Film Review: Pillion (2025)

Exploring consent, desire, and the complicated comforts of submission

Harry Lighton’s Pillion is one of those films that announces its intentions from the very first scene: bold, unapologetic and curious about the quieter corners of human desire. On the surface, it tells the story of Colin, a shy, somewhat awkward young man, who is pulled into the orbit of Ray — a charismatic biker. Ray takes the lead, both emotionally and sexually, and Colin finds himself drawn toward the intensity of that structure. 

Pillion examines the nuance of someone stepping into a dom-sub dynamic that is both thrilling and unsettling — a place where affection, eroticism, and power blend into something difficult to categorise. The film never entirely answers whether this dynamic is healthy or not, and that ambiguity is one of its strengths. Colin’s mother questions Ray’s influence and introduces a broader reflection: can love still be valid, even when it is unconventional and difficult to understand from the outside?

The film is deeply rooted in biker culture. The fetish biker community depicted in Pillion does in fact exist, and several of its members appear on screen as themselves. 

This portrayal risks giving the impression that anyone who rides a motorcycle is somehow part of a fetish subculture — which is far from the truth. Communities like the one depicted in Pillion certainly exist, but as a motorcyclist I can say with some confidence that they occupy a very particular corner of the biking universe. Every rider has their own story. My own experience comes from the industry side — dealerships and showrooms — where the mood is less “leather fantasy” and more “have you seen this quarter’s sales figures?” At large industry events, the most provocative thing you’re likely to witness is a new fairing design or a slightly daring shade of metallic blue. Fetish culture simply doesn’t feature at that level. The closest thing to seduction at a trade show is a perfectly polished fuel tank.

The motorcycle gear in Pillion deserves its own paragraph. Ray sweeps in with the swagger of a leather-clad demigod, only for the camera to reveal that he is dressed in brands most bikers associate with “respectable on a budget.” After all, nothing undermines a dom faster than bargain-adjacent gear masquerading as destiny.

Another area where the film faltered, for me, was the depiction of intimacy. The sex scenes, while explicit, had a choreographed quality. Similarly, the exploration of submission never quite moved beyond the literal. 

Ray announces early on that Colin will be doing the cooking and cleaning, anchoring the sub-dom dynamic firmly in household chores and heavy-handed intimacy. But submission can manifest in far subtler ways — emotional availability, professional compromises, years spent managing a partner’s health or addiction, financial arrangements, or the quiet art of pretending you didn’t see the Amazon parcel your partner bought with your card. In that wider context, the film’s version of submission feels  oversimplified and stereotypical.

Interestingly, the film’s framing of Colin’s domestic role also raises a familiar question: how differently would audiences read this dynamic if Colin were a woman? Half the world’s population cooks, cleans, contorts themselves through both emotional and bedroom gymnastics, and reorganises their lives around a partner’s whims without anyone whispering “BDSM.” Viewed this way, Pillion’s big reveal becomes unintentionally ironic, like someone announcing they’ve uncovered a taboo that most women tick off before they’ve had their morning coffee.

Despite these critiques, Pillion is an engaging, thoughtful film, one that dares to examine consent without moralising. Its greatest strength lies in letting Colin occupy a space of complex agency — neither fully empowered nor fully trapped. The film doesn’t demand that we approve of Ray, nor that we judge Colin. Instead, it trusts us to sit in the ambiguity.

Every relationship involves trade-offs, unspoken contracts, subtle negotiations of power. While some elements feel stylised or oversimplified, the emotional questions at the film’s heart stays valid — What do we want? What do we tolerate? What makes us complete?

In the end, Pillion is not a perfect film, but it’s a memorable one.

Agnes Prygiel

02/12/2025