There’s something about horror films that makes them particularly apt as a vehicle for allegory. Vampires, zombies, ghosts, or seemingly death-proof serial killers can all easily be seen as metaphors for some lurking threat from the “dark side” of our own collective psyche, and stories about them are almost always cautionary tales that remind us that it’s the “dark side” of our own nature that we must confront in order for the danger to be eliminated.

This subtext has always been present in the genre, of course; but with the so-called “renaissance” of horror cinema that has taken place across the past decade or so, modern filmmakers in the genre have made increasingly bold choices with regard to how “sub” it is. “Get Out” or “Sinners” need no explanation to get across their allegorical points about racism, nor does “The Substance” require an expert to recognize its satirical observations about the toxic cultural obsession with youth and beauty. These are movies that wear their proverbial hearts on their sleeves, instead of masking them behind layers of cliched and “coded” plot tropes.

The same can definitely be said of “Leviticus,” the debut feature from Australian writer/director Adrian Chiarella, which not only hinges on a conceit that has obvious associations with its not-so-hidden themes but tips off the whole thing by its very choice of title – a reference to the Old Testament book frequently cited by fundamentalist bigots as so-called proof of God’s condemnation of homosexuality, which sets up exactly what we are in for before the opening credits even begin to roll.

Set in a conservative rural town (in the Australian state of Victoria, though it will feel distinctly familiar to anyone who grew up in similar communities anywhere else in the world), it centers on Naim (Joe Bird), a teen boy newly transplanted by his mother (Mia Wasikowska) – who has ties to a fundamentalist Christian enclave there – after the death of his father. Their new life – like seemingly everything else in the community – is tied directly to the church, which makes it doubly inconvenient when Ryan (Stacy Clausen), son of the town’s presiding preacher, invites him for an after-school “hangout” which leads to a furtive make-out session in the town’s deserted mill. 

Though the boys promise each other to keep it secret, they are both soon “outed” to their parents and subjected to a ritual performed by a mysterious “deliverance healer” (Nicholas Hope), intended to “protect” them from their “sinful” impulses. Soon after, a series of mysterious and violent encounters lead them to investigate local rumors around incidents involving other local teens – and the revelation that the ritual has summoned a malevolent entity, which appears to them as the person they are most attracted to (in this case, each other) and unleashes its murderous wrath when they give in to temptation. Their only chance of staying safe is to stay apart – unless they can find a way to defeat the supernatural force that has been turned loose against them.

Yes, it’s all very obvious. There is no attempt to mask what Chiarella’s movie is really about, though the word itself – like the biblical book with which it shares a title – is never spoken aloud in the film. It’s hardly a spoiler, though, to confirm that “Leviticus” is a story about homophobia. From its obvious evocation of real-life “conversion therapy” to its more subtle exploration of the secrecy and social shaming that surrounds same-sex love for so many teens growing up in an environment of fundamentalist religious tradition, every nuance of the film’s ingenious premise announces the clear intent of its messaging: homophobia is the true evil at work here, and its deadly power lies in its ability to make queer people afraid of being who they are.

While some might argue that presenting such an “on the nose” allegory in what is ostensibly “just” a horror film is a heavy-handed choice, we suggest – in this case, at least – that it’s exactly what makes the movie work so effectively.

From the very first scenes (after a prologue that ominously hints at the arcane evil that will soon come into play), we are invested in Naim and Ryan, whose tentative-but-joyous afternoon tryst is bound to trigger our own individual memories of adolescent sexual awakening, and whom we hope will be able to navigate their way through to the other side – even before the introduction of supernatural hate demons being summoned to kill them by using their own feelings for each other as a trap. They’re almost a definitive queer “coming of age” archetype, echoing generations of treasured “first time” memories and “what if“ fantasies about what might have been; we want them to be together, to overcome the otherworldly forces deployed to keep them apart – and when their romance is distorted, inverting their natural attraction into fear and mistrust, it’s their own inability to resist the pull they feel toward each other that continues to put them in danger.

That emotional stake is the anchor of “Leviticus,” which lends an imperative to what might otherwise be a campy B-movie thriller and turns it into a genuinely engaging – and therefore terrifying – supernatural drama that is all the more powerful for playing to our hearts. Much of this effect hinges on the chemistry between its two young stars (which hits just the right pitch between irresistible hormonal urge and inseparable soul connection), but it’s also underscored by the irony of their being immersed within a culture that would rather destroy them than allow them to exist outside its traditional norms.

