Leviticus
Horror films are rarely my first movie night pick; I’m usually far too scared to venture anywhere near the genre. However, the imaginative, yet devastating, premise of Adrian Chiarella’s Leviticus (2026) allured me enough that I summoned the courage to watch (although, admittedly, I viewed most of it through my fingers). The film follows two teenage boys, Naim (Joe Bird) and Ryan (Stacy Clausen), as they’re hunted by a supernatural creature. The creature lures them in by shapeshifting into the person they love the most: each other.
Despite falling definitively in the horror genre, Leviticus’s foundation is its romance. Bird and Clausen exude remarkable chemistry as their characters hesitantly, yet fervently, explore queer love, all while hiding from their violently homophobic community. It’s a heartwarming portrayal that turns gutwrenching at the introduction of the monster. The paranormal entity, a stunningly well-crafted antagonist, is not only an innovative plot device but a symbol of the often dire realities faced by queer youth. It leaves Naim and Ryan—along with the audience—feeling constantly on edge. Doubt and betrayal reign in the film, tinging its tender moments with grief. Love becomes a trap, and violence its punishment.
Both in concept and execution, I find Leviticus to be a particularly captivating and poignant rendering of life as a young queer person in a hostile environment. It contributes to a long-standing tradition of engaging with queerness through horror, as the genre provides a subversive medium for LGBTQ+ artists to explore identity and otherness. Through depicting the supernatural, Leviticus ironically emphasizes its storytelling and performances as deeply human.
Peyton Webb is a Freshman in the College. They spend their free time playing guitar loudly and badly, pretending to read feminist literature, and begrudgingly listening to their friend’s Midwest emo recommendations.
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