What do you get when you take an introverted man singing Christmas tunes at a pub in Kent who stumbles across a man sitting in the back alone, fitting the bad boy archetype like a glove? You have the perfect meet-cute to set up your festive, heartfelt, and fun-for-all-the-family rom-com! Now add motorcycle gangs, lewd meetings beside a Primark on Christmas Day, and an all-encompassing sexual companionship filled to the brim with sexy kinks. Talk about a complete U-turn in tone. In the eyes of writer and director Harry Lighton, it’s a recipe for success with his feature-length directorial debut, Pillion (2025), exploring exactly that.
Lighton introduces us to Colin (Harry Melling), a timid parking warden whose sick mother is desperately encouraging him to put himself out there and start dating. To her surprise, he finds Ray (Alexander Skarsgård), a mysterious, emotionally distant motorcyclist who asserts explicit sexual expectations to their budding relationship, which Colin did not even realize he needed.
From the “bring out the gimp” scene inPulp Fiction (1994), the romanticization of an abusive, non-consensual sexual relationship in 365 Days (2020), and the over-exaggeration of bondage and discipline in Fifty Shades of Grey (2015), Hollywood has continuously perpetuated harmful stereotypes about relationships revolving around dominance/submission dynamics. With the help of the source material, Box Hill, written by Adam Mars-Jones, Lighton effortlessly destigmatizes the damaging stereotypes by writing a screenplay that offers a refreshing exploration of boundaries, whilst bringing to life those kinks.
Costume designer Grace Snell truly outdoes herself. Skarsgard and Melling are dressed almost head to toe in tight-fitting leather or, when alone, even tighter-fitting one-pieces with bold cut-outs. Yet, my favourite choice Snell makes is the lock-and-key matching necklaces, which perfectly and subtly encapsulate the dom/sub dynamic Ray and Colin engage in.
Melling delivers his most enthralling performance since The Queen’s Gambit (2020). He takes the audience on a coming-of-age journey through Colin’s infatuations, exploring what it means to be desired and to desire someone after knowing nothing about it. We see Melling flow through an endearing naivety of not quite understanding to enjoying the thrill of his relationship with Ray, to finally coming into his own by realising that what Ray wants in a relationship isn’t necessarily what he wants. It is a beautiful performance that leaves your heart aching long after the credits roll.
Skarsgård takes his role as the dom very seriously, bringing a brooding, vacant persona to Ray. Yet, there is an unspoken softness to him bubbling to the surface that he feels afraid to latch onto. He allows glimmers of affection within a sea of apathy towards Colin in a way that leaves audiences second-guessing whether he is merely being sympathetic or empathetic, an acting decision that adds much more depth to what could have easily fallen into a more standard characterization choice.
Together, Melling and Skarsgård are electric. Colin and Ray, polar opposites, balance each other out, creating chemistry that is undeniably sizzling and steamy. When their chemistry is at its best, it is in the unspoken moments with one another. From Colin’s stolen glances at Ray to Ray’s firmly held glares at Colin, both Melling and Skarsgård are able to go beyond words and put forward a vulnerability in their roles that have easily become my favorites of the year.
Pillion reshapes what intimacy can mean in a relationship, beyond the traditional, familiar forms like holding hands, cuddling or kissing. Within the film, it means Skarsgård’s sharp, direct delivery of his character’s commands and Melling’s utter obedience without a word spoken. In tandem, it means Ray holding power over Colin in a way that feels sexually empowering rather than degrading. Cinematographer Nick Morris makes conscious decisions to reinforce this idea, like intentionally blocking Melling in a way that makes him look feeble in the same frame as Skarsgård.
While there may be bias here, I cannot help but love films that are set in the UK. With the classic English motorways, cosy, warmly-lit pubs, and the gloomy yet oddly comforting skies overhead, Lighton and Morris are able to authentically capture the essence of England. Combined with the narrative’s sentiment, Morris creates a well-crafted juxtaposition, offering comfort in what is deemed an awfully uncomfortable subject here, helping audiences warm to these ideas rather than shying away from them. It is no wonder that the film swept at the British Independent Film Awards 2025—taking home four awards including Best British Independent Film.
Pillion breaks the mold for what films can be made about BDSM culture, particularly in the UK, and I hope this inspires more filmmakers to challenge, as opposed to succumbing to these norms, in their work.
Review Courtesy of Nandita Joshi
Feature Image Credit to Warner Bros