone else, making the already ostracized teen seem hysterical when he voices his fears. Society often doesn’t want to believe victims of violence, especially those perceived to have “deserved it.” If a gay kid is beaten up or a woman is assaulted, there’s often a knee-jerk assumption that they somehow brought it upon themselves. What better visualization of that dismissal than rendering the perpetrator invisible to everyone else?
Leviticus is a story of survival and refuge in a cruel world that punishes queer kids for even existing. It has true chills and works as a horror thriller, but I was surprised how horrifically sad I found the whole thing. There are moments of light and joy, but a dark presence looms over the whole story. The entity may be a literal demon in the boys’ lives, but the community—even those who initially seem supportive—is the real threat they’ll be fighting long after the demon is gone.
