It’s possible that the only reason that writer/director Harry Lighton didn’t work Depeche Mode’s “Behind the Wheel” as a needle drop into queer biker drama Pillion is that the song is explicitly about driving, not riding a motorcycle. That, and he’d be accused of being too on-the-nose about the themes of submission and adoration inherent in both works of art.
Pillion doesn’t need such underlining. It’s explicit in its depiction of a very British BDSM relationship between the quiet and submissive Colin (Harry Melling, The Tragedy of Macbeth, The Pale Blue Eye) and his enigmatic, leather-clad dom, Ray (Alexander Skarsgård, The Northman, Infinity Pool).
Released in the U.S. by A24 but produced for the BBC, Pillion feels like a throwback to the golden era of British queer cinema, most especially to 1985’s My Beautiful Laundrette and its depiction of a taboo-busting relationship in working-class England. The taboo is not that the wimpy Colin is gay – everyone knows and everyone’s more than OK with it – but that from the instant that Ray speeds past him, zipped into those white and blue leathers, his thighs wrapped around that jet-black BMW bike, Colin is smitten. And, as Colin puts it, he does have an aptitude for devotion.
Throughout, Ray remains an enigma – or, at least that’s his intention. It’s not Colin’s place to ask, just to cook, clean, and fulfill Ray’s every carnal whim without any reciprocity. Well, that’s a lie, since the whole affair is intended to fulfill what Colin wants.
Of course, the preeminent work of mainstream BDSM cinema remains 2002 rom-com-in-ropes Secretary. However, much like the sapphic The Duke of Burgundy, Pillion removes the elements of class and gender that circled and underpinned James Spader and Maggie Gyllenhaal’s relationship, so Lighton can concentrate on the interpersonal dynamics between Colin and Ray. It’s all about the push and the pull, the effort both put in, and what each hopes to get from it.
To keep that focus, Lighton even removes any subtext of societal or internalized homophobia. If anything, as delightfully played by veteran British character actors Douglas Hodge (Diana, We Live in Time) and Lesley Sharp (Naked, Rita, Sue and Bob Too), Colin’s parents are almost too supportive. Lighton’s script – adapted from Adam Mars-Jones’ 2020 novel Box Hill: A Story of Low Self-Esteem – is as much a comedy of manners as it is an often-graphic depiction of a sexual relationship.
It’s all undeniably horny, and for those that don’t find any of this personally arousing, there’s still a sense of shared sexual experiences, of recognizing Colin’s hunger and confusion at his yearnings, and jubilation at their fulfillment. And beyond that, there’s an undoubted humor. Lighton doesn’t shy away from the inherent absurdity of dog masks and wrestling singlets with the bum cut out. It’s the humor of Mapplethorpe and Tom of Finland, but most especially of British awkwardness. Colin’s submissiveness is intermingled with his politeness. He’s less worried about being punished by his master than about committing a faux pas, and that’s where Melling’s performance is so deeply moving and hilarious. His giddiness at getting what he never knew he wanted is balanced by his growing perturbation at the exact nature of his relationship with Ray. Simultaneously, Skarsgård is peerless as a man seemingly at ease with his own desires, and skilled in the self-discipline it takes to be a disciplinarian. However, his Ray is less of a monster than the book’s version. On the page, Colin’s too-kind reminiscences gloss over his abusiveness. Onscreen, Lighton explores the imbalance between the two and gently leads the audience with sympathy and empathy to a perfect resolution that asks both to face their own dysfunction.
Pillion
2025, R, 107 min. Directed by Harry Lighton. Starring Harry Melling, Alexander Skarsgård, Douglas Hodge, Lesley Sharp, Jake Shears, Paul Tallis, Jake Sharp, Anthony Welsh.
This article appears in February 13 • 2026.
