Now Playing: Pillion

Hi,

There are two new movies playing at the Ross right now. I decided I wasn't super interested in seeing the John Prine tribute concert film (nothing against the man, it just didn't look like my thing). But I definitely was down to see Pillion, which played at Cannes last year. I saw it on Friday night, and I had a lot of thoughts! Read on for my review.

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Sex in films usually works one of two ways.

Often, spicy scenes are awkwardly cordoned off from the rest of the narrative. This kind of cinematic sex might be pleasant and titillating (if done well), but it ultimately tells us nothing about characters, themes, or anything else that a thoughtful viewer might care about. My go-to example is Christopher Nolan's Oppenheimer, an otherwise good film that utterly wastes Florence Pugh on a series of vacuous sex scenes. For a more recent case study, see Emerald Fennell's Wuthering Heights, a wholly terrible film crammed full of hot people moaning and fucking for no apparent purpose.

Pillion takes a different approach. Thank god.

The movie is quite explicit — including one especially memorable shot of an enormous pierced penis — but it uses eroticism and kink to explore the complex emotional relationship between its central characters: Colin, a socially reclusive gay man (played by Harry Melling), and Ray, an emotionally distant and incredibly hot biker (played by Alexander Skarsgård), who inducts the former into an intense BDSM relationship.

At the beginning of the film, Colin is introverted and sexually inexperienced, still living with his parents and going on dates arranged by his mom. However, he has a latent "aptitude for devotion," as Ray would put it, and after a chance encounter at a pub and subsequent hookup in an alley, Colin surrenders himself fully to a new, all-consuming life as a sub. He sleeps on Ray's floor, cooks Ray's meals, does Ray's shopping, looks after Ray's dog, and seemingly enjoys doing what Ray tells him to do (at least at first).

They also have sex — lots and lots of sex. But the scenes never feel gratuitous or out-of-place. Instead, each sexual encounter reveals something new about the dynamic between them. The sex feels intentional, and as Skarsgård put it in an interview with The Hollywood Reporter, the sex is actually interesting:

Most sex scenes on screen are quite boring and sanitized. Here, we really leaned into the authenticity, the awkwardness of sex, which I thought was really funny and sweet. It’s quite rare to have a sex scene that actually has an emotional journey.

This is especially true for Colin, and navigating this relationship is clearly, for him, a process of self-actualization. He's learning things about himself that he might never have discovered on his own. When Ray tells him to buy a butt plug — "You're too tight," he remarks — Colin can't suppress a look of furtive, half-guilty excitement, as though he's been given permission to partake in some secret, forbidden pleasure. (If there was an Oscar specifically for face acting, both Melling and Skarsgård would be in contention for their performances here.)

Though I wouldn't describe Pillion as a comedy, it is genuinely funny. While much of the humor stems from Colin's initial naivete and the way his stumbling inexperience collides with Ray's self-assurance, the film never feels like it's laughing at him. Colin is the point of view character: We're meant to sympathize with his awkwardness, and the jokes never come at his expense. I can certainly imagine a crueler, more judgemental version of the script in which Colin's sexual degradation is also treated as voyeuristic emotional humiliation. But it's clear that writer/director Harry Lighton is actually interested in BDSM subcultures and considers them worthy of serious cinematic representation. (It probably helps that members of an actual dom/sub biker gang served as advisors and even appear as minor characters.)

That said, the film does have a darker side. From the start, there are hints that Colin — blinded by infatuation and intoxicated by his own sexual awakening — doesn't quite know what he's getting himself into. While Ray's treatment of Colin never (in my opinion) crosses the line into actual emotional abuse, he certainly capitalizes on Colin's innocence in ways that are uncomfortable to watch.

Pillion is named for the passenger seat on a motorcycle, and Colin spends a good chunk of the runtime perched on the back of Ray's bike, an object that receives far more attention and care than Colin ever does. There are at least two scenes that show Colin gazing out a window as Ray lovingly washes his motorcycle. The point seems clear: Colin is a sensitive person and clearly craves a form of emotional intimacy that Ray is unwilling (or unable) to provide. And the central narrative tension centers on Colin's gradual realization that maybe the strict rules Ray enforces aren't quite what he wants.

There's something beautiful and deeply sad about this character dynamic. The film captures something profound about the inherently messy give-and-take of human relationships, an insight that transcends the specifics of Colin and Ray's kinky arrangement. When Colin rides on Ray's bike, digging his hands into Ray's leather jacket and gently resting his head on this enigmatic man's back, these moments somehow feel even more transgressive than the sex scenes. They highlight the empty space in their relationship, the void where communication and intimacy should be — the emotional chasm that you can never bridge, even with the best sex of your life.

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~ Ty