Nevertheless, while “Leviticus” succeeds by making us identify with its cult-crossed teenage lovers, it pays off by delivering not just a genuinely unsettling, profoundly disturbing, and unflinchingly brutal personification of religious bigotry at its most cruelly hateful, but by providing a tense and terrifying horror scenario that works on a pure “genre” level. Simply put, even setting aside any wider subtext about the deadly consequences of homophobia, it’s a creepy, nerve-wracking ride.

A critical hit as part of the Sundance Festival’s “Midnight” section earlier this year, “Leviticus” went into theatrical release on June 19, the latest in a continuing trend of fresh and inventive films that has elevated the horror movie to new levels of critical appreciation. For us, it’s worth singling out as a boldly original expression of queer experience, elegantly constructed from the reinterpreted formulas of a genre that has always had particular draw for those in our community who knew how to read between the lines.

The difference is, this time we don’t have to – the message is spelled out loud and clear, and that in itself is enough to make it feel a little bit like empowerment, at a time when we could all use as much of it as we can get.

Before I can begin a review of “Stop! That! Train!” (the movie that’s been algorithmically dominating your queer social media feed in the form of ads for weeks now), I feel it’s necessary to provide a disclaimer: I am not a superfan of “RuPaul’s Drag Race.”

That doesn’t mean I’m NOT a fan, mind you. I’m just disclosing that I have never been the loyal viewer for whom each new episode is the highlight of the week, or followed the careers of the contestants I loved the most; I don’t know who won each season, or how many times they’ve been on the show. I barely even know any of the catch phrases. I say all this because you should know that, as someone who didn’t get any of the show references I’ve been told were laced throughout the movie, I’m probably not the person RuPaul and filmmaker Adam Shankman had in mind when they were making it.

I do, however, respect and adore the art of drag, not just as an expression of queer identity tied to a long tradition stretching back centuries, but as a powerful tool for satire. It’s a queer-eyed view that exposes the hypocritical norms and mainstream social “morality” in a form that goes right over the heads of anyone who isn’t in on the joke, and the Queens of “Drag Race” not only honor that tradition but live up to it. Make no mistake, the queer spirit of rebellion is alive and well in “Stop! That Train!” – even if it sometimes feels like it’s just along for the ride.

Mounted as a parody of old-school “disaster movies” – a genre that found its heyday in the same ‘70s and ‘80s period that also saw the success of classic movie spoofs like “Young Frankenstein” and “Airplane!” (which clearly serves as the primary blueprint) – Shankman’s film seems driven by an impulse toward the absurd as a kind of de facto social commentary, but puts the most emphasis on landing its jokes. It imagines a contemporary world where high-speed train travel is an actual thing in America (wouldn’t that be nice?) and a Black drag queen can be elected president (OK, maybe she’s a cisgender woman in context of the plot, but still), but in which everything is pretty much just as “off the rails” as it really is, anyway.

In the middle of it all are Tess and DeeDee (Ginger Minj and Jujubee, both popular “Drag Race” veterans), two “train stewardesses” who fake their way into jobs on the prestigious “Glamazonian Express” railway line and face hostility from the “mean girl” attendants who work there. The popularity contest soon takes a back seat, however, when the train finds itself speeding into a catastrophic “storm-o-ganza,” and they’re faced with the challenge of saving themselves – along with the train’s assortment of passengers – from all-but-certain doom. Fortunately, they’re not alone; under-appreciated train dispatcher Donna Dusk (Rachel Bloom) is doing her best to guide them from afar toward the least catastrophic outcome, and no less than American President Judy Gagwell (RuPaul Charles, of course) takes a personal interest in averting the disaster; after all, it could take a few points off of her popularity rating if she doesn’t. Can this plucky alliance of women-with-something-to-prove shepherd this runaway train (and everyone on board) to safety? Of course they can, and in the most ridiculous way possible.

