Most teenagers learn through a clumsy first kiss or a shaky confession that vulnerability can be terrifying. But what happens when the very thing you crave is also the force trying to destroy you? Writer-director Adrian Chiarella’s powerhouse debut Leviticus turns that question into a haunting, genre-blending coming-of-age story set in a tiny Australian town. Part romance, part horror, the film follows two teen boys whose desires and demons take the same shape. After scaring audiences at South by Southwest and earning strong responses on its U.S. travels, Leviticus is ready to unsettle and move the world. In an exclusive conversation with AMFM Magazine’s Paul Salfen, Chiarella and star Joe Bird open up about the deeply personal roots of the project, the magic (and terror) of making it, and the surprising hope at its core.
Paul Salfen welcomed the pair by acknowledging the film’s impact: “We are so honored to have you on with us today, because you scared the heck out of us at South by Southwest. And now get to scare the rest of the world.” Chiarella and Bird confirmed the warm reception the film has received as it screened in U.S. cities, noting how audiences have connected with its unusual mix of love and dread.
Chiarella revealed that the special quality of Leviticus was evident long before cameras rolled. “In pre-production, it was pretty apparent and obvious that this film was going to be not easy to make, but would be fun to make with these people that were all around, because they’re also creative and talented and determined.” The first day of principal photography brought a different kind of electricity. “When you actually see people bringing out the cameras and you’re shooting things, you go, oh wow, yeah, this is it. It’s real.”
For anyone hoping to follow in their footsteps, Chiarella offered advice that has stayed with him for years: “Just find something very personal and make sure whatever you’re working on really means something to you… No matter the tone or the style or whatever kooky voice that your own cinematic work might be in, as long as it’s personal, it will work.”
Joe Bird, whose raw, lived-in performance has drawn widespread praise, spoke to the craft behind authentic screen presence. He credited good acting classes for connecting him with like-minded peers and stressed that every skill must be trained. On set, both men emphasized the power of surrender after rigorous preparation. Bird explained the need to “let it all go on the final day… because everything that you’ve kind of already built is there.” Chiarella, a self-described “big over-preparer” who plans every frame, finds freedom in the pivot: “I let all of that go when we’re there and set on the day, and I end up shooting something completely different to what I’d planned… I think I need to do all of that preparation so that I can pivot when I’m there and I’ve kind of got everything in my head and I’m able to just relax and respond to what people are offering on the day.”
While Leviticus delivers genuine scares, its creators hope audiences leave with something more lasting. “It is a movie with a few scares, but I’d like people to take a sense of hope out of particularly the ending,” Chiarella shared. “I hope that people are able to interpret a sense of… a bit of joy out of what the characters have chosen to do at the end.” Bird added that he wants viewers to recognize “the hopefulness can live in this world.”
That hopefulness is hard-won. Chiarella deliberately cast young actors (ages 18–20) rather than adults so the audience could not emotionally distance themselves from the characters’ jeopardy and psychological trauma. He was struck by Joe Bird’s audition tape — the same natural, unforced presence that had impressed him years earlier in Talk to Me. “He just felt like a normal kid going through all of the things — all the ups and downs that a teenager goes through in their day-to-day life — and it was all just there in the first few seconds.”
The film also sits consciously within horror’s long tradition of coded queer storytelling. Chiarella sees the genre as a secret language queer audiences have long used to explore what it means to be demonized, pushed to the margins, and forced to confront the “monster” within. By reclaiming that space with tenderness and terror, Leviticus joins a lineage that includes Mary Shelley and James Whale — storytellers who used horror’s visceral power to speak truths that mainstream culture often silenced.
