All horror movies are metaphors—we know that from the million and one essays we've read on zombie movies as a critique of the soullessness of capitalism, or on how alien invasion movies of the 1950s emerged from the fear of Communism. Still, it’s always best when the edges of a film’s overarching metaphor are blurred enough so they blend into the fabric of the story. That’s what writer-director Adrian Chiarella pulls off with his feature debut Leviticus, a story of two teenagers, Naim (Joe Bird) and Ryan (Stacy Clausen), who are drawn to each other even though they risk the disapproval of the remote Australian Christian community in which they’re being raised.
But first, a shocker: Leviticus opens with a scene in the shower area of a public indoor pool. A young woman is taking pleasure in a hot shower; she may be alone, or maybe not. Then she screams, grasping at a tiled ledge with bloodied hands. Next, we get a sense of the landscape in which this story will take place: We see a scrubby field bordered by barbed wire, and a sun-bleached cow skull hanging on a fence. There’s a snake devouring a frog whole. A mildly tough-looking but very hot blonde teenager is about to poke at it with a stick; the boy he’s with begs him not to. The two make their way to an abandoned mill, where they take pleasure in f-ing stuff up, throwing old cans and other assorted detritus at the decrepit walls. One minute they’re roughhousing, wrestling on the floor; then they’re kissing, their raw testosterone transmuting into something dreamy and forbidden.
Ryan, the snake-poker, is the instigator, one of those electrical kids who just makes things happen. Naim is quieter, more reticent, but he’s thrilled at the prospect of this new friendship-turned-romance; he has recently moved to the area with his mother (a prim Mia Wasikowska, vibrating with subterranean menace), and he hasn’t figured out how to fit in. The boys’ feelings of guilt and shame certainly aren’t the problem