Like the aforementioned “Airplane!” (the zany 1980 farce that was itself modeled after the popular “Airport” series of all-star disaster epics), “Stop! That! Train!” takes an approach to comedy that’s more like facing a high-speed pitching machine in a batting cage than watching a movie in a theater; it’s one joke after another, thrown rapid fire against the wall on the theory that at least some of them will stick – a time-honored tradition that, admittedly, results in a lot of them that don’t. For every belly laugh, there’s a real groaner, and a fair number of the chuckles are “polite” ones, at best; but that, of course, is part of the appeal. Screenwriters Christina Friel and Connor Wright skew their humor toward the lowbrow – something the popular drag movement fully embraces, anyway – and make most of their characters into clowns as they freely transplant plot points and tropes into their ludicrous scenario; all of it’s on purpose, and most of it works, because this is the kind of movie that is intended to be as “stupid” as possible and we wouldn’t want it any other way.

Of course, some viewers will inevitably be underwhelmed by the movie’s humor; its borrowed tropes may feel less funny for being too familiar, sometimes the “lowbrow” might edge too closely on the “tasteless,” and the overall spirit of “bitchiness” could easily come across as just plain “mean” if one is in the wrong mood. Let’s face it, though: most of those people will probably not be going to see “Stop! That! Train!,” anyway. For the rest of us, even if more of its jokes fall flat than we might hope and some of the zingers don’t have the “zing” that they should, there’s still a cumulative effect that leaves the impression of a whole being greater than its parts. After all, sometimes we just want to have brainless fun at the movies instead of having to think too much about it, and nobody was expecting an Oscar-winner, were they?

As for the disaster movie plot, it’s impossible to take seriously, of course, but it does provide the opportunity to showcase a lot of characters – and caricatures – along the way. Minj and Jujubee are essentially the stars of the show, and their easy chemistry together helps them carry the film; RuPaul, every inch the superstar as ever, strides confidently into his presidential role and rightfully dominates every scene that he’s in, yet is graceful enough not to overwhelm or overshadow the work of his co-stars, especially Matt Rogers, who, as President Gagwell’s possibly psychopathic press secretary and confidante, shares more screen time with him than anyone else. 

Veteran comic actor (and “SNL” alumnus) Chris Parnell uses his hilariously deadpan lunacy to great advantage as the train’s conductor, and Brian Jordan Alvarez (“The English Teacher”) brings a smarmy charm as the co-conductor who doesn’t know how to operate a train – despite the questionable choice of using an exaggerated “Bill and Ted” era Keanu Reaves impression for his character’s voice. There’s a whole gallery of familiar faces on hand in bit parts and cameos as passengers on the train, who arguably provide more genuine comedy and interest than the main storyline. And even if she never sets foot on the train herself, Bloom (“Crazy Ex-Girlfriend”) is every bit on board for the ride, serving as a grounding force even as she gives herself over completely to the silliness.

And silly it certainly is. It’s as insubstantial as the AI-generated backgrounds used to create the action scenes of speeding train and the storm. And at the risk of repeating myself, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

If you think the idea of a movie about two gender-nonconforming buddies embarking on an anti-establishment crime spree feels dangerously radical in 2026, just think how it must have felt 25 years ago.

That’s when “By Hook or By Crook,” a DIY independent film shot in low-tech “Mini-DV” format by a pair of San Francisco artists (Silas Howard and Harry Dodge, who co-wrote, co-directed, and co-starred in it), became a sensation at the 2001 Frameline Festival. Their reason for making it was they were tired of waiting for someone else to bring authentic queer experience and stories to the screen, so they decided to do it themselves.

Now given a 4K restoration that preserves the filmmakers’ intentions for the look of their movie, it’s getting a 25th anniversary re-release in theaters (starting with screenings in New York and Washington D.C. on June 12 and Los Angeles on June 16) and a VOD premiere from “boutique distributor” Altered Innocence. It still feels confrontationally transgressive today, which says a lot about the progress that’s been made and lost in the struggle for queer visibility, especially when it involves those in the trans, nonbinary, or otherwise gender nonconforming parts of our community.

