If you’re looking for a film that’s daring and emotionally layered, then Harry Lighton’s debut feature Pillion absolutely hits the mark. The film follows Colin (Harry Melling), a shy suburban guy stuck in routine and Ray (Alexander Skarsgård), a magnetic unreadable biker whose presence exudes both aloofness and intrigue.
What starts as a rough transactional alleyway hook-up, quickly shifts into a 24/7 BDSM (best understood when read in three pairs: bondage and discipline, domination and submission, sadism and masochism) dynamic built on power, ritual and control.
Within the broader framework of BDSM, Pillion situates Colin and Ray’s dynamic inside the concept of consensual total power exchange: a structured voluntarily arrangement in which a submissive (or “slave”) offers continuous obedience and service to a dominant (or “master”) extending beyond “scenes” and into daily life.
At its core Pillion explores power, eroticism, masculinity and identity. Lighton doesn’t shy away from the erotic elements. In fact, Lighton uses them as a springboard for deeper questions of self-definition. As we witness moments of submission and humiliation rituals (shot with a mix of tension and tenderness), we follow Colin’s emotional journey. From confusion to curiosity and eventually, a sense of charged enjoyment he didn’t expect, Colin finds himself surrendering in ways he never imagined.
One of the film’s most memorable sequences places submissives lined up face-down with bare backsides on picnic tables in the middle of a forest. Colin’s despair is unmistakable. It’s in these moments the film’s title snaps into sharp focus, clarifying who leads, who submits, and who rides pillion (the “bottom” in queer discourse).
Lighton solidifies dominant-submissive slave devotion with an unexpected sense of groundedness. The involvement of real-life members of the Gay Bikers Motorcycle Club amplifies the scene’s credibility, giving it a charged, lived-in authenticity.
Beneath the leather mask
But what symbolic or emotional function does control serve for Ray (if there is one, it might simply be this is what Ray is into – what we call their erotic template).
The film offers two compelling possibilities. First, the symbolic elements of BDSM (collars, rituals and rules) create a relationship framework that reaffirms the dominant-submissive bond of unity. For Ray, this connection doesn’t stem from emotional openness but from the stability he maintains through structure and control.
BDSM becomes a space where instructing Colin allows Ray to assert his identity through a style of masculinity that values control. Ray has deliberately curbed his emotional expression. At his core, he is someone who does not allow himself to need. So, for Ray, the dominant-submissive slave dynamic, becomes a mechanism for keeping vulnerability at bay.
Second, research on attachment styles suggest dominance within BDSM can offer the kind of predictability and structure that people with avoidant attachment styles often experience as safe. People like Ray who are uneasy with emotional closeness or unpredictability, may find reassurance in the clearly defined expectations of these dynamics. With emotional disclosure minimised and expectations clarified, the dominant role creates conditions that shield Ray from the forms of vulnerability he finds threatening.
The film’s exploration of masculinity deepens, revealing how societal and cultural norms shape what is considered “manly”. Ray embodies commonly held masculine ideals, including stoicism, self-control, confidence and a sculpted physique. Colin’s more submissive, compliant energy challenges these expectations, revealing masculinity as culturally shaped rather than fixed.
Awakening of self
In his “slave” role, Colin embodies both conventional and unconventional masculinity. His surrender emerges as strength – endurance, discipline, sexual stamina. Because submissive roles demand patience, obedience and the resilience to meet discomfort (consensually), they cultivate qualities that expand, rather than diminish, the boundaries of masculinity, providing a more fluid and expansive understanding of masculine identity.
For Colin, the dominant-submissive slave journey becomes a path of self-discovery, allowing him to recognise what he wants, what he excels at – his “aptitude for devotion” – and ultimately who he is. His evolving masculine identity takes shape as he embraces the newly uncovered self, not with shame, but with authenticity.
The film makes clear that BDSM dynamics, despite popular assumptions, are not bound by gender. And while Pillion concentrates on a gay male relationship, the emotional terrain it explores – power, vulnerability and identity – resonate across genders.
Eventually, in pursuit of greater happiness Colin begins to question the arrangement, perhaps prompted by those rare fleeting moments when Ray lets his guard down. Summoning newfound courage, he asks for a “day off” from their daily dominant-submissive dynamic. After a chaotic and rebellious detour, Ray agrees to the new terms. But a question lingers at the film’s emotional core: can Ray allow himself to experience emotional closeness beyond his role as “master”?
Pillion is an emotionally intelligent multi-layered film, rich with moments of humour, wonder and rawness. Boldly provocative it immerses viewers in a world of BDSM, while challenging conventional assumptions about desire, relationships and identity. Lighton delivers a film anchored by exceptional performances from both its main cast and its supporting ensemble, crafting a story that sticks with you long after the credits rolls.
Looking for something good? Cut through the noise with a carefully curated selection of the latest releases, live events and exhibitions, straight to your inbox every fortnight, on Fridays. Sign up here.
The post “what a sex therapy expert thinks of this domination-themed queer rom-com” by Chantal Gautier, Senior Lecturer in Psychology and Sex and Relationship Therapist, University of Westminster was published on 11/26/2025 by theconversation.com