Last week, Boston’s historic Coolidge Corner Theatre honored British filmmaker Harry Lighton with the 2026 Coolidge Breakthrough Artist Award. The writer-director attended a special preview screening of his new film “Pillion,” where he participated in a Q&A and accepted his trophy.
A film dubbed a “dom-com” for combining elements of BDSM, romance, and comedy, “Pillion” is now showing at Coolidge Corner Theatre, and will experience a wider American release on Feb. 20.
“Pillion” revolves around a self-effacing wallflower named Colin, played by Harry Melling, who leads a quiet life assigning parking tickets and singing in a barbershop quartet. One evening, he strikes up a relationship with a mysterious biker named Ray, played by Alexander Skarsgård. Though Colin is excited to let Ray introduce him to the world of BDSM, he eventually questions what he really wants out of this partnership.
The audience frequently erupted into laughter during the screening of “Pillion,” which was adapted from the 2020 novel, “Box Hill: A Story of Low Self-Esteem.” Lighton says that Colin’s narration in the book is very funny, so he’d sought to translate that humor to the screen. He notes that comedy is excellent for “inviting the audience into the character, and creating empathy,” adding that “it makes it harder for them to distance themselves from the character.”
The film is dominated by absurd visual contrasts, such as the biker gang’s leatherclad frolicking set against quaint British locales. Graphic sex scenes starkly showcase Colin’s lack of experience: what should be pleasurable is painful, and what should be erotic is excruciatingly awkward. Lighton said that he wanted the film to incite both chuckles and gasps, and based on the Coolidge preview audience’s reactions, he succeeded.
Though the past few decades have brought about popular acceptance of queer characters and gay romances, BDSM remains scarce on mainstream screens. For those outside of the kink community, the nature of BDSM relationship dynamics is perplexing. A consequence of this invisibility is that many general audience members still cannot distinguish between a sub-dom partnership, and an abusive relationship. Some critics, such as Simon Mayo, have come away from “Pillion” queasy over what they perceive as abuse. Are they being square, or do they have a point?
It is difficult to imagine how a sub in today’s society could possibly lodge complaints of intimate partner violence, without being written off by laypeople who presume they were secretly into it the whole time. To this day, viewers watch “The Piano Teacher” and walk away believing that the character of Erika Kohut asked to be assaulted. To this day, readers consume “Fifty Shades of Grey” (a book roundly critiqued by the kink community for conflating abuse with BDSM), and assume it is an idyllic portrayal of a sub-dom romance.
If the BDSM community pines for a film to exemplify what a healthy sub-dom relationship looks like, “Pillion” is not going to be that film. Not because it is a bad film, but because it reflects all the messiness of a first relationship. Colin, at the start of the movie, is either a virgin, or something close to it. Like many newcomers to romance, he has not established his personal boundaries, and struggles to recognize his own needs and desires. When he meets an older dom with latent baggage, it serves as an impetus for his journey of self discovery.
Colin’s initial naivete is palpable: with sex, with relationships, and certainly with BDSM. Perhaps this is what first attracts Ray, a man so handsome that Colin’s coworker reacts with incredulity at their burgeoning relationship. An experienced sub might have asked questions, introduced boundaries, and demanded aftercare (or worse yet, intimacy). The film’s self-effacing, starstruck protagonist appears, at the start, to be a malleable prospect. Yet, as the story unfolds, Colin proves to possess more salt and vinegar than Ray (or the audience) bargained for.
Colin begins the film living with his doting parents, who are earnestly accepting of his homosexuality. Nonetheless, he is understandably stifled by their mollycoddling, and longs for something more. When he moves in with Ray, a honeymoon period ensues, complete with music and montages. Despite these thrills, there is still a gnawing sense that something is missing. Ray opts against sharing basic biographical information with Colin, such as what he does for a living. And unlike Colin’s parents’ home, which is inundated with love, warmth, and lively hubbub, Ray’s house is devoid of color or decor. Sure, it’s neat and presentable, but there are no family photos on the walls, or sentimental memorabilia lining the shelves. The house, like the man himself, seems to give little away.
Other warning signs ensue: Colin seems to abandon his hobby as an a capella singer upon meeting Ray. At one point, he tries to sing along to Ray’s piano playing, and is promptly shushed; this relationship literally strips Colin of his voice. In another sequence, Colin’s mother harshly criticizes Ray’s treatment of her son, much to the Coolidge audience’s pleasure. Early on, it is easy to sympathize with Colin’s desire to revolt against the conventional expectations of his parents. That said, perhaps their loving support equips Colin with the foundation to ultimately revolt against Ray’s expectations.
Unlike the book, which was based in the 1970s, the film takes place in the current day. According to Lighton, the homophobic time period of the book made it too easy to infer that Ray is closeted, explaining away his evasive behavior. The film places the story in today’s relatively more tolerant Britain, deepening Ray’s enigmatic persona. “Whenever I tried to answer the kinda ‘why’ with Ray, I always instantly found it less interesting,” Lighton explained. “Allowing Ray’s mystery to remain a mystery, in retrospect, was the right choice.”
While Lighton acknowledged that “Ray’s version of a relationship is rooted in a specific trauma,” by refusing to reveal that trauma, the film thwarts the common audience tendency to psychoanalyze the roots of kink. Why is Ray emotionally avoidant? He just is. Why is Colin a sub? He just is.
The director said Skarsgård was picked for the part of Ray, because of his performance as Lucas Matsson in season 4 of “Succession.” Lighton says the portrayal of the billionaire CEO combined “mad physicality” with “psychological intensity.” Indeed, Skarsgård plays Ray as remote and closed-off, with microexpressions and glances suggesting a hidden depth. Moments of warmth and sentiment occasionally slip through his taciturn demeanor, which Lighton describes as “chinks in the armor.”
While Skarsgård’s Ray strikes an imposing presence, the heart of the film is Harry Melling’s Colin. Lighton recalled seeing the actor in “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs” and feeling “captivated.” Melling portrays Colin as meek, polite, and eager to please—but with an underlying stubborn streak, and hints of a backbone.
Though Lighton’s movie provides representation and visibility towards queer and kink communities, it also speaks to a more universal theme: Relationships can help us discover ourselves. It is when we are tested by others, that we learn what we are made of.
During the Q&A, the director acknowledged the increasingly anti-queer political climate in America. He voiced the hopes that by reaching audiences, films such as these may “encourage empathy with a marginalized group of people.”