Described as a “trans and butch buddy film” in the publicity for its new release, “By Hook or By Crook” is centered on Shy (Howard), a young transmasculine dreamer who leaves his small Kansas town after the death of his beloved father and heads pennilessly for San Francisco with a plan to “fight the power” by living a life of crime. There, he meets the “deliriously expressive” Valentine, a “butch dyke and bulldagger” whom he rescues from a queer-phobic attack. The two become friends, embarking with Val’s roommate and lover, Billie (Stanya Kahn), on a “Bonnie and Clyde” inspired career as outlaws stealing from the system to survive – or at least, that’s the idea, if they can scrape together enough change to buy a gun. In the meantime, they grapple together with an assortment of personal and emotional issues, blending into a makeshift family as they learn to trust and support each other along the way.

Soaked in a gritty, streetwise aesthetic and a guerilla-style docu-realism, yet percolating with humor that bubbles up in all the right places throughout, it’s a movie that leans into its no-frills style instead of trying to cover or apologize for it. Its improvisational tone creates a flow that feels like a stream-of-consciousness drift, but it stays committed enough to its “hustler-in-the-big-city” narrative structure (which candidly co-opts the basic formula of “Midnight Cowboy”) that it never feels aimless. For millennial and pre-millennial viewers, it offers a nostalgic glimpse at the “queercore” scene in a San Francisco since-transformed; and although its narrative is sometimes a little rough around the edges, so are its characters, so the effect is complementary rather than jarring. There’s even a sly cameo from rocker Joan Jett (whose cover of The Replacements’ song “Androgynous” also shows up over the restoration’s “reconstructed” end credits) for a touch of celebrity appeal.

What stands out as the most striking feature of Howard and Dodge’s groundbreaking film, however, is the same thing that stood out when it debuted, which again speaks volumes about how far we haven’t come: ”By Hook or By Crook” makes no effort to pigeonhole its characters into neatly defined gender or sexual categories – it simply lets them be who they are.

As Howard explains it in his filmmaker’s statement for the new release, “One thing we did […] that I think was ahead of its time – back then surely, and still is today – is that we didn’t explain ourselves to anyone, we were non-binary and didn’t justify our characters’ gender expressions and experiences or define it to the audience. We wanted to make a film about a third gender, which is where I felt I personally lived, at the time.”

Dodge comments on the choice as well. “People note time and again that we don’t explain or use identity categories or labels in the film. A viewer is simply in the fishbowl with us. […] we didn’t label because — it was like, straight people don’t explain straightness, you know? So these characters, they’re loving, feverish, fallible. End of explanation.”

Additionally, the two filmmakers chose to avoid making their characters into (as Howard puts it) “model-queers,” who “have to be perfect and good and have qualities that the mainstream can agree are redeeming.”

Dodge explains their thinking by remembering a university screening shortly after the film’s initial release, where some viewers “were miffed that we had done this representation of queers as criminals. ‘Why did you feel free to make them, one, mentally ill, and two—criminal?’ And I remember saying, ‘We are not a PR outfit for the gay community.’ [In the] movies I love, man, the characters are flawed.”

Watching now, it’s still disorienting to hear Val using “he/her” pronouns despite her masculine presentation, and there’s still a thrilling sense of empowerment when Shy responds to a curious child’s question, “Are you a boy or a girl?” with an unhesitant “Both!” We still squirm at Val’s sometimes alarming behavioral quirks, though we might today recognize her more easily as being “on the spectrum,” thanks to a wider awareness of neurodivergence. These responses are visceral, but “By Hook or By Crook” evaporates them quickly by not playing into them. Instead, it just lets the characters’ humanity shine through. “Our characters are tender fuck-ups, like us,” says Howard, “forever trying to get to a better place,” and because of that, we merely accept them for who they are and roll with it – largely because its two filmmakers also prove themselves well-suited for working in front of the camera, too, and their performances are the glue that holds it all together, while also keeping us invested in their journey together, both as individuals and as a pair of buddies. 

In the end, that’s what “By Hook or By Crook” leaves us with. Its unapologetic disregard for “curating” its queerness may catch our attention; the fiercely anti-capitalistic thrust of its “stealing from The Man” premise might distract us with politics; its “anything goes” attitude toward the infinite spectrums of gender expression and sexual identity unquestionably sparks us with a sense of freedom and possibility. But when the final credits roll, it’s the universal recognition of camaraderie, of simple but vital human connection, that matters most of all. 

What better message could we hope for, during Pride month or any other time, than that?