‘Pillion’ review: Alexander Skarsgard and Harry Melling star in frank British debut

Dir/scr: Harry Lighton. UK. 2025. 106mins

The commuter town of Bromley, 10 miles from the centre of London, may not seem like the most obvious of locales for such a bold and uncompromising queer coming-of-age. Yet debut feature director Harry Lighton effectively uses the comfortable familiarity of this suburban setting to cast this story of a submissive gay relationship into sharp relief. He’s helped by strong, sympathetic performances from Harry Melling and Alexander Skarsgard, although Lighton’s own light yet confident approach is what drives Pillion forward.

Authentically and sensitively explores a side of gay culture little seen in mainstream film

Adapting the 2020 novella Box Hill by Adam Mars-Jones, Lighton (a Screen Star Of Tomorrow in 2018) makes a bold step-up to features following shorts including the Bafta-nominated Wren Boys (2017). The film sold to multiple territories ahead of its Un Certain Regard premiere, including the US (A24) and the UK (Picturehouse), and the presence of Skarsgard will help garner attention – as, no doubt, will its explicit sex. Yet open-minded audiences will soon realise that Pillion is not out to provocate, but to authentically and sensitively explore a side of gay culture little seen in mainstream film.

While the original novel was set over six years from the late 1970s into the 1980s, Lighton’s screenplay condenses the action into a single year in the present day. Here, Colin (Melling) has no cultural need to hide his sexuality; indeed, his supportive parents Pete (Douglas Hodge) and Peggy (Lesley Sharp) eagerly set him up on blind dates with eligible men. Yet while Colin is out, he certainly isn’t proud; meek, quiet and unassuming, the only time we see him really come alive is when he sings in his barbershop quartet.

It’s while performing in a local pub that he crosses paths with Ray (Skarsgard), a tall, handsome biker who – in a subversion of the typical meet-cute – wordlessly makes Colin count out the coins needed to pay for his pint. Rather than be offended, Colin is intrigued; particularly when he discovers Ray has left him a note with the time and a place for a rendezvous.

If the naive Colin – and his excited parents – are expecting a typical first date, that notion is disabused when Colin finds himself on his knees in a back alley licking Ray’s boots (and more), on Christmas Day no less. That first encounter leads swiftly to Colin taking on the role of Ray’s live-in submissive, expected to meet all of Ray’s domestic and sexual needs, and sleeping on the floor at the end of Ray’s bed. 

Despite this unconventional, shocking-to-some set-up, one of the great achievements of Pillion is that it takes a completely matter-of-fact approach as it follows Colin into this new chapter of his life, remaining non-judgmental even as he consentingly subjugates himself to demands others would find demeaning. It doesn’t hurt that the taciturn Ray is so charismatic, exuding an attractive confidence even as he remains a resolutely closed book. The tattoos of three women’s names on his chest and his complete emotional unavailability offer the merest suggestion of a back story, but Skarsgard manages to bring enough depth to the character to avoid him becoming a mere cypher.

The emotional and dramatic weight lies almost entirely with Collin, and Melling makes a strong impact in a role that is far away from his turn as the boorish Dudley Dursley in Harry Potter, digging into the vulnerability and loneliness which motivate Colin to look for happiness by unconventional means. Crucially, though, Colin isn’t only driven by insecurity; he finds genuine connection, both physical and psychological, with Ray, and a true sense of belonging in the biker gang who warmly welcome him into the fold. (Many of the bikers are played by members of the UK’s Gay Bikers Motorcycle Club (GMBCC), who Lighton spent time with for research.)

Scenes in which Ray, Colin and the bikers indulge their dominant/submissive kinks pull no punches, but cinematographer Nick Morris films these graphic encounters with the same measured, observational, occassionally humorous tone as he does the more everyday sequences. While the sex scenes may feel heightened and extreme, the film suggests that may be simply because they fall outside conventional mores. We are used to seeing sweaty, contorted, explicit heteronormative sex on screen; why should this be any different?

Crucially, Lighton, working with intimacy coordinator Robbie Taylor-Hunt, ensures these scenes never feel exploitative; no mean feat given their inherent dominant/submissive nature. While Ray may be in the driving seat, there is the sense that Colin is also using this dynamic to explore his own boundaries, to force himself out of his safe suburban stupor. His newly shaven head is not the only signal of change. When mum Peggy raises an objection to the relationship – her permissive support only going so far – Colin pushes back, just as he begins to push back against Ray, finding the strength to finally stand up for the things he realises he truly desires, and deserves.