Sundance 2026 Review: LEVITICUS is Searing Queer Horror

As far as horror debuts go, Leviticus beams with promise. Writer-director Adrian Chiarella sports a keen eye for what’s scary, as my shrieking Sundance audience can attest. It’s familiar in structure, but confident in execution. Chiarella puts a queer horror spin on It Follows and It Lives Inside, exploiting the still-too-poignant terrors of religious homophobia. Familiarity isn’t an instant negative, as Leviticus proves; it’s all about how filmmakers put their unique spin on reusable templates.

Joe Bird and Stacy Clausen star as secret lovers Naim and Ryan, two boys sharing tender emotions in an isolated Australian town. Unfortunately, the territory’s dominant worshipping community doesn’t approve of homosexuality. Any queer youth found to be defying God’s code is exorcised of their urges by a grey-haired officiant, but it’s not to cleanse their souls. Recipients of this ritual are followed and violently attacked by an entity that appears as their last romantic partner, in a sick, infernal effort to make LGBTQIA+ folk fear each other.

Chiarella’s monster metaphor is blunt and in your face, representing the persistent societal dangers queer lovers face. There’s something so wretched about doppelgänger evils being used to morph queer happiness into supernatural fears, as partners die while looking into the eyes of their most beloved. It’s easy to find repugnant, even if the messaging hits like a sack of potatoes. Enter Mia Wasikowska as Naim’s callous mum, and her chilling representation of the hatred harbored within holy-preaching congregations and bygone beliefs.

Bird and Clausen are a steamy couple, bringing authentic chemistry to their saucy trysts away from public eyes. For as harrowing and enraging as Leviticus becomes, its leads emanate sexual appeal that burns through the screen. This is important because we need to believe the devotion they hold for one another while fighting an invisible force that wants them erased. Bird and Clausen are fantastic as our guides through the bigotry that queer partners confront, as well as the Terminator-esque villainy they bring to their clones (when mimicked by their pursuer). You sense their passion and feel their pain, begging for empathy in a chilly locale that favors cult-like radicalization.

It’s not just humanity’s grotesque disallowance of individual choice that stings and assaults audiences. The demon, this siren skinwalker, is a brutal assassin. An opening shower kill sequence sets a merciless tone that doesn’t quit (thanks to A+ sound design), in a movie littered with beheadings and bloody leftovers. Sometimes you can spy the entity; other times only the handprints of a translucent chokehold press into soft skin. There’s also a thrilling chase mechanic to Naim and Joe’s fight to survive, as well as provoked distrust. We’re dragged to the edge of our seats, because we might not see the creature strike, or we aren’t convinced characters are who they say they are.

Technical skillsets are impressively crisp across the board. Jed Kurzel’s score is warm and cozy when lovebirds tangle, but unnerving and frantic when death comes knocking. Tyson Perkins’ cinematography cleverly frames scenes to show characters talking to someone, or something, just out of focus, unwilling to let us exhale. Chiarella puts all the pieces together in a fashionably diabolical way, lending to a sensory richness with ample polish. Everyone’s game is on point; no slouches.

However, the recycled parts of movies that have already spawned multiple copycats dull portions of the experience. That’s evident in drawing comparisons to It Lives Inside, which itself cribs off It Follows. The exorcism convulsions, the force that won’t stop stalking, the levitations of victims hoisted by an unseeable beast? It’s all been remixed before. Ingenuity isn’t the film’s forte, although you can’t blame Chiarella. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it—especially in an industry where quality will (almost) always prevail.

With that, Leviticus indeed prevails. From the rip, we’re submerged in a stressful and scandalous horror-thriller that bashes against the ugliness behind queer oppression. What’s essentially a conversion therapy demon wreaks havoc on the lives of innocent teens, cursed for their same-sex sins. Chiarella’s debut is a poised and pungent brand of inclusive horror that spotlights the filmmaker’s behind-the-lens talents, whether you’ve seen storytelling elements before or not. It’s got that midnight menace that aims for the heart, and for that, you get more than a pass.

Movie Score: 3.5/5