Pillion Review: Meet Me in the Projection Booth, Daddy!

It’s love at first sight for Colin and Ray in Pillion. In fact, Ray demands it.

As Colin (Harry Melling), a bashful singer in a barbershop quartet notices Ray (Alexander Skarsgard) in the crowd, he can’t help but feel magnetically drawn to the brooding hulk of a man in the pub. When Colin heads over to the bar for a pint and some crisps, Ray follows. He orders for Colin and throws down a handful of change. The bartender doesn’t pick it up. Neither does Ray. Instead, the biker slides a glance at Colin and then redirects his eyes to the change. Colin dutifully counts out the fee—a little too hungrily—and collects his reward. Ray leaves him the crisps he earned like the good little boy he is, along with his number and instructions to meet.

Thus ensues Colin’s foray into sub/dom relationship bliss. Pillion tenderly adapts the novella Box Hill by Adam Mars-Jones as writer/director Harry Lighton brings to screen this story of newfound love. The film invites audiences into an unconventional dynamic without judgment. It’s an open-hearted look at a subculture in the gay scene that lets Colin find love and himself in unexpected places—from alleyways to chaps.

Colin’s first date with Ray offers further initiation into the dynamics that will define their relationship. On Christmas, Colin leaves his family dinner at Ray’s insistence. They walk their dogs—Colin with a little toy pup and Ray with a massive, slobbery old boy—to the town square and tie them up by the fountain. As Ray leads Colin to a darkened alley, he gently hangs up his black leather jacket, turns, and slowly, seductively unzips his bodysuit. He reveals a statuesque body that still glistens with sweat from a day of riding.

The zipper goes all the way down to where Colin wants it to go. Soon enough, Ray commands the boy to get down on his knees and suck. Colin obliges just as happily as he did with the coins and crisps, but he gags a little too quickly. Ray instructs Colin to lick his boots. Again, he accepts the order, albeit somewhat reluctantly as the mud from the streets proves an acquired taste. But Colin finds a taste for boots, just as one does for blue cheese and cilantro.

When Colin returns home, he makes no effort to hide his soiled knees or the fact that he’s in love. His parents (Lesley Sharp, Douglas Hodge) are happy their boy has found a nice fellow. However, as Colin’s relationship with Ray continues, it butts heads with their comfort zone.

Everything in the relationship happens on Ray’s terms, and that’s just how Colin likes it. Ray instructs Colin to cook, clean, and sleep on the floor. It takes some getting used to, but Colin acquiesces and knows that he’ll be rewarded for pleasing Ray. Every morning when Colin awakens, he finds a “to do” list from Ray as the biker, already up for hours, meticulously cleans his motorcycle in the laneway.

Colin finds his people with Ray as he rides backseat as the biker gang convenes for Sunday rides and poker nights. It’s on the road that the men find moments of heartfelt intimacy as Colin wraps his arms around Ray’s strong body and holds on for dear life. Ray clearly likes protecting his boyish partner, too. He’s a taskmaster for protocols, always respecting safety in whatever form their play takes. Pillion gets its name from the term used to refer to the backseat rider, and it tenderly navigates the dynamics within this relationship as Colin’s willingness to yield to Ray’s every command brings them closer even when, to an observer, it seemingly pushes them apart.

There’s pure magnetism, too, in the rapport between Melling and Skarsgard. As partners and lovers, they’re completely believable—even Ray’s attraction to Colin sells itself convincingly as the casting smartly pits the doughy Melling to be shaped by Skarsgard’s Adonis. Melling brings a sense of youthful innocence and naïveté to the part as Colin emerges from his bashful slumber. So much of Pillion plays out on Melling’s face as Harry meekly follows Ray’s commands. There’s wide-eyed joy and pleasure in making the master happy with hopes of being rewarded, like a dog thrown a bone. This dynamic also is also what makes Pillion so incredibly, insanely hot. The payoff here isn’t the sex, but the anticipation of it.

Sure, one could write about how Ray trots Colin around in a collar and chain, or enjoys him with the crew in one sequence that sees the gang’s pillions bent over a picnic table like an all-you-can-eat buffet during a camping trip. But the real heat of the film comes through the longing and controlling glances between Colin and Ray, respectively.

Skarsgard is pure sex as Ray. He’s a force of masculine energy who exudes the confidence and charisma to capably command Colin’s—and the viewers’—attention. He’s clearly having fun here and brings authority to every snap of Ray’s fingers, but also injects the biker’s controlling nature with compassion—cruel and tender. But beneath this statuesque rock of a man resides unspoken vulnerability. Ray distances himself whenever Colin gets too near, and Skarsgard boldly explores the protective shield that being the dominant player affords Ray as he reclaims the complicated mix of pain and pleasure that defined their relationship.

Lighton, in a remarkably assured feature debut, balances the complexity of the power dynamics in the couple. Pillion makes some significant departures from Mars-Jones’ novel, most notably in the agency he gives Colin. There are moments when Colin recognizes that the sub/dom relationship can be unhealthy. He works with Ray to enjoy moments as equals. And Ray seems to get off by obliging, albeit on his terms. For all the kinks and hardcore action in Pillion, one can’t help but be struck by how sweet it is.