Pillion

There has been a lot of discussion within the kink community of whether Pillion's BDSM dynamic is a good beginner's guidebook to BDSM dynamics, particularly due to it's mainstream attention. What I can confidently say, out of my own experiences, is that it's not a good introduction hence it's not 10/10 . But I will say that I wish the film had more of Collin and Ray discussing what their relationship is and what it meant, but there's also Ray basically being what is considered an c*** towards Collin. No aftercare, no looking after one another. However what I find is that it takes it's inspiration, Adam Mars-Jones's Box Hill and translates the dynamic into modern day England, than the books mid- late 1970s setting (of their relationship). I will say Box Hill's dynamic is a lot more grittier, and this is putting it very VERY lightly. The reason I scored this movie so high is: Harry Melling, Collin, and Alexander Skarsgård, Ray, acting is phenomenal and does carry this movie so much; the inclusion of members of the Gay Bikers Motorcycle Club (GBMCC); the cinematography of particularly the scenes where Ray and Collin, the Pillion, are riding on Ray's bike and in particular it's ending upon reflection. What the ending does is instead of Box Hill's rather abrupt ending it decides to challenge it, in it's own way, yet still answers Box Hill's tagline "A story of low Self-Esteem" of which Pillion 100% tells it's story. In conclusion Pillion is a film that puts it's audiences into the deep end of the BDSM spectrum of which might be too difficult to watch for some audiences. It's indeed "A story of low Self-Esteem" which should leave it's audience with the question of is What we want truly what we need.

"Pillion" is a lovely film about self-actualization disguised as a romance. Watching Harry Melling's character come into his own through submission while cycling through myriad emotions is incredibly rewarding.

Pillion is a bold and daring film that pushes boundaries by portraying a BDSM relationship with honesty and nuance, never slipping into shock or cliché. It blends awkward, funny, sensual, and serious moments in a way that feels natural and grounded. The restrained direction and minimal dialogue allow the dynamic to unfold quietly, with glances and pauses carrying real weight. The power balance and attraction feel lived in rather than exaggerated, making the story intimate and convincing. It may challenge some viewers, but its confidence and authenticity make it stand out.

Pillion presents itself as an immersion into the world of male submission within a gay biker subculture, yet it ends up being, paradoxically, a film that avoids thinking about what it so openly displays. Its main problem is not provocation—the cinema is not obliged to disturb—but obviousness: everything is shown, almost nothing is **** a cultural text, the film seems to promise an exploration of desire, power, and identity, but it remains at the level of gesture. The screenplay lacks real conceptual density: it fails to build a conflict that allows us to understand what is truly at stake in this universe of hierarchies, rituals, and silences. The viewer witnesses scenes that happen, but rarely ideas that think themselves through. In this sense, Pillion aligns with a contemporary tendency that confuses representation with reflection.From a philosophical perspective, the most notable absence is that of Eros as a problem. Unlike Plato—who conceives desire as a destabilizing, questioning, transformative force—here Eros is reduced to practice, to a bodily choreography devoid of interrogation. No character asks about the origin, meaning, or inner lack that inhabits this desire. The result is a world closed in on itself, closer to an ethnographic catalogue than to human **** performances reinforce this conceptual flatness. They are weak not because of restraint, but because of a lack of inner tension. The characters do not embody dilemmas; they pass through them without friction. There is no crack, no doubt, no trembling word. Even in minimalist cinema—think of Bresson or certain works by Haneke—silence is always a form of thought. Here, silence is simply **** mise-en-scène does little to compensate. The careless framing and erratic camera movement do not seem to respond to a deliberate aesthetic choice, but rather to a withdrawal from form. And in cinema, to renounce form is to renounce thought. As Adorno warned, when a work abdicates its critical structure, content becomes decorative—even when it claims to be transgressive.Perhaps Pillion’s greatest limitation is its inability to problematize power. In a universe where submission should raise ethical questions—Is it choice? Escape? A repetition of other forms of violence?—the film opts for narrative neutrality. But neutrality here is not openness; it is evasion.Pillion offers little reason to be revisited because it leaves no questions echoing behind. It shows a world, yes, but it does not allow us to understand it, much less to think it through. And cinema that refuses to think desire ultimately becomes nothing more than an archive of gestures, when it might have been—like great literature and philosophy—an open wound.

There’s a big difference between celebrating an alternative lifestyle and giving license to an abusive relationship, but, sadly, the debut feature from writer-director Harry Lighton doesn’t seem to know the difference. This sexually explicit “romance” (a term I use with measured reservation) follows the experience of Colin (Harry Melling), a shy gay adult who still lives with his parents and has trouble getting dates, after he meets Ray (Alexander Skarsgård), an enigmatic, uber-masculine biker/leatherman with a chiseled physique who looks like he’s just stepped out of the hottest gay porno imaginable. But their relationship comes with many strings: specifically, Ray is a “dom” who rigidly dictates every aspect of the life of his new “sub.” Now, there’s nothing inherently wrong with dynamics like this in a gay male relationship (or any other type of relationship, for that matter), as we all have our own particular proclivities. However, when relations between partners cross certain lines, matters can become decidedly and disturbingly questionable. Ray treats Colin like his slave (again, not an unheard-of dynamic in relationships like this), but, as circumstances turn emotionally and then physically abusive, that’s when this partnership takes a troubling turn in the wrong direction. And what’s most distressing about this film is that it tacitly conveys the impression that such behavior is perfectly acceptable in dominant/submissive relationships, that it simply (and unapologetically) comes with the territory. However, as a member of the LGBTQ+ community myself, this stance takes things a step too far for me, even if Colin is willing to go along with such potentially damaging and humiliating treatment. Such behavior would never be condoned in other relationships, so why should it be considered acceptable here (especially since the film seems to regard it as “normal,” even celebrated)? This sends the wrong message in my opinion, especially since so many individuals in the LGBTQ+ community already have issues with low self-esteem stemming from repeated ridicule and demeaning abuse from others (often just by virtue of being gay), let alone at the hands of someone from our own “family.” The attitude taken here is thus tantamount to pouring gasoline onto an already-raging fire, and I find that wholly inappropriate, not to mention self-defeating in a community where bolstering our self-worth should be a priority. The effect of this, regrettably, is the reinforcement and perpetuation of negative gay stereotypes coming at a time when the community is already under heightened scrutiny and undue criticism, an outcome that’s being fostered here by those who can least afford to see such treatment championed (even if allegedly unwittingly). While there is admittedly some merit to the story’s message about the value of self-acceptance (i.e., Colin’s willingness to be himself in recognizing and accepting his avowed preference for being a submissive), there’s a difference between that and encouraging someone to embrace anything that might go along with it, including allowing oneself to be freely and willingly subjected to acts of abuse. Despite these glaring faults, the film has somehow managed to secure its fair share of advocates, as evidenced, for example, by its three BAFTA Award nominations and five Cannes Film Festival nods (including two wins). Nevertheless, “Pillion,” in my view, carries these notions to an extreme and sends the wrong message, particularly toward those who might be too naïve, inexperienced or impressionable to realize what they could be getting themselves into until it’s too late. To me, that’s just plain wrong, and it’s prompted my extreme dislike of this release, despite what some of my LGBTQ+ community peers might believe. Indeed, harmless role playing and free-wheeling kinkiness are one thing, but hurtful, damaging, psychologically manipulative abuse is something else entirely. And, unfortunately, this film doesn’t make enough of a distinction between the two.