Pillion (2026) Review: A Bold, Intimate Queer Film About Desire, Power, and Unexpected Love

Every once in a while, a film comes along that doesn’t just tell a story—it quietly gets under your skin. Pillion (2026) is one of those rare queer films that resists easy labels. It’s not trying to be loud, flashy, or agenda-driven. Instead, it leans into something far more powerful: intimacy, vulnerability, and the complicated ways people find connection.

At the center of Pillion is Colin, a soft-spoken, ordinary man living a carefully contained life. That life shifts the moment he meets Ray—a mysterious, leather-clad biker whose presence feels both intimidating and magnetic. What begins as an unexpected encounter slowly unfolds into a relationship that challenges everything Colin thinks he knows about himself, desire, and control.

What makes Pillion stand out among recent LGBTQ+ films is its tone. The movie doesn’t sensationalize its subject matter, nor does it shy away from it. Instead, it treats its characters with patience and respect, allowing their bond to develop in quiet, sometimes awkward, often deeply human ways. The film is less about shock and more about self-discovery—about how people negotiate boundaries, trust, and emotional safety in relationships that don’t fit neatly into social boxes.

The performances are a huge part of why Pillion works so well. Alexander Skarsgård brings a calm, commanding presence to Ray, while Harry Melling’s Colin feels achingly relatable—uncertain, curious, and slowly braver with each passing scene. Their chemistry isn’t just physical; it’s built through small gestures, silences, and moments that say more than dialogue ever could.

Visually, the film keeps things grounded and intimate. There’s no glossy, over-stylized treatment here. The camera stays close to the characters, almost inviting the audience into their private emotional space. This makes Pillion feel less like a “concept” movie and more like a lived-in story about two people trying to understand each other—and themselves.

What’s especially refreshing is how Pillion handles queer storytelling. It doesn’t reduce its characters to labels or tropes. Instead, it explores identity as something fluid, personal, and sometimes confusing. It asks gentle but important questions: What does it mean to give up control? Where does comfort end and growth begin? And how do we learn to accept the parts of ourselves we’ve kept hidden?

If you’re looking for a film that’s bold without being noisy, intimate without being preachy, and emotional without being manipulative, Pillion is worth your time. It’s the kind of movie that lingers—not because of shock value, but because of how honestly it portrays connection, vulnerability, and the quiet courage it takes to be seen.

In a year filled with big releases, Pillion proves that sometimes the most powerful stories are the ones told in a softer voice.