As I get older, the more I realize that great, unconventional romances might be the most rewarding genre for me in my growth as a human being. A remarkable romance not only makes you swoon over the possibilities of love in this crazy world, but also allows you to see into the lives of people you don’t otherwise have any context for how they live. A romantic masterpiece doesn’t just shed new light on others, though; it can change how you view love and romance for the rest of your life.
As a cis, white male, it’s also easy for me to look at the more conventional ones that studios shove in front of other straight white people and feel condescended to, so it’s nice when a romance makes it in front of general audiences that actually has a chance to generate empathy and change lives. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll openly weep over safe choices like “The Notebook” or “The Bridges of Madison County,” but the ones that hit harder ask me to reevaluate romantic love in ways I’ve never imagined.
Think about how “Moonlight” explored the lonely desperation of a hyper-masculine gangster yearning to be gently held. How “Secretary” deconstructed a BDSM working relationship and turned it into something sexy and surprisingly sweet, showing audiences the tenderness of safe words. How “Carol” makes a lesbian romance in the 1950s into a swooningly romantic Neo-noir that asks its audience to imagine our elders in a different light. Whether it’s watching your partner evolve past you in “Her,” painting all of your red flags green in “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” ignoring the boundary defying age gap in “Harold & Maude,” or re-writing the rules of unrequited love in “In the Mood for Love,” the all-time great romances not only make us drunk on the possibilities of the movies, but help us look at the limitations of our own lives through different eyes.
“Pillion,” starring the always mercurial Alexander Skarsgård and a lovely Harry Melling (who most of us remember as the nasty little jerk Dudley Dursley in the “Harry Potter” franchise) is a new romantic classic, taking the inner workings of a world most of us have little or no experience with and making it accessible to an audience without treating them like uninvited tourists.
Melling plays Colin, an introverted, openly gay man who lives with his loving parents in London. He sings in his father’s barbershop quartet and, while not necessarily outwardly depressed or unhappy, is so profoundly lonely that any romantic attention makes him light up like the stars. Enter Skarsgård’s Ray, a dominant biker who sweeps Colin off his feet with a tersely worded sexual encounter in a back alley, only to keep him at arms’ (and chains’) length in a long-term, intense sub/dom relationship.
For general audiences, what might seem like a titillating, shockingly sexy look into a subculture foreign to most actually has a lot more going on beneath the surface than expected. While the sex is graphic and the kink is strong, “Pillion” works equally as well as a tender romantic dramedy (RomDom? DomCom?) about the limits of devotion and the unspoken truth that physical submission doesn’t have to mean settling for less than what you need from your person. The film exists as a swooningly romantic love story, a deep dive into leather daddy biker culture, a family drama and a cringey character study without ever sacrificing one aspect of the storytelling for another.
The always reliable Skarsgård does so much here with just his eyes, offering alpha male intensity with a quiet desperation and crippling fear of intimacy that breaks the heart more than once. Harry Melling holds ground with Skarsgård beautifully, making us not only root for these crazy kids to make it work, but also offering us new ways to look at how we submit to the world, not necessarily sexually, but in how we tamp down the people we want to be to make space for the person people assume that we are.
The movie won’t be for everyone (and it shouldn’t be), but anyone who doesn’t kink shame can find universal truths hiding in plain sight behind the assless chaps and dog collars. “Pillion” is nonjudgmental in its exploration of Ray and Colin and never once becomes voyeuristic, instead finding a warm, human empathy for these flawed men and the limits of their vulnerability and devotion.
“Pillion” has some pretty profound things to say about human nature, but nothing hit me harder than its very simple refrain of accepting that before we can truly ever commit to someone else, we have to commit to ourselves first. That real submission isn’t only sexual, but in allowing our vulnerabilities to taste the air and see the light of day. If we don’t accept what makes us tick, then no one else will have the opportunity to accept us in turn.
These takes all might be somewhat lacking in nuance, but that’s romance in a nutshell, isn’t it? Hearing something a million times and then understanding it on the millionth and first? People have been falling in love since the dawn of time, but no one else, ever, will fall as beautifully or as specifically as you do. “Pillion” understands that and allows its audience to see it in themselves, too. It permits us to ask for what we need even when we don’t know how to yet. What’s more romantic than that?
“Pillion”
Dir. Harry Lighton
Grade: A-
Now playing at Tin Pan Theater
This article appears in the Source April 2, 2026.
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