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This message comes from Capital One Commercial Bank. Access comprehensive solutions from a top commercial bank that prioritizes your needs today and goals for tomorrow. Learn more@Capital1.com Commercial Member FDIC. You should go see the new indie horror film Leviticus. It's both a queer coming of age romance and a blistering indictment of gay conversion therapy. Mostly, though, it is a seriously creepy movie about a demonic entity that knows exactly how to get to you. I mean, I think it's pretty terrific, but I'm curious to hear what the rest of the panel thinks. I'm Glenn Weldon. Joining me today on NPR's Pop Culture Happy Hour is film and culture critic Kate Young. Hey, Kate.
B
Thanks for having me.
A
Also with us is freelance music and culture journalist Rihanna Cruz. Hey, Rhianna.
C
Hey, Glenn. Happy to be here.
A
Hey, let's get to it. Leviticus is set in a small Australian backwater where teenage Naim and his mother belong to a religious community. Name is played by Joe Bird, who you might remember from Talk to Me. Stacy Clausen plays his. His friend Ryan. They start having feelings for each other, which touches off a chain of increasingly violent events. Name is stalked by a threatening presence that takes Ryan's form while Ryan keeps getting attacked by something that pretends to be name. Leviticus is in theaters now. Rihanna, kick us off what you think.
C
Leviticus feels like the type of gay movie that I would fixate on in high school. It's tone driven. You know, the main characters kiss. Less than 10 minutes in, there's a frank ocean needle drop. It's kind, kind of erotic. Like it felt kind of like a fan fiction. And I think that's a feature, not a bug.
A
Okay.
C
However, at the same time, I don't know if I connected with it, to be honest. I, I think it's a kind of rare movie where it's gay horror done well, stepping outside of the box a little bit to focus on belonging, belief. You mentioned conversion therapy. That's the main theme. But I don't know, it just didn't really connect with me. I think I find it defeatingly bleak in a way that I usually. I like bleak movies. Not this one. I felt like it had surface level messaging in terms of queerness and community, you know, like the fear will never get you if you're never alone. That's kind of the message of the entity here. When I was watching it, I was like, technically this is a good movie and I could see why people like it, but there's something missing, I think, between the film and Me connecting with it, you know, like I finished the movie and it was kind of in one ear out the other.
A
Okay. How about you, Kate?
B
I kind of feel the same. I didn't dislike it. I thought that it was good at the kind of like baseline horror stuff. It definitely had a really good, like creepy kind of atmosphere. That really worked on me. I think the highlight for me is the actual relationship between this couple. I think they're very sweet. It reminded me a lot of heart stoppers on Netflix. They're just like adorable and they have real chemistry. And I think that that's something that could easily have been like overlooked because it's a horror film. But it not only hasn't been, but I think it makes the horror more visceral because the way in which this entity functions, it preys on the thing that you most love. And because we are able to see the way that they feel about each other every time they interact with this thing, it gets worse in ways that feel much more personal and much more upsetting. Specifically because of that aspect of it that I really liked. But I think in general, you know, it's kind of like its own play on. It follows that stuff is interesting, but it felt like there were really good moments kind of tied together with like bits that were fine.
A
Okay. As you might have gleaned from my intro. I like this a lot. I kind of liked it a hell of a lot more than y' all did. I liked everything about it from the look of it, you know, this dusty, rusted out factory town on the edge of the outback, which you can tell either say it or it's actually implied that it was built around the church. I really like these performances. These are not 30 year olds playing teenagers. Like that's key. Because so much of this movie is resting on these kids shoulders in their performances itself. When I like a movie this much, I go out and I reread the reviews because I want to hear the critiques. And I read one that was mostly positive that mentioned in passing in a sentence, you know, sometimes the logic of the monster doesn't always make sense. And I remember just feeling so angry about that. I was going to rush to the barricades to defend this because I don't know, I'll just speak for me as a queer man who was a queer kid. I think the conceit here, the premise is something you could just bounce a quarter off of. I mean, the thing that will kill you takes the form of the thing you most desire. So these fundamentalists in this movie are weaponizing queer desire to rid themselves of queer people. Show me the lie. I mean, queer people grow up in communities that hate them. And we internalize that hate. And that internalization is the thing that's doing the work that these bigots want to do. It is insidious. And that's exactly what this film captures in a way that some people of faith might find unfair. I don't. Because it gets something else correct, too. It gets this thing that was even more galling and I thought was even more accurate, which is, over the course of this film, a queer kid dies. And when that happens, those same bigots point to the queerness itself as the cause, completely absolving themselves and their hatred and their fear from the equation of show me the lie. I mean, the metaphor there is airtight, and it's about as good a working definition of evil as you're gonna find anywhere. I think you were on the show Rhiannon when we talked about. I saw the TV glow, right? Yeah.
