02 / The review
6 CHAPTERSThe horror begins with emotion
Naim and Ryan do not begin as young men ready to confront the world. Their relationship grows inside an abandoned factory, away from the town's gaze. The location becomes more than a backdrop: it is a temporary territory of freedom where they can behave unlike the versions of themselves demanded by the people around them.
The drama changes when jealousy enters. Naim sees Ryan with someone else and makes an impulsive choice that exposes their secret. The writing is strongest here because Naim is not treated only as a victim of the system; for one destructive moment, he becomes part of it. What follows grows from character rather than coincidence.
Two performances worth following
Joe Bird plays Naim with restraint. Fear, desire, guilt and jealousy compete in his looks and physical hesitation rather than in grand speeches. The performance feels close to a real teenager who cannot yet name what he is feeling, much less defend it against a hostile environment.
Stacy Clausen gives Ryan a different energy: confidence and roughness on the surface, with fear clearly visible underneath. That contrast becomes crucial when the entity uses Ryan's appearance as a weapon against Naim. Their relationship is the film's emotional center, and the collapse of trust between them carries genuine loss.
Desire becomes the monster
The entity does not appear as a conventional creature. It borrows the face of the person its victim wants most, turning the natural impulse to approach into a trap. The central question is therefore not when the monster will appear, but whether the person standing in front of you is real at all.
The photo-booth sequence is one of the clearest expressions of that idea. Ryan believes Naim is beside him, only for the finished image to reveal an empty space. Such scenes connect horror to doubt and perception instead of simple pursuit. Unfortunately, the film later explains the entity's rules and intentions so directly that much of this uncertainty drains away.
Unable to escape It Follows
The resemblance extends beyond a pursuing supernatural force. Desire and fear are linked in familiar ways, decaying residential spaces are framed with similar unease, and the electronic score repeatedly recalls David Robert Mitchell's film. Comparison becomes part of the viewing experience rather than a passing reference.
That is frustrating because Leviticus does possess an idea of its own. A more distinctive visual grammar and less familiar rules for the entity could have allowed its social and emotional concerns to define the film. Instead, the borrowed shape often overwhelms the original wound inside it.
Atmosphere, family and an underwritten world
Adrian Chiarella uses the cold Australian town, abandoned industrial spaces and broad empty landscapes to build isolation. The camera understands the power of negative space; sometimes the absence of the entity is enough to make a frame feel occupied. Silence and distance often create more fear than the direct attacks.
Mia Wasikowska wisely keeps the mother quiet rather than playing her as a conventional villain. Her emotional separation from her son makes later choices crueler, yet the screenplay gives her and several supporting characters too little history. They function inside the plot without becoming complete people, weakening the oppressive community the film wants to portray.
An open ending built on broken trust
Naim and Ryan leave the town, yet the entity appears once more in Ryan's shape. The surface reading is simple: the danger has followed them. A more symbolic reading suggests that escape from the town is the first real attempt to escape the ideas that imprisoned them, even if the damage travels with them.
The stronger question is not whether the creature survived, but whether the two boys can believe each other after fear has learned to wear a beloved face. That emotional uncertainty is more interesting than the mythology, and it points toward the sharper film Leviticus almost became.
03 / Final verdict
Final verdict
Leviticus is not without value. It has a powerful premise, two compelling leads, a convincing atmosphere and several scenes that understand psychological tension. Yet those strengths remain trapped inside a film that too often resembles an experience we have already seen. It is more frustrating than simply bad because the foundation for something distinctive was clearly present.
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