Have Yourself A Kinky Little Christmas
For someone drawn to explorations of sexuality outside traditional norms, it’s thrilling — there’s a kind of liberation in watching desire expressed freely.
Colin (Harry Melling) embodies that exploration perfectly. A quiet, introverted gay man who lives with his parents, works a mundane job issuing parking tickets, and sings in a barbershop quartet for fun. His routine anchors him in a comfortable world where he only seems to exist on the margins of excitement and risk. One night at a pub where he sang with his quartet, he catches the attention of Ray (Alexander Skarsgård), a tall, magnetic biker whose confidence and raw energy immediately set him apart. When Ray slips him a note, the encounter feels playful but charged, and when they meet on Christmas Day in a shadowed alleyway, the tension explodes into something intensely erotic. The scene is brief but electric, establishing the chemistry and stakes between them immediately, with almost no dialogue, allowing desire to speak for itself.
After that night, Ray disappears, leaving Colin in a state of yearning and uncertainty. Months later, Ray invites him into his place, and what begins like what seems a simple date quickly escalates into something far more intense. Colin is drawn into Ray’s strict BDSM lifestyle, taking on the role of submissive and following his every command. As Colin adapts, shaving his head, joining the biker gang, and embracing Ray’s rules, the tension between freedom and constraint, desire and vulnerability, is palpable. Meanwhile, his parents’ worry highlights the emotional stakes, even as Colin confidently explores his own desires and identity.
My only note would be that I wish the film explored more of the BDSM world — its rituals, rules, and psychological depth — but even so, the way it’s depicted here is compelling and intense.
Skarsgård and Melling are an unexpected duo I didn’t know I needed. Skarsgård’s Ray exudes danger, control, and raw charisma, but as intimacy grows, we see glimpses of his own uncertainties and desires. Melling’s Colin, shy at first, turns out to be open and exploratory, learning about himself through submission and pleasure. Their dynamic skillfully navigates tension and release, emotional, psychological, and sexual, with performances that are captivating from start to finish.
What makes Pillion especially compelling is how it blends eroticism with emotional depth. The film isn’t just sexy for spectacle; it’s erotic in a way that feels lived-in and intense. For someone drawn to explorations of sexuality outside traditional norms, it’s thrilling — there’s a kind of liberation in watching desire expressed freely, whether it’s two men, two women, or the less “conventional” encounters the film presents. It’s a good combination of physical heat and psychological exploration.
Beyond the eroticism, what resonated most with me was Colin’s journey of self-discovery. By the end of the film, he is no longer tentative or uncertain; he embraces his desires, understands himself better, and begins to take ownership of his identity. That sense of self-assurance, of being fully comfortable in who you are and what you like, is one of the most freeing experiences imaginable, and it’s rendered beautifully on screen. Watching him evolve is both empowering and moving, and it adds a layer of emotional resonance to the erotic narrative. Pillion reminds us that intimacy is as much about trust, self-knowledge, and courage as it is about desire, and it does so with unflinching honesty and style.
Harry Lighton’s directorial debut is set to be released in the UK on 28 November and in the US in February 2026.
Photo: Festival du Nouveau Cinéma
Comments
Post a Comment