IN A VERSE that has spurred debate and inflicted pain, Leviticus 20:13 reads: “If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall be put to death; their bloodguilt is upon them.” The scripture also provides the inspiration for Adrian Chiarella’s Leviticus, a new film in which repressed queer desire becomes, quite literally, monstrous.
It’s the story of two boys, Naim and Ryan, who start out as friends and quickly become much more, in a passionate teenage romance set in a small Australian town. The film repeatedly returns to images of industrialization—telephone wires, burning smokestacks, hollowed-out factories—to depict the community. The urban decay pervading the town reflects the moral rot pervading its religious community.
When the boys’ romance is discovered, their Christian community brings in a charismatic healer—one whose “cure” introduces a demonic presence, taking the form of the person one desires most. The community, as well as Naim and Ryan’s parents, act out of what they think is love and concern but is really so much fear justifying bigotry. Naim’s mother explicitly acknowledges this: “We need fear ... it’s how we survive,” she tells her son. The love the two boys feel for one another gives way to terror.
The film recalls and recontextualizes biblical imagery. The presence of stones and the recurring motif of bludgeoning invites a scriptural critique of the town’s behavior, evoking both the violence of stoning in scripture as well as Christ’s rebuke to those eager to condemn: “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone.” In a society that fails to welcome queer sexualities as valid before the eyes of God, Leviticus argues, physical violence sublimates repressed sexual desire, because violence is more socially acceptable. The tension between the two lends itself to the trappings of horror, as it’s never quite apparent when violence will turn to desire, or even more frighteningly, when love and physical connection will turn to violence.
In Leviticus, the lack of love—whether from a religious community or from a parent who should be a caretaker—is the real monster. One of the film’s most tense scenes involves not any supernatural monster, but a bigoted assault on the film’s queer characters. While they narrowly escape an even worse fate, the bloody aftermath of the attack is indistinguishable from that caused by the film’s actual monsters.
In the end, the only way out is through choosing love. Maybe you can’t destroy all the monsters out there, Leviticus suggests—but you can refuse to let fear rule your life.
Sergio Lopez is an author, historian, and vice mayor of his hometown of Campbell, Calif.
Did this article have an impact on you? Tell us how! Whether you’re moved to take action, have a question, or want to share a comment (good or bad), we value your feedback!