Both Harry Melling and Alexander Skarsgård deserve real praise for throwing themselves into a film as bold and unflinching as Pillion. It’s easily one of the most sexually explicit titles I saw at Cannes this year—so much so that several people walked out of my screening. Director Harry Lighton, making his feature debut, approaches this queer BDSM relationship with honesty, curiosity, and a refusal to sanitize. There’s no soft lighting or euphemism here—just a clear-eyed attempt to explore what might lead a man to sleep on a carpet or wear a lock and chain with something close to pride.
Adapted from Adam Mars-Jones’s Box Hill, the film plays like a deeper, queerer version of Fifty Shades of Grey, but with a surprising sense of humor—the highlight being a strange fight scene that had the room laughing. It’s not just about kink; it’s about power, vulnerability, and the emotional charge of giving yourself over to someone completely. And both leads are excellent. Melling plays Colin with raw vulnerability, while Skarsgård brings an oddly magnetic intensity to the stoic, commanding Ray. Their chemistry is offbeat but convincing—no small feat, given how mismatched they might seem at first glance.
There’s also a lived-in quality to the film’s world, and you get the sense that both Lighton and the actors were committed to treating the subject with care and respect. But the story itself doesn’t always rise to the level of that commitment. Beneath the bold imagery lies a fairly conventional romantic arc—predictable, even. Whenever the film edges toward deeper or more uncomfortable territory, it often pulls back, hinting at emotional complexity but rarely delivering it. Lighton’s direction shows restraint and sensitivity, but also a certain hesitancy—content to observe rather than interpret, and too cautious to take a clear stance on the questions it raises.
Still, for tackling its subject alone, Pillion is brave, often funny, and occasionally tender. But just when it seems ready to say something profound, it lets the moment pass. I admired its nerve—and its performances—but I was left wishing it had pushed a little further beneath the skin.