PILLION (Movie Review)

I went to the movie theatre not knowing much. Something about gays in leather. Something starring easy-on-the-eyes Alexander Skarskgård. I didn’t even know what “pillion” meant. Turns out it’s the place where a passenger sits on a motorcycle, but it seems the movie draws much more from that back-seat position. Pillion portrays two gay men, one dominant, one submissive who meet for sex in an alley and then carry on a rigidly defined relationship that comes off as one prolonged role-play.

 

I will admit that I didn’t know what to think of the movie after seeing it. Just like the TV series Heated Rivalry, the film includes a lot of nudity and simulated sex…though even more graphic. (Apparently, it’s a prosthetic penis that is used in a couple of scenes.) I’d like to say I’m not a prude. In my head, I tried to view the movie’s nudity as giving equal time to the male body after seeing extensive female nudity in such films as Best Picture Oscar winner Anora. But, really, who am I kidding. I am a prude. If people want to see aroused penises, whether fake or real, there’s plenty of porn out there. I don’t need or want it when I go to the movie theatre. (I would say the same about female nudity.) 

 

I try to give myself a reality check, knowing there is technically a difference between gratuitous sex and that which may be more integral to the plot. With this point of view, the nudity in Pillion can be justified. The sexual roles are a major part of how Ray the dom (Skarsgård) and Colin the sub (Harry Melling) interact. I’ve heard about these relationships and I’ve seen some elements of dom-sub role playing in gay clubs and at gay events. 

 

In truth, Pillion may have shocked me more with its nonsexual scenes. Ray and Colin take their roles as defining their entire relationship. Things go far beyond Colin taking a back seat on Ray’s motorcycle. Colin, an admittedly bad cook, must prepare Ray’s meals. He initially must relinquish any right to sit beside Ray on the sofa since that is Ray’s dog’s spot. The sleeping arrangements are especially odd and, for me at least, disturbing. There seems to be a fine line between dom-sub interplay and humiliation. 

 

At many points, people in the audience laughed, which I took as them partly seeing humor in the characters’ interactions and partly out of their own discomfort. To someone who does not ascribe to dominant-submissive roles, the exchanges can come off as absurd. Who would want to be THAT submissive? 

 

It’s Colin’s mother, well played by Lesley Sharp, who is most concerned about Ray’s behaviour and her son’s association with him. Is she unsupportive, rational or both? While I don’t know anyone who is open about being in a dominant-submissive relationship, Colin seems like a perfect candidate to be submissive. He’s a thirty-something guy who lives at home, sings in a quartet with his dad and spends his days slapping parking tickets on people’s windshields. Perhaps I’m judgy, but he seems underdeveloped as a person. His meekness comes off when Ray picks him up at his parents’ house as he allows his parents to engage in the kind of awkward, prolonged meet-and-greet one might expect of a sixteen-year-old’s parents seeing their child off on a first date. Colin just lets them have their way, never seeming embarrassed or horrified by their intrusiveness. While some dom-sub relationships may be relatively normal, Colin looks like he could use some therapy. 

 

As the movie progresses, Colin does find more of a voice, still enjoying his submissive role but wanting a day off each week. Ray’s response, rather than Colin’s request, takes the movie toward its conclusion. 

 

Writing about Pillion hasn’t helped me process the movie much more. I’m still on the fence regarding what to take from the film. I still feel ill-at-ease, as though I’ve peeped on something I shouldn’t have and as if I’m judging a relationship more than a movie. With the dynamics so foreign to me, it’s hard to separate the two. When my partner, Evan, asked how I’d rate the film, I gave it a B…something relatively well done; just not so well-received, if that makes sense. 

 

On a second viewing, I’m sure I would more genuinely laugh. I might see the romance that is portrayed. As I Googled reactions to the film, I saw it described as a rom-com and perhaps a more accurate characterization as a “dom-com.” Still, I don’t think I’ll get to a second viewing. Maybe I’d become more enlightened. I’m just not sure I have a need for that.

  

THE SWEDISH GAZE

Life changes when you’re in a relationship that’s working. For the second time since partnered with Evan, I went on a solo European trip. I have the luxury of time, a love for Northern Europe and the privilege of being able to afford to go. (I’ve been consciously avoiding looking at my credit card expenditures and the conversion of European currency to Canadian dollars.) Besides, Evan has travelled Europe extensively and has said he doesn’t ever need to see another castle. I get it. But I’m not castled out yet.

 

This trip was my first time in Norway—Oslo and the SPECTACULAR Lofoten Islands. (Google Image them. Seriously.) But the start of my European adventure was my home base—or what I’ve often wanted to call home: Stockholm. 

 

Oh, how I love the city! I’ve said it over and over but the place wholly suits me. I no longer feel like a tourist there. When I visit, I just live my daily life in local parks and cafés, hopping back and forth between favourite districts. 

 

Swedish actor Alexander
Skarsgård sporting The
Swedish Haircut

I will admit that Swedish men were once part of the draw as well. So well-groomed in a classically conservative manner. I’m partial to blonds and so many men wear their hair parted on one side that, a number of years ago, I went into a Stockholm salon and asked the stylist, “Please give me a Swedish haircut.” 

 

She didn’t know what I was talking about. Still, she gave me her best effort at what I described. My stylist in Vancouver knows all about The Swedish Haircut as we call it. She does it well. (I can’t wait for my next appointment this week.)

 

On this trip, I didn’t pay much attention to the men. I think that comes with being in a secure relationship. The urge to look just isn’t there. I had to push myself to be more conscious of men’s fashion and, yes, hairstyles. Perhaps because I wasn’t consistently looking, I saw neither a consistent manner of dressing nor wearing men’s hair. 

 

Where’d The Swedish Haircut go? If anything, the men I did notice were not as neatly groomed. Sure, there was light snow on many of the days during my visit; perhaps that made guys dress more for weather than style. (Evan would say it’s not an either/or predicament.) I suppose more men had hats on as well, hairstyles covered up. I only wore my toque one day—not in Sweden, but on the Lofoten Islands when the wind chill factor demanded I cover my ears. Overall, I’m not a hat wearer. There’s vanity—I don’t think they look good on me—and then there’s the discomfort: hats make my hair itchy. Is it just me? Are my follicles more inclined to itchiness? Of course, there’s also “hat hair,” the disastrous reveal when I take my hat off. I really, really need a haircut.

 

There was something even more calming about this trip since I wasn’t focusing my gaze on gays. With Evan as my partner, even the desire to look was just not there. Instead, I spent my time looking at pretty, old buildings—yes, a couple of castles—taking in overall street scenes and scoping out previously undiscovered cafés that might become a new writing spot. (Really, I think I stuck to all my familiar ones. So comfortable, so cozy, so easy to just dive into the writing.)

 

I’m back in Vancouver now. I only bought one basic shirt. (Despite not looking, my gut said I needed to be gentler on my credit card.) I have no new tweak to The Swedish Haircut. I just have hundreds of photos and nice memories. A wonderful trip, no gaze required.