Pillion

There is a specific, guttural roar that a vintage motorbike makes when it’s being pushed too hard on a damp English backroad, a sound that sits somewhere between a mechanical scream and a predator’s purr. I spent the first twenty minutes of Pillion wondering if the vibrations were going to rattle the teeth right out of Harry Melling’s head. I watched this in a screening room where the air conditioning was set to "Arctic Tundra," and I found myself subconsciously clutching my own jacket every time Alexander Skarsgård revved that engine. It’s an oddly physical movie—the kind that makes you want to shower, but also maybe buy a helmet.

The Oddest Couple on Two Wheels

The film follows Colin, played by Harry Melling (who has officially completed his transformation from the petulant Dudley Dursley into the most captivatingly twitchy character actor of his generation). Colin is a man who looks like he’s perpetually apologizing for occupying three-dimensional space. His life is a beige blur of quiet desperation until he meets Ray.

As Ray, Alexander Skarsgård—an actor who seems to have been engineered in a Swedish lab specifically to play "enigmatic gods"—is a revelation of leather and grease. When Ray takes Colin on as his submissive, the movie could have easily veered into the dark, punishing territory of a grim psychodrama. Instead, director Harry Lighton (who previously garnered buzz with the short Wren Boys) does something much more daring: he makes it a comedy. A very dark, very kinky, very British comedy.

The chemistry here shouldn't work. On paper, it looks like a casting director drew two names out of a hat at random. But that friction is exactly where the sparks come from. Watching the towering, stoic Ray command the shivering, wide-eyed Colin is like watching a grizzly bear decide to adopt a particularly nervous hamster. Harry Melling's face is a masterclass in silent internal screaming, and it’s genuinely hilarious to see him navigate the logistics of a BDSM lifestyle with the same social awkwardness one might bring to a difficult HR meeting.

A Million-Dollar Vision

In an era where we’re used to $200 million blockbusters looking like they were rendered on a dying laptop, Pillion is a sharp reminder of what independent cinema can do with a million bucks and a lot of nerve. It’s a BBC Film and BFI production, and it carries that distinct "indie gem" DNA—using real locations, natural (often gloomy) light, and a script that doesn't feel like it was scrubbed clean by a dozen focus groups.

Apparently, the production was so tight on funds that Alexander Skarsgård actually spent time learning to strip down and repair the vintage bikes used in the film to save on mechanic costs during the shoot. You can see that grease under his fingernails; it’s not Hollywood makeup, it’s character work. The film was shot in just a few weeks, mostly in sequence, which helps that mounting sense of "what on earth have I gotten myself into?" that radiates off Harry Melling in every frame.

The supporting cast adds layers of domestic grit to the erotic fantasy. Lesley Sharp and Douglas Hodge are predictably excellent, grounding the story in a world where people still have to worry about the tea getting cold and the neighbors talking, even if they’ve got a man in a gimp mask in the shed.

Representation Without the Lecture

What I found most refreshing about Pillion is how it engages with the "Contemporary Cinema" landscape. We live in a time of intense discourse regarding representation, where every LGBTQ+ film is often expected to be a grand, noble statement on the "human condition." Pillion looks at that expectation and does a wheelie over it.

It’s a movie about gay men that is allowed to be messy, weird, and niche. It doesn’t ask for your permission to be erotic, and it doesn't try to make its characters "role models." Ray and Colin are deeply flawed, occasionally ridiculous, and frequently dysfunctional. In 2025, that feels more progressive than a thousand "sanitized" romances. It acknowledges the streaming era’s appetite for bold, specific stories while maintaining a cinematic scale that justifies its theatrical box office success.

The film manages to make a gimp suit feel like a legitimate costume choice for a romantic lead, and that’s a tightrope walk I didn't think anyone could survive. The score by Oliver Coates (who did incredible work on Aftersun) adds a shimmering, slightly dissonant layer to the proceedings, ensuring the "Rom-Com" elements never get too sugary.

Ultimately, Pillion is a testament to the power of the "indie hustle." It took a provocative premise and turned it into a deeply human, surprisingly funny story about the lengths we go to for a sense of belonging. It’s not going to be for everyone—if you’re squeamish about leather or sub-dom dynamics, you might find yourself looking at your shoes—but for those willing to hop on the back of the bike, it’s a thrilling ride. It’s a film that knows exactly what it is: a loud, greasy, heartfelt celebration of the beautiful weirdos among us. I left the theater wanting to learn how to ride a motorcycle, though I’ll probably stick to a Vespa and keep my dignity intact.