Filmmaker Adrian Chiarella has always been captivated by classic horror cinema. From the paranoia-driven suspense of The Thing to the dreamlike terror of A Nightmare on Elm Street and the chilling atmosphere of Hideo Nakata’s Ring, horror has long been one of his greatest creative influences. Yet the inspiration behind his latest film, Leviticus, comes from a source many would not expect: the Bible.

Although Chiarella grew up in a nonreligious household with atheist parents, he attended a religious school during his childhood. Rather than embracing faith itself, he became fascinated by the stories, symbolism, and mythology contained within scripture. He recalls being deeply drawn to biblical narratives as a student, even earning recognition in a religious studies class. His interest puzzled his mother, who wondered whether he had suddenly become religious. Chiarella explained that it was never about belief—it was the power of the stories and their themes that captured his imagination.

Years later, those early experiences helped shape Leviticus, a supernatural horror drama that examines homophobia, identity, and the lasting psychological impact of conversion therapy. The title references the biblical Book of Leviticus, a text frequently cited by those who condemn homosexuality. Rather than creating a straightforward social drama, Chiarella chose to explore these themes through the lens of horror, using monsters and supernatural forces as metaphors for fear, shame, and repression.

The film centers on two teenage boys, Naim and Ryan, who live in a conservative rural community. After their families discover that they are attracted to each other, the boys are forced to undergo a disturbing conversion-therapy ritual led by a spiritual healer. What begins as an attempt to suppress their feelings soon unleashes something far more sinister.

Following the ritual, Naim and Ryan find themselves haunted by terrifying visions. The supernatural entity that stalks them takes on the appearance of the person they desire most—each other. The demon’s purpose is clear: to keep them apart by transforming their love into a source of fear. As the haunting intensifies, the boys struggle to distinguish reality from illusion, constantly questioning whether the person standing before them is genuine or a deadly impostor.

For Chiarella, one of the most difficult aspects of making the film was finding the right balance between horror and romance. He wanted audiences to experience the suspense and fear expected from the genre while also becoming emotionally invested in the relationship between Naim and Ryan. Their connection is portrayed with tenderness, vulnerability, and genuine affection, making the supernatural threat feel even more devastating.

Throughout the story, viewers are intentionally kept uncertain. Moments of intimacy are layered with tension because neither the characters nor the audience can be completely sure who—or what—they are seeing. This uncertainty becomes one of the film’s defining qualities, blending emotional drama with psychological horror in a way that constantly challenges perceptions.

The origins of Leviticus can be traced back to a significant moment in Australian history. In 2017, Australia legalized same-sex marriage, a landmark victory for LGBTQ+ rights. While Chiarella celebrated the achievement, he also noticed something troubling. Public debates surrounding the issue had unleashed waves of hateful rhetoric and discriminatory language that did not simply disappear after the vote. Instead, much of that hostility remained visible in everyday discourse.

Observing similar trends internationally, including in the United States, Chiarella became increasingly interested in examining how prejudice evolves and persists. He wanted to tell a story about homophobia, but not in a conventional way. Rather than focusing solely on overt hatred, he sought to explore the more subtle forms of intolerance that can be disguised as concern, protection, or moral guidance.

The film’s climax explores this idea in powerful fashion. After enduring increasingly violent attacks from the supernatural entity, Naim finally confronts the demon and traps it within a burning building. However, the victory is complicated by uncertainty. Just before the fire consumes the creature, Ryan professes his love for Naim. The emotional confession leaves Naim questioning whether he has actually destroyed the demon or accidentally harmed the real Ryan.

Later, Naim has a devastating confrontation with his mother, Arlene. During their conversation, she reveals a shocking truth: she knew exactly what the healer’s ritual would do. She understood that the curse would unleash a malevolent force, yet she allowed it to happen anyway.

Arlene insists that her actions were motivated by love and concern. She claims she wanted to protect her son from bullying, discrimination, and the dangers she believed he would face as a gay man. In her mind, forcing him to suppress his identity was a form of protection.

Chiarella intentionally presents this perspective as another manifestation of homophobia. Not all prejudice appears as open hostility. Sometimes it disguises itself as parental concern or misguided attempts to shield loved ones from harm. By exploring these complexities, the film examines how damaging beliefs can persist even when they are expressed through seemingly caring intentions.

Unable to forgive what has happened, Naim decides to leave. He runs away from home, abandoning the life he once knew while his mother desperately calls after him. The scene avoids offering easy resolutions or sudden redemption.

According to Chiarella, this decision reflects reality. Many films dealing with LGBTQ+ themes provide parents with moments of instant realization and forgiveness. While such endings can be emotionally satisfying, he felt they often oversimplify the long-term damage caused by rejection and conversion practices. Healing fractured family relationships takes time, and some wounds never fully disappear.

The film concludes on a more hopeful note. Naim eventually reunites with Ryan, and the two board a bus together. As they travel, Naim rests his head on Ryan’s shoulder while they share music through a pair of headphones. The moment symbolizes comfort, connection, and survival.

Yet the final image introduces a lingering uncertainty. Looking out the window, Naim sees another version of Ryan standing beside the road. The sight raises unsettling questions. Has the demon truly been defeated? Is it still following them? Or does it represent the internalized fear and shame that can continue haunting someone long after external threats are gone?

Chiarella intentionally leaves the answer open to interpretation. He believes audiences should draw their own conclusions based on their personal experiences. For him, the ending reflects the reality that prejudice can become internalized, lingering beneath the surface even after someone escapes a hostile environment.

At the same time, he was determined not to end the story in tragedy. Too many LGBTQ+ narratives have historically concluded with suffering, loss, or death. Chiarella wanted Naim and Ryan to survive. Their journey is ultimately one of resilience and hope, demonstrating that love can endure despite fear, rejection, and trauma.

The ambiguous conclusion also leaves room for future stories. A sequel could continue following Naim and Ryan as they navigate life beyond their hometown, or it could introduce entirely new characters confronting the same supernatural force. Chiarella sees endless possibilities for exploring different experiences within the broader LGBTQ+ community through the framework of horror.

For now, however, Leviticus stands as a powerful blend of romance and terror—one that uses supernatural imagery to examine real-world struggles while offering a message of survival, acceptance, and cautious optimism.