Some films whisper their intent while others stare straight through the audience and dare them to blink. Leviticus opens with that unblinking gaze, setting its tone through presence rather than explanation.

Horror has long flirted with faith and guilt, usually dressing them up as metaphors that stay politely distant. This film walks into belief systems, lifts the floorboards, and listens to what is screaming underneath. By the time the title connects its dots, the nightmare already feels ordained.

While belief promises salvation and love promises safety, Leviticus asks what happens when both collapse into something that hunts instead of heals.

Leviticus reframes queer trauma by treating conversion therapy as the horror itself rather than disguising harm as misguided care. Written and directed by Adrian Chiarella, the film premiered in Sundance's Midnight and uses supernatural language to externalize shame shaped by religious coercion.

Naim, a reserved teenager, experiences love as something violently interrupted. Trauma gains a physical presence, making institutional cruelty visible, inescapable, and impossible to rationalize away.

Set in a remote Australian town ruled by a severe Pentecostal church, Leviticus follows Naim after relocating with his mother, played by Mia Wasikowska, following an unspoken rupture. His bond with Ryan, portrayed by Stacy Clausen, triggers a brutal conversion ritual that unleashes something unnatural.

The entity mirrors desire itself, forcing Naim to confront intimacy as a threat. Chiarella draws inspiration from Halloween, The Shining, and Japanese psychological horror while anchoring the story in survivor testimonies.

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While Leviticus turns private shame into something that stalks and breathes, its arrival on the festival stage reveals how personal horror becomes impossible to ignore once the lights come up.

Leviticus premiered on January 23, 2026, at the Sundance Film Festival, a space reserved for bold genre risks. Produced by Causeway Films, known for Talk to Me, the film arrived with immediate attention for balancing emotional devastation with genre precision.

Joe Bird delivers a performance shaped by fragility and dread. Jed Kurzel’s score intensifies spiritual suffocation, positioning the film among Sundance’s most politically charged horror entries.

Leviticus aligns with horror that confronts real-world trauma without softening its impact. By transforming religious repression into the antagonist, Adrian Chiarella reinforces a sobering truth: systems built to erase love leave scars deeper than any supernatural curse.

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What are your thoughts on Leviticus redefining horror through queer lived trauma and belief-driven fear? Let us know in the comments below.