Kink, consent, and queer self-acceptance create a complicated portrait of the relationship between a biker dom and a timid sub in Harry Lighton’s confident, accomplished feature debut Pillion.
Taking place over one year, Lighton deftly brings us into the world of Colin (Harry Melling, who is most familiar as Dudley Dursley in the Harry Potter films but has also recently turned in strong work in The Devil All the Time, Please Baby Please, and several Coen Brothers films), an openly gay young man living an isolated, family-oriented life in a London suburb. As Colin’s domineering mother (Lesley Sharp), suffering from terminal cancer, gets increasingly interested in his love life, he partakes in an uncharacteristic act of rebellion by pursuing Ray, a ridiculously attractive biker (Alexander Skårsgard) whose pack happened into the pub where Colin’s barbershop quarter performed on Christmas Eve (despite what A24’s misguided Valentine’s Day release might have you believe). What ensues is an uncomfortable, at times hilarious but always acutely observed dive into the world of BDSM biker communities and liberated queer lifestyles.
Ray lures Colin in with stoicism and standoffishness, only ever exhibiting just enough interest to keep Colin hooked. Colin clearly thinks he’s won the lottery with this mysterious Scandinavian sex god pursuing him, but it becomes clear that Colin is out of his depth. From their first encounter, the film’s relationship with consent is complicated. Ray invites Colin to meet up on Christmas, and Colin’s hopes for a romantic evening are quickly diminished to kneeling in a dark alleyway, choking on Ray in all his (comically massive, clearly prosthetic) glory before an abrupt and awkward goodbye. Ray never asks Colin if what’s happening is okay, Colin never explicitly says yes, but at the same time Ray doesn’t force anything and Colin is an active and willing participant. Implied but never quite enthusiastic consent defines the tenor of their relationship.
Pillion spends of much of its runtime dwelling in this discomfiting space: we see Colin never being totally happy with what Ray is offering, but also going along with degrading treatment, being expected to be more a housekeeper than a lover, and pushing his physical limits well beyond the pain threshold. Colin’s sexuality lives in a liminal space between desperately wanting emotional attachment and not wanting to disrupt the clearly pleasurable limbo of his relationship with Ray. Even at the end of the film, when Colin has spent a year immersed in this lifestyle and full-throatedly embraced it, it’s left unclear if it’s because he’s discovered an exciting kink and this is the life he wants, or if his relationship with Ray has convinced him that this is the only way he can be loved. This is a deeply kink-positive film, but Lighton does well to explore the blurry line that makes clear and open communication so important in these relationships.
Despite – or perhaps because of – these complexities, Lighton’s strong direction of the performances and even stronger screenplay make us completely buy into whatever is happening between Colin and Ray. A pivotal scene in which Colin’s parents are confronted with the reality of Colin and Ray and their son’s complete investment in it elicits an almost defensive support for Colin’s choices, whether they come from a place of confused loneliness or are in his quiet way whole-heartedly earnest. Colin completely subsumes himself into this relationship, burying rejection, loneliness, and the pain of the impending loss of his mother in the intensity of Ray and the tiny moments of affection he doles out.
From a technical standpoint, Pillion is an unqualified triumph. Vast expanses of the film are spent in Ray’s luxe but sparsely decorated apartment, an achievement of sparing production design that leaves you wondering how much is because Ray is a minimalist and how much is Ray being ready to let go at any moment. We get to know Ray much more from what’s unsaid, never learning anything about his life outside of his love of dominance, his motorcycle, and his dog Rosie (the latter two of which Colin clearly feels more than a bit of jealousy towards). Nick Morris’s cinematography is nothing short of thrilling, from the unbridled freedom of a nighttime joyride to the intense, close-up intimacy of Colin and Ray’s sex life. A subdued score from Oliver Coates sits alongside expert music supervision; in particular, the Alessi Brothers’s lovely “Seabird” (immediately familiar to fans of Sony’s PS5 game Spider-man 2) is a pitch-perfect needle drop in the film’s finale, and unleashed a torrent of tears both times I saw this movie.
Pillion is a tender portrait of a relationship that isn’t easy to define. It’s about discovering new sides to yourself and your desires, but also about standing up for yourself and your needs. It’s about the multifarious forms and deep interconnectedness of love and pain, and the excitement and terror of losing yourself in someone else. It’s not an easy film to sit with, but it left me ready to follow Lighton wherever he wants to take us next.
You can find more of my reviews and musings on the Oscars here on The Avocado, and on Letterboxd.