There’s a moment early in Pillion where Colin, played by Harry Melling (The Tragedy of Macbeth), kneels in a back alley on Christmas Day and licks a stranger’s motorcycle boots. It’s not played for shock. It’s not ironic. The camera holds steady, and you realize this film isn’t going to hold your hand, look away, or explain itself. You’re either in or you’re out.

That stranger is Ray, played by Alexander Skarsgård (The Northman), a towering, enigmatic biker who leads a gay motorcycle club in suburban England. When Ray invites the shy, introverted Colin to become his live-in submissive, what unfolds isn’t exploitation cinema or a cautionary tale. It’s a love story. A weird, explicit, frequently uncomfortable love story that refuses to apologize for what it is.

Writer-director Harry Lighton, making his feature debut after his BAFTA-nominated short Wren Boys, adapted Adam Mars-Jones‘s 2020 novel “Box Hill” and made the smart choice to update it from its 1975 setting to the present day. Leaving it in the past would have made it easier to dismiss as a product of another era. Placing it now forces the audience to engage with the BDSM subculture on contemporary terms.

Both performances are sensational. Melling, who shaved his head for the role and learned to ride pillion on actual motorcycles, delivers the kind of vulnerable, fully committed work that deserves awards consideration. You watch Colin process every new boundary in real-time, his face a roadmap of fear, curiosity, and something that looks increasingly like peace. Skarsgård, meanwhile, commits completely to Ray’s dominant presence without ever turning him into a cartoon. There’s warmth buried under all that control, and when it surfaces, it frightens him.

The supporting cast provides essential texture. Douglas Hodge (Joker) plays Colin’s father Pete with warmth and acceptance, a man who’s clearly done all his “What if I had…?” worrying before the film began. He sings in a barbershop quartet with his son and just wants Colin to be happy. Lesley Sharp (Catherine Called Birdy) as Colin’s mother Peggy is more protective, sharply analyzing Ray when he finally comes over for a tense dinner that doesn’t end well. Scissor Sisters frontman Jake Shears makes his film debut as Kevin, a fellow submissive who shows Colin the ropes during a weekend trip with Ray that brings their relationship to new levels, including some genuinely difficult moments of emotional cruelty.

Cinematographer Nick Morris balances Colin’s staid life singing with his dad against Ray’s world of discipline and trust. With so much flesh on display, Morris and Lighton make artistic choices about when to show what, and the framing never feels gratuitous or angled for titillation. Costume designer Grace Snell dressed Skarsgård in sleek, modern motorcycle gear that avoids the clichéd Marlon Brando leather look, and Oliver Coates‘s pulsating score gives the film a retro electronic feel without dipping into 80s nostalgia.

I’ll be honest: I struggled with moments that seemed to glorify cruelty in ways that felt foreign to me. But then I caught myself doing exactly what Peggy does, inserting my own opinion into someone else’s relationship. The film isn’t interested in your approval. It knows what experience it has created, and you can take it or leave it. That confidence is refreshing in queer cinema, where too often these stories arrive pre-packaged with shame or a predetermined path toward tragedy. Pillion presents its world without flinching, and asks you to witness something powerfully complex and human.