Movie Review: Pillion Softens Its Kink for Mainstream Appeal

Pillion takes its title from the passenger seat of a motorbike, an apt metaphor both for its lead character struggling to find agency within his own desire but also how it decenters a queer audience in favor of mainstream appeal. 

Harry Lighton’s directorial debut is an adaptation of the novel Box Hill, shifting the setting from 1975 to the present. Colin (Harry Melling), a rather ordinary member of a barber shop quartet, encounters a group of bikers on Christmas Eve at his local bar while on a date set up by his mother. When getting his last drink, he is approached by one of the leather-clad men, Ray (Alexander Skarsgård). Colin is almost entirely silent in this encounter, letting Ray decide the terms and conditions of how their interaction goes. This charts the trajectory of their relationship as Ray requests to meet on Christmas, pulling Colin away from festivities for what his mom thinks is a sweet date when in actuality her son is on his knees in an alleyway. 

What was supposed to be a one-off hook up intensifies when Ray responds to Colin’s barrage of texts, inviting him into a domestic space and initiating a dominant-submissive relationship. The terms are unclear to both the audience and Colin; he uses trial and error to figure out what is and isn’t permitted. It’s left opaque whether they have an arrangement or a relationship, giving both parties the opportunity to live in precarious fantasies of the other person. 

This lack of clarity is the film’s double-edged sword. The continued miscommunication feels quite human, emphasizing how Colin’s desire leads him to tolerate certain behavior, ignoring red flags because “love conquers all.” It’s an empathetic way to tell the story that doesn’t feel prescriptive, unfolding through a series of gradual experiences as messy as they may be. It’s a testament to the lead performances, which can carry a level of desire and control that alludes to what’s bubbling beneath the surface but cannot be articulated. 

This ambiguity also muddles Colin’s own intention. It’s unclear whether Colin is interested in this dynamic because Ray is so hot or because he has discovered a new aspect of his sexuality through their relationship. Characters constantly reiterate to Colin that Ray is a catch, from his co-workers to his new biker friends to even his parents. At one point, a woman asks what Ray sees in him. While this feels almost like a humiliation tactic in casting, it defines Colin’s sexual worth through what he can provide another person, rather than any sense of personal pleasure. With no emphasis on Colin’s interiority, it decenters so much of what’s important within this type of relationship–sexual empowerment. Consent is completely unaddressed for much of the film, ignoring Colin’s internal pleasure which he may (or may not) derive from being submissive and instead focusing on his submission as an action to keep Ray. 

While there are ethical representational questions with the two leads regarding BDSM relationships, the portrayal of the overall kink community acts as a counterbalance. Pillion features a rich cast of characters who all have various interests within kink, from leather to pup to dom/sub. There are many glimpses into the larger ecosystem that gesture towards the expanse that the main narrative can’t fully capture. One particularly great scene takes place during a day-long celebration by the lake where these side characters get a bit more of a spotlight. It acts as a turning point for the film, mirroring how healthy dominant-submissive relationships should be, both for Colin as well as the audience. It’s in these moments, members of the kink community are gossiping amongst themselves, that the sense of community comes alive, illustrating how sexuality can be community building of itself. 

But on an individual level, most of these characters either lack dialogue or are so sidelined that they become forgettable. By relegating these characters and milieu to set dressing, Pillion leaves the most interesting aspects offscreen, focusing only on Colin and Ray’s relationship rather than how either interacts with the larger group. Questions of desire, comfortability, and romance could have been salient within the larger group but are left obfuscated, as the filmmaker prioritizes a more conventional story.

There’s a sly dichotomy within the film. On one hand, it presents Colin’s parents as incredibly accepting of his sexuality–setting him up on dates, encouraging him to go meet boys, and the like. Yet when they see the nature of his relationship, his mom isn’t so understanding. Rather, she flatly ascribes it as unhealthy rather than getting to understand why Colin is in this type of dynamic. The problem is that Ray is an asshole when meeting Colin’s mom. This could have been an upending of homonormativity and the extent to which larger society only accepts gayness when it masquerades under the same terms as straightness. What instead unfolds is a mother trying to protect the interests of her son. 

The core issue at the heart of Pillion is that it’s too well-paced, with each scene acting as a building block. While it does keep the momentum for the core plot, it ignores the more interesting aspects of sexuality in favor of a boy-meets-boy love affair. There’s not enough screen time for the intricacies and contractions of queer life—from BDSM to self-acceptance to social structures—to develop into anything unique. Pillion is a film full of possibilities that instead focuses on the more marketable and widely appealing aspect of its central story, rather than exploring the world these characters occupy. This isn’t to say the film is bad–quite the opposite–but it prioritizes an audience less concerned with existential questions of queerness in favor of one looking for an “alternative” love story. Colin’s own naivety is key to this, giving the audience a conduit to learn about kink for the very first time. 

There’s a sense of radicalism that a film depicting kink and BDSM can be widely released nationally, yet it’s still being distributed by A24 in the United States and Warner Bros. in the United Kingdom. Alexander Skarsgård has frequently acknowledged more graphic content that was filmed but ultimately left on the cutting room floor, even calling this the “family-friendly version.” It’s reminiscent of the 40 minutes of footage cut from William Friedkin’s Cruising to ensure it could receive an R rating from the MPAA and be released widely. Considering Cruising was released in over 500 theaters 45 years ago, there is a false sense of progress for mainstream depiction/acceptance of queer sex. Both films made tangible sacrifices in order to acquire a wider set of viewers, decidingly pushing queer audiences aside. It really is the BDSM movie to take the whole family to (but maybe not grandma and grandpa).

Pillion is in theaters now.