rewrite this title ‘Leviticus’ Is Queer Horror with Heart and Soul

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, at least at first. Then Naim realizes he has a rival, another kid from school, Jeremy Blewitt’s Hunter. His jealousy provokes an act of betrayal and cruelty. The community at large responds, and Hunter’s and Ryan’s parents enlist the aid of a “deliverance minister” who specializes in a purification ritual—it’s simply conversion therapy by another name, and it’s a horror unto itself.