C
Oh, totally. Love that flick. Yeah.
A
My defensiveness about this film kind of feels like the way I felt defensive about that film. And I understand they're very own films, but that is another queer film whose central metaphor is admittedly doing a lot of heavy lifting. But I will hear no disparagement because, I don't know, I just feel so protective. And I get the IR that I am being evangelical about this film because I want people to see it. I want people to like it.
C
Totally.
A
Can you speak to something that just didn't hit you so that I may refute it?
C
It's interesting, you know, hearing you talk, Glenn, because some of the critiques that I had are now, I think, being recontextualized. I feel a little bit more compassionate towards this movie than I did. I think the movie does a lot of things well. You know, you mentioned the setting. I think the setting is a big factor in why this movie works, because I think similar with TV Glow, which I loved and is one of my favorite movies of the past several years, like, the setting in Dead End Suburbia is something that really seeps in from every corner of the frame. You know, you're watching these characters ride their bikes next to a giant factory. They just exist in this context, and everything makes sense that way. What didn't really do it for me is I felt like it was simple, okay? Largely. And when I watch horror movies, it's not like I need them to be grand and vast and tackle these large things, but I felt like the Concept of Leviticus was written in one sentence and made into a movie. And that's what I mean when I say it's kind of fan fiction. Y. Because when I was watching, watching, it felt like you could plug in, you know, these famous gay ships that people on the Internet do in this context. And maybe it's because I grew up on Tumblr, but this is a very, like, Tumblr coded and appealing narrative. And I thought that there was a little bit of a lack of complexity that I was searching for.
B
It's a really good.
C
And maybe that's, again, a feature, not a bug, but that's what I thought.
A
Kate, what about you?
B
Yeah, I think that that central metaphor slash representation of this monster, like that works for me in much the same way that you were explaining earlier, Glenn. Like, I thought that that was actually really clever because it's simple, right? And it's easy to understand, easy to convey. But I'm glad that you guys brought up I saw the TV Gloop, because that is a movie that deeply unsettled me when I saw it the first time. Like, even thinking about it now, like, I can feel my pores racing because there was such a mood and atmosphere that really guided you towards this, like, totality of what it feels like to be in that position as a queer person and having to figure out how to move through the world. And I feel like with this film, we see them move through the world, but I don't really have a good sense of what their community actually is. We see them at church and we know that they're homophobic, but. But I feel like I don't have a sense of them within the spaces that they exist. They spend a lot of time alone together, which makes sense. But I think because of that, their relationship, as well as what they're struggling with and the introduction of this entity, it feels very singular. And I think because of that, it doesn't feel like I have a full enough story to really get invested. Honestly, to me, the reason to see this film is the performances. They're really good. And I, as I mentioned, we feel like their chemistry is fantastic. Honestly, I think that the movie wouldn't have worked for me at all if that wasn't there. But I don't know that I can say, like, bad things about it, but
C
that's exactly how I feel.
B
I'm cool on it.
A
Okay, we'll stick around. We'll have more thoughts on what worked and what didn't after this break.
