Power and desire are not mutually exclusive concepts – in fact, they are interwoven so intensely that they cannot exist without one another in some form. This has been the root of so many conflicts over the course of history, with the lust for influence often eclipsing any practical assertion of power, which has been common in so many areas of daily life, from the highest government to the domestic space. Harry Lighton is clearly fascinated by the concept, as he uses it as the foundation for Pillion, his ambitious directorial debut in which he adapts the novel Box Hill by Adam Mars-Hill (one of the most influential queer British writers of the past thirty years), and in which we are introduced to Colin, a mild-mannered young man who still lives with his parents and enjoys hobbies such as performing in a barbershop quartet and drinking at the local pub, and Ray, a mysterious man who drifts into his life, expressing a very unconventional interest in the young man, particularly when it becomes clear that Colin has no qualms in being submissive to someone who wants to showcase their power and dominance. A darkly comical and outrageously offbeat examination of power dynamics, desire and sexual identity, Pillion (which refers to the seat on a motorcycle on which a passenger can sit, albeit in a way that is entirely dependent on the driver for their protection) is a fascinating character study that voyages into a subject that is becoming increasingly more prominent in contemporary media, and certainly firmly establishes Lighton as an essential cinematic voice with an abundance of potential both narratively and in terms of his practical vision, and provides us with one of the more daring works of queer cinema we’ve received in recent years, bound to become a new classic of the current renaissance we are currently experiencing, and which is only going to become more notable as time progresses.

From its more offbeat introduction to the haunting final moments, it is clear that Pillion is quite a special film, both in terms of its construction and the ideas that it sets out to explore. At its core, Lighton is telling a story of masculinity and how it manifests in different ways. The two protagonists are both men who find each other by chance, and the attraction is immediate – but yet, they’re still so starkly different, in a way that the well-worn cliche of “opposites attract” doesn’t even quite cover the scope of the dissonance between them, which is the foundation of the film and the concept that it develops as we find their relationship growing, becoming gradually more unconventional as they begin to get to know each other more. The power dynamic on display forces us to ask several questions, particularly around who is truly in control – is it the rugged, mysterious and hypermasculine drifter with a penchant for asserting his raw masculinity, or his obedient and submissive sexual servant, whose entire raison d’etre seems to be to serve his master, even if it means that he demeans himself in the process. Yet, the distinction between them isn’t entirely clear-cut, since it becomes obvious that they exist under some kind of symbiotic relationship, depending on one another – with someone to obey, Colin cannot realise his fantasy of being constantly in service, whereas Ray cannot feel the satisfaction of domination if there isn’t someone who can be entirely dutiful to his desires. This is not a film about sexuality in the sense that the act is particularly important – the scenes of sexual intercourse are notable, but not for the physical action, but rather the circumstances that led to those moments, with the focus instead being on a bold and unnerving deconstruction of masculinity, peering beneath the veneer of toughness that some exude and providing some unforgettable insights into the often unconventional dynamics that govern the most seemingly ordinary of relationships.

As a film based around a master-servant relationship, Pillion had the duty to find the right actors to bring these characters to life, being able to not only take on the physical challenges associated with the roles, but also the emotional and psychological complexities that exist beneath the surface. It is very rare for me to look at performances in a queer film and view them as particularly brave – straight actors playing gay roles is no longer impressive, and it has become awfully reductive to view anyone who acts outside these confines as being particularly worthy of praise. However, both of the leads of this film are more than deserving of acclaim, since they deliver fearless, compelling performances that far exceed what we would normally anticipate. Harry Melling has transformed from a mildly recognisable supporting player hired to portray unlikable characters in major franchises, to one of our most exciting actors – and very few actors have undergone such a substantial shift, becoming a truly unique performer whose fascinating approach to his characters, and willingness to bare it all (both physically and emotionally) is a valuable commodity. He’s exceptional in this film, playing the part of the aimless young man who finds his entire life disrupted by the arrival of this mysterious individual who pierces his entire worldview and forces him into quite an unconventional position, and if he hasn’t already been lauded as an astonishing actor, Pillion might be the film to officially consolidate him as one of our most interesting. Conversely, Alexander Skarsgård has been around long enough to have already delivered some extraordinary performances, many of which he received accolades and acclaim for, but yet this film provides him with another opportunity to push himself as an actor – and as the more dominant of the pair, he starts as quite an enigmatic figure, but his tough veneer begins to erode, particularly when the power shifts between the two protagonists. It does help that both actors have exceptional chemistry with one another, and help in anchoring this film, their willingness to push themselves far out of their comfort zone being nothing if not wholeheartedly admirable.

Beyond the stellar performances, we find that Pillion is not only defined by its actors but also by how Lighton curates the surrounding film to be far more engaging than we would expect, elevating it beyond a simple romantic film and making it an astonishingly well-crafted psychological drama that is as visually and aesthetically exciting as it is narratively complex. Part of this comes in his refusal to play into the usual tropes that we would expect from such a film – he rarely goes for the obvious ideas, choosing instead to settle on those which challenge and provoke. The tone of the film is intriguing in itself – it is layered with a quiet tension, a thick sense of suspense and mystery that is never too intense that we lose ourselves in its many layers, but still has a particularly daring quality that we can certainly appreciate at its very core. The more practical elements are just as strong – the cinematography is simple but striking, with the images chosen by Lighton and director of photography Nick Morris evoking artists like Peter Hujar and Tom of Finland (and it also fares much better as a tribute to classic images of Americana than the ill-fated The Bikeriders last year, which attempted to be the same examination of masculinity amongst a particular community, but much less effectively), and the soundtrack is perfectly curated with songs that reflect the innermost desires of these characters, as well as signaling the gradual shift in their dynamic – music may not be the primary narrative propellant for this film, but its certainly a welcome addition, enriching and already complex, well-crafted drama and proving that there are certain concepts that are most appropriately communicated not through spoken words, but the stunning collision of images and songs, which form the very foundation for this challenging and unconventional film.

By this point, a film about queer desire and its intersections with social and cultural concepts should not be considered revolutionary solely based on its subject matter – we’ve grown enough as a culture that we shouldn’t feel impelled to label absolutely everything as daring when it purely examines identity and how it manifests in our daily lives. Yet, watching a film like Pillion feels like a major achievement solely because of how far it goes in examining these subjects, walking that very narrow tightrope between provocative and exploitative, something that only the finest of filmmakers have been able to capture with such vivacity and complexity, while also finding space for aesthetic and tonal creativity in the process, along with the brilliant work from the two leads, without whom the film would not have been even vaguely memorable or compelling. A great debut can set a young director up for life, and we are already highly anticipating his next project, since Pillion is such a complex, bold work that represents his unique and daring vision – and as one of the most raw and visceral examination of the intersections between desire and power, it functions as more than just a queer love story (since despite some of its rougher and more harrowing imagery, it is still a romance, and often quite a funny one, the blending of tones being remarkable), showing the pulsating lust for not only carnal satisfaction, but the validation that we are in control at all times, even when the other person may not realise it. One of the year’s best films, and a work of astonishing integrity and pure artistic brilliance, Pillion is an achievement like no other, and a work that will certainly stir up enough conversation to earn its place within the contemporary canon of exceptional queer cinema.