There doesn’t seem to be a man out there for little Colin. A traffic warden by day, pub barbershop singer by night, his neeky, practically chaste brand of gayness doesn’t meld well with his potential suitors. On Christmas Eve, a guy he’s met for a drink (his T-shirt reads “Alexa, Free Britney”) slips off to the bathroom; Colin heads to the bar to buy the next round. The husky-voiced man next to him asks for three packets of crisps, throwing change onto the counter—and something inside Colin switches. He gathers the change, hands it to the barmaid, and passes the crisps to the anonymous man, now fully in view. Sparse directions written on a card: “Primark Bromley, tomo 5pm” and a phone number. And so sparks a relationship that will change Colin’s brain chemistry forever.
This is the opening meet-cute of Pillion, the sickle-sharp and sexy debut film from British director Harry Lighton that stars Harry Melling as Colin and a gruff, unbelievably sexy Alexander Skarsgård as his dominant partner, Ray. This is a love story that pushes against the mallowy, teary-eyed tales gay men’s lives have lately been wrapped in. It’s about a relationship built on a different sacred agreement—between a man who gets off on being told exactly what to do and when, and another whose pleasure stems from that dictatorial opposite.
Stuck in a listless job, his mother suffering through chemotherapy, Colin seems like the perfect conduit for what Ray needs. But the film thrives on that ambiguity we, as an audience, feel. As Colin cooks for Ray on command, sleeps on a rug at the foot of his bed rather than next to him, and bends over and takes it when asked, we’re asked: Is Ray an opportunist or a healer? Is this abuse or some kind of sexual liberation—a perfect fulfilment of exactly what Colin wants? In a playful nod to whether this is real or performative, Ray is spotted reading My Struggle, Karl Ove Knausgård’s novel about his dark fantasies that blur fact (its characters are named after real people) and fiction.
“Pillion thrives when it toys with symbols of sexual weirdness”
Pillion is based loosely on the excellent novel Box Hill by Adam Mars-Jones, though the film diverges quite liberally—both for narrative purposes and, perhaps, to avoid a more troubling moral quandary (in the book, Colin has just turned 17 years old). Still, it’s hardly shy. Maybe it’s the world’s sharp rightward turn, or a complacency bred from decades of cultural assimilation, but the way gay men have merged into mainstream society has been reflected in the films we see too.. While quite not as transgressive as some European and South American offerings (Rotting in the Sun, we’re looking at you), it’s still disorienting to see a film like Pillion––set in Britain, funded by our national broadcaster––that dares to offend or disgust.
Puppy masks, chastity cages, assless PVC singlets—Pillion thrives when it toys with symbols of sexual weirdness that typically make others point and laugh, or wriggle in discomfort.
That its two straight-presenting lead actors are down the ride is reassuring, too. As Colin, Melling cowers and whimpers in all the right places. Skarsgård—whose hunkishness perfectly positions him as the kind of man you’d say yes to anyway—even leaned into it off-screen, showing up to the film’s screening in a Tom of Finland-esque graphic tee, skin-tight leather trousers, and Loewe biker boots.
It’s the kind of film that feels ripe for hearsay from this moment onwards—and already has gay men and Skarsgård heads alike chomping at the bit to see it. They’ll have to wait a little longer for that (it’s likely set to be released later this year by A24 in the US and Picturehouse in the UK), but that edging feels apt. It’s a blistering film about the lure of subservience and the ecstatic unlocking of your most longed-for fantasy.
‘Pillion’ will be released by A24 and Picturehouse later this year.