GLOVE, ACTUALLY | FILM REVIEW
PILLION LUBES UP TO EXPLORE THE GAY SUB-CULTURE
Review by Arnold Wayne Jones
Alexander Skarsgård and Harry Melling star in Pillion. Courtesy of A24
Sometimes the truly remarkable thing about a movie isn’t what it does, but that it gets the chance to do it in the first place. Pillion is an enthrallingly unexpected dom-com about gay leather/BDSM culture, and I’ll explain why in due time; but can we linger for a moment on the marvel that it got made at all?!?!? The pitch isn’t exactly a box-office slam-dunk… even after the surprising (and woefully undeserved) success of the Fifty Shades movies. Fifty Shades of Grey – the only one I had the wherewithal to endure in the theater – was a disastrously smug but prudish little titilator. The film pretended that it was a racy dive into the sexual underworld, but I’ve seen more sensual bondage in a Tom Ford print ad for cologne. It wasn’t even outrageous enough to work ironically as camp. (The South Park episode where Mr. Slave “out-whores” Paris Hilton had more oomph in its final two minutes than all hours of the Fifty Shades did combined.)
So what about Pillion? While it stays this side of an NC-17 rating (at least in the edited U.S. release), it holds back almost nothing in the frankness of its portrayal of a gay subculture: that of sub-culture.
The plot plows right in with little explanation but tons of texture. Colin (Harry Melling) is a snaggletoothed Caspar Milquetoast with a sad mop of greasy hair and an unfortunate affinity for barbershop quarteting. He and his dad (Douglas Hodge) are performing in a gay bar to the delight of his terminally ill mom (Lesley Sharp) and a blind date mom set up when Colin glances at a pair of gay biker boys in a dom-sub relationship. We can see on Colin’s face that the sexual adventurousness of the scene intrigues him; Colin seems like the type whose idea of a hot date is over-the-jeans frottage or a meek handy before shamefully darting off. The sweet-natured bear date and the supportive parents suddenly disappear: Colin has found his people.
One of the leathermen – who only goes by Ray (Alexander Skarsgard) – drops his instructions to Colin at the pub – not his number or email but directions: Be this place, this time. An order. Colin complies, Ray commands him into humiliating but steamy alley sex, then blows him off. They are in a relationship now. Colin doesn’t have a choice. And he kinda likes it that way.
Pillion — the title refers to the small seat on the back of a motorcycle where non-drivers “ride bitch” – offers a smutty tour of the underbelly of leathermen and their subs. At first, Colin is as disoriented and awkward about it as we are: Is he allowed to talk? To resist? To make his needs known? What are the rules? But then again, figuring out the rules – succumbing to the intoxicating magic of sexual surrender – is a huge part of the appeal in the first place. Colin is a born sub, he just needs to figure out its parameters.
It’s probably not a spoiler to say that the only dramatic direction Pillion can head toward is conflict in the relationship: Is Colin actually fulfilled by his time with Ray? But the darkly comic tone belies the possibility that Pillion will devolve into some kind of ’80s-style erotic thriller. There’s too much skewed romance and Edgar Wright-ish British “who, me?”-isms to seem like it will turn into Looking for Mr. Goodbar, Spetters or Basic Instinct. And we don’t really want it to. We may not fully invest in the rightness of this particular relationship, but queer audiences have a built-in tolerance for angular arrangements: Polys, throuples, opens … love is love, man, whether it’s fulsome or Folsom, P-town or piss parties. Whatever floats yer boat.
Which, of course, it what makes the film anti-commercial. Despite some predictable story arcs, we can’t really “blame” Ray – he’s not “the bad guy.” When Colin insists he spend a lunch with mom and dad, we know it won’t go well, but that’s as much the fault of mom’s confrontational moments and Colin’s poor judgment as it is Ray’s enigmatic behavior. Forays into heteronormative domesticity are doomed; the appeal of being queer sometimes is not owing anyone an explanation.
Another reason we don’t lay all the responsibility on Ray’s broad shoulders is because he’s Alexander-effin-Skarsgard!! Clad in a leather bodysuit, his scruffy beard poking out of a chiseled face beneath a brooding baritone, he’s a tall muscular daddy of swoon-worthy dimensions – who among us wouldn’t be tempted to do what he told us to do? Just as good is Lesley Sharp as the protective, nothing-left-to-lose mom and Douglas Hodge as the most supportive gay dad since Michael Stulbarg in Call Me By Your Name. Melling, while good, starts off as an acquired taste. He’s meant to be bland as unsalted grits which makes him a bit of a cipher. When he transforms into a devoted pup, however – and eventually a graspingly lovesick mutt – he’s much more relatable and likeable. The ending feels almost inevitable thanks to him and the uncompromising screenplay and direction by first-timer Harry Lighton. His ride-or-die approach creates tension in such prosaic moments as keys pecked out on a piano but then sashays seamlessly into rough sex with a touch of goofy charm. Ultimately, he says, getting what you want is a discovery… and turning yourself over into getting it is an act of grace.
Now playing nationwide. Opens in Dallas at the Angelika on Feb. 19.