Pillion

Before the sweat, before the gear, before the passion, before Colin (Harry Melling) knows anything about being a submissive, much less his interest in it, what sets Pillion apart is the support of his parents, especially his mom, Peggy (Lesley Sharp). They're never patronizing or questioning, there's never any mention of him being different or "Are you sure?" or any of that nonsense. Fair, they're a little too excited for him to find a boyfriend, stemming from how nakedly he wears his loneliness on his sleeve. As we'll see later, even in the quest for their son's happiness, they're not the most open-minded people, suggesting this level of understanding likely only came with much time and strife. But it does signal that while this is a story about a gay man struggling to find his way through life and relationships, being queer is not the source of his troubles. The world of the film is indifferent to who he loves, leaving it to him to figure out what it is he needs from a relationship.

From the moment he catches a glimpse of some men with their heads shaved wearing leather with locked chains around their necks at the pub, delighted by being treated like dogs, something in him clicks. It's not so simple as wishing he was one of them; they captivate him, sure, although we don't get the sense he quite comprehends what he's seeing, especially given the nice, normal existence he's led in his parents' home. Ray (Alexander Skarsgård) takes note, and stoically, wordlessly instructs Colin to text him the next night. The ensuing encounter feels as dangerous as it does exhilarating, taking place in an alley instead of a cafe. There's never a single instant in which Colin is anything but thrilled, even as he's so nervous that he cannot stop talking despite Ray's refusal to offer more than monosyllabic responses.

Even as we're quickly, forcefully thrust into a world of bikers and kink, in which sex and pain go hand in hand, what elevates the whole thing is an absolutely brilliant performance from Melling. Colin is a very tricky character. He's timid although not exactly shy, and thus somewhat hesitant at each new experience, especially as Ray is not the chatty type, with no interest in easing him in or checking in on his comfort level. But Melling always sneaks a tiny bit of glee under the uncertainty, which slowly starts to show as the interaction continues. Colin has no idea what he's doing, nor the confidence to speak out of turn (never mind ask for much of anything), and he relishes the abdication of control and the penetration of his humdrum existence.

Make no mistake; this is as much a comedy as it is a drama. Its genre spanning existence is best thought of as a delayed coming-of-age, kinky, queer romcom. A "dom-com", if you will. And Melling's face is the key ingredient. Along with director Harry Lighton and cinematographer Nick Morris, they drape Colin's deep-seated sense of propriety and politeness as a blanket of humor across the whole film, with minuscule expressions and lingering close ups and stammering joy its key tools. On occasion, they utilize the same approach with Ray's stoic gaze, to great effect, as he watches Colin's adorable attempts to adjust to this world. The sparing use of Colin's parents as reflections of Colin's nature and Ray's forcefulness highlights it all, and makes for sparks whenever they come into contact.

The other master served by Melling's mug is emotionality; it brings us more fully into the story. So although the chemistry between the two men is non-traditional, we feel much of the same ecstasy and relief and frustration that Colin does at the appropriate moments. We live his ups and downs, his desperation for Ray's attention, and how the more experienced man plays with that to heighten the pleasure for both of them. One particularly powerful scene involving a picnic table at a campground has so much to say about their desires and compatibility and connection and what they mean to each other, resulting in a climactic moment that brought tears to my eyes.

Lighton never shies away from embracing that pleasure cinematically, even if the level of full-frontal nudity is lower than you may expect. It remains a powerfully sensual and sexy movie, relying on the power of suggestion and desire to work their magic, weaving them into the presentation of the film rather than giving the audience all they want. Its depiction of sex and submission and the joys of finding what turns you on and what it looks like to fully embrace it are frank and unflinching.

Much as Colin's transformation forces his parents to confront what it means to accept someone for who they, to truly unconditionally accept them no matter your own level of comfort or understanding, Lighton does the same thing to the audience. You've heard jokes, you've seen Pulp Fiction, you're (at least vaguely) aware of Fifty Shades of Gray. But Lighton (adapting the 2020 novel Box Hill by Adam Mars-Jones) strips all that away. He demystifies it for the uninitiated, showing you what such a lifestyle truly entails without ever straying into expository hand-holding. He gently wonders how you could take issue with adults who are enthusiastically consenting and bringing each other joy, even if their "arrangement" sometimes carries the same challenges as a traditional relationship. And in doing so, he presents the story of a young man who comes into his own over the course of a year, coming away from his first exposure to BDSM more self-assured, more grounded, and more in touch with his boundaries, ultimately more aware of his own needs and with enough self-worth and confidence to request their fulfillment.