Harry Lighton’s “Pillion” is a love story in every manner that matters; a yearning, earnest, and genuinely sweet film about a man named Colin (Harry Melling) who finds his fit in a world he never knew existed. That this fit is found in a subculture of BDSM bikers is irrelevant, at least to the sentiments unearthed by the film’s honest excavation of love’s many colored coat; the language of consenting affection is universal, even through the fisheye lens of penile piercings and leather thongs. While there is a novelty to Lighton’s eagerness to lay bare a society of sexual dominance and submission that most people are unaware of, his main concern is not one of exploitation but of education, of understanding, of unzipping a branch of sexuality and belonging that is no less valid than those deemed more “traditional”. The slow seduction, enrapture, and fallout of meek Colin’s dalliance with these tattooed leather-clad alpha men, most notably the hulking Nordic god made flesh that is Ray (Alexander Skarsgård), is truly a reclamation of self that every person has undertaken in their own unique way; though perhaps with less leather chaps, but to each their own.
Colin is a good boy, though clearly a bit on the sad side. A young gay man living in Britain with his supportive parents, the film opens as his family is performing a Christmas Eve barbershop quartet act at the local pub. Colin’s mother (Lesley Sharp), herself in the late stages of an illness she masks with a fabulous array of wigs, has invited a nice young man to the pub to meet her boy; a timid, if pleasant enough fellow wearing a “Alexa, Free Britney” bedazzled shirt. But as fortune would have it, while getting drinks, Colin falls under the chilled golden smolder of Ray, a biker he had seen earlier sitting alone in a corner of the bar, writing Christmas cards. Ray makes eye contact with Colin and tells him to pass him the several bags of chips he had ordered. Colin does as requested, dutifully handing them over, earning him a smile from Ray and a Christmas Card with his phone number. Delighted, Colin schedules a meet-up with Ray on Christmas night as the pair walk their dogs; a rottweiler for Ray and a long-haired dachshund for Colin. They tie up the dogs and sequester into a back alley, where Ray takes charge, playfully overpowering Colin to his knees and pulling off his jacket to reveal a low-cut pair of leather overalls. Nothing is forced, but Colin is eager to reciprocate, even when Ray tells him to lick his boots. It’s a game Colin leans into, one of blind devotion. Ray, seeing an aptitude in his newly christened sub, soon after tells him to move in with him, where their dynamic unfolds fully, with Colin tasked to complete the cleaning and cooking while sleeping on the floor and being ever at the beck and call of his man. Instead of feeling revulsion or dismissal, Colin is quick to take on the role with aplomb, luxuriating in the meager crumbs of sentiment or physical affection Ray deems him worthy of. Soon, Ray brings Colin to meet the rest of his band of BDSM loving biker friends, many of them in their own dom/sub relationships as well. There is a genuine camaraderie there, a mutual symbiosis of desires being met and fantasies being made real. Yet, as kink evolves into something deeper, Colin is faced with the prospect that his burgeoning love might crumble the precipitous tower of their relationship, while Ray must choose between the role of dominance he has made for himself or the love he cannot help but submit to.
What “Pillion” posits, above all else, is that happiness is about finding the place where you fit and that fits you; even if, at times, people who care about you can’t contend with that desire. A central scene in the film is when Colin’s mother finally convinces Ray to come over for lunch with the family. Her disease has taken a poor turn, and she simply hopes to pass with the assurance that her boy is happy. Colin tells her little about Ray as a person; he does not know his job or where he is from. That’s not part of the game. All his mother knows is that her son has shaved his head and wears a chain necklace with a master lock securing it to his throat. While she is proud of her son, she questions why a man as strikingly handsome as Ray would spend time with Colin except to take advantage of him. Though she is half right, the intricacies of their dynamic are beyond her comprehension, as Ray calmly, if rudely, tries to explain to her. “Just because you don’t understand something, doesn’t make it wrong”, he suggests, triggering the frail woman to explode in a rant the likes of which only kindly British mothers seem capable of. Soon after, she dies, and Colin is inconsolable. In a rare act of comfort, Ray allows Colin to sleep in the bed with him; a tender gesture that feels as symbiotic as it is generous. When Colin broaches the topic of sleeping together more often, of at least taking one day off from their dynamic, Ray returns to his stern nature and says that if Colin is not happy, he can leave. “I’m happy,” admits Colin, “I just think I could be a bit happier.” There is the central tenet of, not just this film, but the greatest of love stories whose destination is not happily ever after, but the calm, earned surety of one’s personal needs. A love story does not lose its potency because it ends; no more so than a relationship that falters is inherently a failure. It is a callousing agent, a means of growth and introspection, a rung in the ladder of a lifetime seeking what happiness means to us, or perhaps more a link in a chain waiting for the right lock to make it whole. We all want someone we could trust to hold the key to our souls, able to unlock it or secure it tight at will. As Colin opines, when Ray tries to explain that the point of their relationship is not about love, “isn’t love the point of everything?” Colin learns that finding the right person requires as much devotion to them as it does to oneself, as we all have had to do at some point or another. But that doesn’t mean the search was not worth meeting and loving the fellow travelers whose paths crossed along the way.
As an entrant in the “Sad Christmas” canon set right alongside the effervescent “Carol”, “Pillion” is an enriching, if melancholy, film that allows an audience to see our shared experiences through a filter they might never have before, a joyous experience of discovery and personal evolution. It is telling that Harry Lighton doesn’t bother to lay out the rules of this BDSM world of pleasure and devotion any more than Ray explains them verbatim to Colin. But why should he? “Pillion” does not explain these men, does not offer apologies or reasons for why they are who they are or love how they love, and in that refusal to bow to expectation crafts a film that looks past the spectacle and focuses on the collective humanity presented. Sex is not the only reason they do what they do; it is merely a flavor of something much more complex: a kaleidoscopic miasma of everything they are and give freely to those they care for. It is not our place to untangle the depths of any one person’s desires; that is for them and those who hold their key. But if anything is inherently human, it is this: to be seen and accepted as we are is to be loved. What could be more romantic than that?
Submit and be seen.
You’ll be glad you did.
“Pillion” is playing at The Broad Theater and Prytania Theatres at Canal Place.
