Building the New Queer Canon is a monthly column exploring a new or rediscovered LGBTQIA+ film, and whether it deserves inclusion in an ever-growing “canon” of queer cinema. VV’s Pillion essay contains spoilers. Harry Lighton’s 2025 film features Alexander Skarsgård, Harry Melling and Douglas Hodge. Check out more movie coverage in the film essays section.

We complain a lot about our current, sexless age of cinema, but the inverse of this is that films which address sexuality from the most modest perspectives are hailed for a bravery they don’t possess. I personally will never get down from my soapbox to criticize the failings of Babygirl (2025), director Halina Reijn’s widely acclaimed age-gap erotic drama, which feels as terrified to address the realities of a dominant-submissive relationship as Nicole Kidman’s CEO protagonist is to confront her desires. The most damning thing I could say is that it’s the perfect erotic thriller for the current cultural moment: sex-positive while also being absolutely terrified of the idea of having to depict the act itself.

The taste of Reijn’s incredibly vanilla BDSM tale has been washed away by Pillion — the Cannes prize-winning directorial debut of Harry Lighton — which is disarmingly frank in its depiction of a formative relationship between a car parking attendant (Harry Melling’s Colin) and enigmatic biker Ray (Alexander Skarsgård). And when I say “disarming,” I mean that the expected nudity many audiences will be hoping for is nothing more than a front for a beguilingly elusive character study about the mismatched power dynamics in modern relationships from a broader perspective. Even if you, the viewer, have never participated in a woodland orgy or been ordered to lick a man’s boot in a public alleyway — on Christmas Day, no less! — you will likely have found yourself in a thankless relationship that functions entirely on projecting an idealized version of your partner onto the lackluster reality in the desperate hope of keeping the flame alive. Skarsgård’s brooding charisma has never previously been weaponized to the extent it is in Pillion, always commanding the audience’s attention even as it becomes clear there are no hidden depths beneath his character’s mysterious exterior. That the actor’s performance still feels rich and enigmatic even as the script reinforces Ray’s vapidness might be the greatest of its many triumphs.

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While Pillion is unafraid of depicting sexuality and kinks, possessing a lived-in understanding of how sub/dom dynamics function at both their best and worst, it’s not purely a story about a timid man exploring his desires for the first time. Although Colin is out of the closet and living with a family who appear to have always accepted him — and are arguably too comfortable, in the case of his mother’s frequent, ill-fated attempts to set him up with seemingly any other gay man she meets — there’s an assumption that Ray represents his first serious relationship of any sort. That this is twinned with Colin’s exploration of his own BDSM boundaries simultaneously makes a straightforward tale of an unrequited first love feel fresh while normalizing many of the story’s kinkier fringes to audiences who might typically feel uncomfortable. There is absolutely no shame or self-censorship within Pillion’s depiction, but the decidedly uncommercial subject matter becomes infinitely more palatable when used to emphasize a doomed not-quite-relationship, where the bedroom dynamics neatly correspond with the emotional availability of both parties.

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However, it is perhaps unfair to suggest that the topic of sexual kinks is used to make the imbalanced dynamic of Colin and Ray’s relationship as unambiguous as possible, as that suggests Pillion takes a simplistic, watered down approach to the depictions of both. Nor does the film fall into the same regressive trap as earlier BDSM phenomenon Fifty Shades of Grey (2015) by romanticizing that emotional distance and how it could lead to inevitable lines being crossed. Ray may be inscrutable and determined to make himself impossible to grow attached to, but he doesn’t transgress beyond Colin’s obvious boundaries, and the wider film shows zero interest in depicting anybody violating the trust which comes with this territory. It’s easy to imagine a lesser film which falls prey to this, but the miscommunication in this relationship circles back to the way the dynamic is observed outside of the bedroom, as Colin comes to gradually understand that his willingness to follow orders at all times correlates with the emotionally stunted nature of his reluctant partner.

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Ray’s orders for Colin to cook and clean, then to sleep on the floor at the edge of a bed, is initially presented as the logical extension of the central power dynamic being observed, but Lighton successfully reveals this to be a barrier between the pair without ever demonizing anybody who would be into it. Ray is, quite frankly, appallingly bad at the whole domination thing, and at times appears to like Colin living with him, as it’s cheaper than hiring a cleaner. The casting of Skarsgård, who nobody, regardless of sexuality, could ever deem unattractive, helps maintain the illusion for both Melling’s character and the audience that this is all part of the role. He’s a commanding, cartoonishly masculine presence like a Tom of Finland drawing sans mustache, and that he could be guided by the same terrible impulses, or defined by the same laziness, as a dreadful boyfriend you’ve chosen to forget seems implausible, even as the evidence is right there.

Pillion Essay: Related — Building the New Queer Canon #5: Dag Johan Haugerud’s Sex/Dreams/Love Trilogy

Although as light and funny as a conventional rom-com at times, Pillion is strongest when navigating its protagonist’s desires as a submissive, recognizing that the allure of this dynamic can fade away if embedded within a relationship destined to go nowhere. I suspect some of the more kink-friendly audiences might inevitably think the film looks down towards the lifestyle, especially as Colin’s arc requires him to grow exasperated with his assigned role, but I think the opposite is true; there’s something genuinely empowering about a man finally understanding what drives his sexuality as he navigates an initial fantasy which proves unfulfilling. For all the talk about Pillion’s sexiness — and on the festival circuit, it appears to be solely the risqué sequences which have caused a stir — the sex itself proves to be far less revelatory in grappling with these characters than the awkwardness and uncertainty which lingers between. That being said, Lighton does pull off the oft-requested trick of having all his sex scenes advance the plot in some way. I still doubt that will stop many of the internet’s most puritanical cinephiles from complaining about them.

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In Pillion, Lighton effortlessly navigates a string of contradictions that could tear the film apart. It’s sex-and-kink-positive movie that depicts a miserable sexual relationship, and characterizes the dom boyfriend as careless without demonizing BDSM as a whole, and all with a lightness of touch that transforms the movie into a stealth crowd-pleaser. Look past the chastity cages, pup masks and Prince Albert piercings and you’ll find one of the most incisive, painfully relatable stories about modern queer romance to have arrived of late.

Alistair Ryder (@YesitsAlistair) is a film and TV critic based in Manchester, England. By day, he interviews the great and the good of the film world for Zavvi, and by night, he criticizes their work as a regular reviewer at outlets including The Film Stage and Looper. Thank you for reading film criticism, movie reviews and film reviews at Vague Visages.

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