D
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A
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D
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A
And we're back. Okay, so you're both touching on critiques that I've actually seen when I read all those reviews. And it is a critique that I didn't object to because I kind of get it, which is that the religious community feels a bit underwritten. His mom certainly feels a little underwritten. I don't know though, because there's a different version of this film which is made more for like a four quadrant kind of mainstream audience where we get a lot more of the religious community being. And again, like, no offense, but if Stephen King wrote this, we would see the religious community being mustache twirly evil, right? And taking joy in the destruction of queer lives. But what this film gets that I really liked actually is that's not how it works. Because the kind of negations of self and the spirit that these folks are engaged upon is not something that's joyous and ecstatic. It makes everyone miserable because they know it's damage. They know it's abuse. And in this film, the people doing this harm are telling themselves they're doing it for the kid's good because his soul will be saved. And that also makes sense to me because that's what a community like this would trade upon. A kid dies, misery deepens. The community's sense of misery deepens. So as that happens, they need to reach for this sense of divine salvation. So the white knuckle Grip on Dogma just gets harder and harder. But I get it. On a script level, on a characterization level, you could say they're underwritten, or you could say, as I do, that I think they cracked it, because I think there's a truth here that goes deeper than the story beats and the demands of screenplay structure. Because if we got more of the religious folks or, God forbid, if, like, the preacher character became the villain. Right, that they had to.
B
Yeah, no, we didn't need him. We didn't need more of him.
A
That would feel really artless and basic to me, and I kind of admire that they didn't go that way. But this is, as you both mentioned, this is a bleak film. And I know we've talked on the show, I've talked to both of you about horror as trauma.
C
They're intertwined.
A
We've also talked about queer trauma. This is, you know, two. Two mints in one. Yeah. So what would you say to folks who say, why would I want to see a film about queer trauma? Why can't there be a happy ending? Why? Why would I subject myself to this? I hear this critique, by the way, from a lot of younger queer folks, and I get it, and I feel a certain way about it. But I want to hear what you guys think.
B
I mean, I think the reason to see it, unfortunately, is the moment that we're in right now. I think that while I have issues with the structure and I think the story's a little simple, that central metaphor does work. And I think the cleverness of that is what kind of hits you viscerally, especially with those performances. And I think that while we've been able to have a lot of queer stories that were more joyous and were more exciting and were written by Ryan Murphy, but, like, I think that now we're in this space where that kind of hope that we had is kind of leeching from the culture. It doesn't mean that I want, like, more terrible, sad things, but it makes sense to me that we would start making more art that reflects this moment. And unfortunately, it's not a great one.
C
Yeah, it doesn't really leave you with a warm feeling in your heart, and I think that's good. You know, I like bleak movies. When I say it's defeatingly bleak, I think that's a good thing, even though it didn't connect with me. But, yeah, I agree with what Kate said. You know, there's room for movies like this. I mean, everybody's talked ad nauseam about how horror is having a moment right now. And this is a reflection, refreshing take on a kind of Gen Z horror that is missing, I think, from the culture. I mean, we mentioned it follows as kind of an ortext for this film. But I think it does something different than it follows. It's a little bit more complex than that narrative. And I like that. I don't know, I'm struggling with talking to you both about not liking the movie or not even not liking it. Just having it not do much for me. And then being here and being like, everybody should see it. And I think people should, because I don't know, even though it was kind of in one ear and out the other for me, I still respect what it's doing. I like that it's taking risks, even though those risks, to me are not satisfying.
B
What stops it from being like more terrible things on top of terrible things is the ending. And to me, that, like, little bit of hope, that little bit of refusal to succumb to the homophobia that they're being subjected to. To me, that is what is needed to kind of demonstrate that, like, yes, these things are bad. Yes, we're having to deal with them again. Yes, this is like a difficult moment for quite people. But, like, we indeed. And to me, like, if the movie didn't have that, then I don't think it would have worked at all for me.
A
Okay, Kate, you just crystallized something for me that maybe it's the reason I like this film as much as I do. Because I'm in a weird position here, because the thing I hate most is messages in film, messages in a text, when I can feel it, when it's didactic in a way. And I would argue that this film is didactic. I just love the message this film comes out and says essentially that if you are caught up in a situation where you are being hurt, where you're being hated, it's also saying implicitly, look, in an ideal world, things like family and community and religion should offer you support and safety. It's not always the case. And when they don't, and you're in danger because of it, when you're being actively hurt, you either get out or die. And if you give in to feelings of guilt or obligation to the very people who are hurting you, you can't. You gotta save yourself. And, you know, it's a simple message, but, oh, boy, it hit me squarely in the solar plexus. And that's why I kind of came down on this movie differently than y' all did. But I think we all kind of agree it's worth seeing.
B
Yeah, I do.
C
Totally.
B
I do.
C
For sure.
A
Well, all right, so we're coming down it slightly differently, but I think we all agree you should go see it. Some of us want you to go see it more than others. That brings us to the end of our show. Kat Young, Rihanna, Cruz, thank you so much for being here.
C
Thanks, Glenn. Happy to be here.
B
Thanks for having me.
A
Just a reminder that signing up for Pop Culture Happy Hour plus is a great way to support our show and public radio. And you get to listen to all of our episodes sponsor free. So please go find out more at plus.NPR.org happyar or visit the link in our show notes. This episode was produced by Lennon Sherburne, Liz Metzger and Mike Katsif and edited by our showrunner, Jessica Reedy. And hello Kim in provides our theme music. Thank you for listening to Pop Culture Happy Hour from npr. I'm Glenn Weldon, and we'll see you all next.
D
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This episode of Pop Culture Happy Hour focuses on the new indie Australian horror film Leviticus. The discussion centers on the film’s intertwining of queer coming-of-age romance and a harrowing critique of gay conversion therapy, set within a tense, atmospheric horror narrative. The hosts—Glenn Weldon, film and culture critic Kate Young, and freelance music and culture journalist Rihanna Cruz—delve into the film’s themes, performances, atmosphere, and its handling of queer trauma, offering a nuanced mix of enthusiasm, critique, and appreciation.
"Leviticus feels like the type of gay movie that I would fixate on in high school... kind of erotic... Like it felt kind of like a fan fiction. And I think that's a feature, not a bug."
"I finished the movie and it was kind of in one ear out the other." ([02:38])
"It reminded me a lot of Heartstopper on Netflix... They're just like adorable and they have real chemistry."
"These are not 30 year olds playing teenagers. Like that's key. Because so much of this movie is resting on these kids' shoulders."
"Queer people grow up in communities that hate them. And we internalize that hate. And that internalization is the thing that's doing the work that these bigots want to do. It is insidious. And that's exactly what this film captures..." ([04:44])
"When I watch horror movies, it's not like I need them to be grand and vast ... but I felt like the Concept of Leviticus was written in one sentence and made into a movie."
"We see them move through the world, but I don't really have a good sense of what their community actually is."
"If Stephen King wrote this, we would see the religious community being mustache-twirly evil... What this film gets is that's not how it works. Because the kind of negations of self and the spirit that these folks are engaged upon is not something that's joyous and ecstatic. It makes everyone miserable because they know it's damage. They know it's abuse."
"...that hope we had is kind of leeching from the culture. It doesn't mean that I want more terrible, sad things, but it makes sense to me that we would start making more art that reflects this moment."
"It doesn't really leave you with a warm feeling... and I think that's good. You know, I like bleak movies. When I say it's defeatingly bleak, I think that's a good thing, even though it didn't connect with me."
"...that, like, little bit of hope, that little bit of refusal to succumb to the homophobia that they're being subjected to. To me, that is what is needed..."
"If you give into feelings of guilt or obligation to the very people who are hurting you, you can't. You gotta save yourself. And, you know, it's a simple message, but, oh, boy, it hit me squarely in the solar plexus."
The conversation is candid, rigorous, and affectionate, balancing praise for the film’s atmosphere, performances, and metaphorical resonance with honest critiques of its narrative simplicity and emotional impact. Although not all panelists were equally moved, all agree Leviticus is a meaningful addition to the contemporary horror and queer film landscape, and worthy of audience attention—especially for its heartfelt depiction of queer survival in the face of institutional harm.