Pillion

The erstwhile Dudley Dursley, childhood nemesis of the Boy Who Lived, has emerged as one of his generation’s boldest performers: a limbless orator in The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, a chess master in The Queen’s Gambit, and now the submissive half of a BDSM couple in Harry Lighton’s surprisingly tender Pillion. Gone is the spoiled brat an entire generation loved to hate, replaced by a character-actor-turned-leading-man whose roles are as varied as his performances are lived-in. Alexander Skarsgård may be this romantic drama’s heartthrob, but Melling is its heartbeat.

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The title refers to the passenger seat of a motorcycle, which is where timid Colin (Melling) sits every time he rides with Ray (Skarsgård). It’s also a fitting encapsulation of his place in the relationship, and maybe even life: never in control, always at the whim of someone else, and, for the most part, perfectly content in that role. Colin has an “aptitude for devotion,” as he puts it, which most often comes in the form of doing whatever his partner tells him to. The two meet at a pub on Christmas Eve, where Colin is singing in a barbershop quartet; Ray leaves him a note telling him when and where they’re meeting the next day, holiday be damned. As in most of their interactions, he isn’t asking.

For their first “date,” Ray leads Colin into a dark alleyway and gives him a Christmas present sure to make any maids a-milking blush; for their second, he brings Colin back to his flat, tells him to cook dinner, and makes him sleep on the floor. It’s difficult to imagine someone who doesn’t look like Skarsgård getting away with this, but Colin never protests or gives any indication that he wants to — if anything, it’s as though he’s finally found something he didn’t even know he was looking for. Both leads are excellent in their wildly different roles, with the quiet chemistry between Ray and Colin adding unexpected layers to their courtship.

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“You sort of bring his qualities into relief,” a fellow sub in Ray’s biker group tells Colin, and it’s true: Pillion never judges their relationship, which finds Ray dominating but not degrading Colin. Unspoken though it may be, there is genuine affection behind his actions. Melling, who’s growing more chameleonic with each role, keeps us on board with their dynamic by never being as mortified by it as we expect him to be.

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Once the novelty begins to wear off, however, Colin does start to want more. Being treated this way isn’t for everyone — or, indeed, for most people — and you can hardly blame the guy for wanting to be kissed and/or sleep on the bed once in a while. “I’m happy,” Colin tells him, “I could just maybe be a bit happier.” You don’t have to be in a relationship like theirs to relate, nor do you have to be a body-language expert to notice how sheepish Colin is every time he musters the courage to make such a request. But you might need a little musical knowledge to know the original title of Betty Curtis’ “Chariot,” which plays over the opening scene: “I Will Follow Him.”

Skarsgård may be this romantic drama’s heartthrob, but Melling is its heartbeat.

Colin lives with his parents, whose interest in seeing him find a nice boy to settle down with extends beyond the usual parental concern. His mother (Lesley Sharp) is terminally ill and only has so much time to quell her concerns about her youngest son ending up alone, which doesn’t exactly make her understanding of their unusual dynamic. Ray is laconic at the best of times and not at all concerned with whether or not his boyfriend’s mother approves of their relationship: “It’s not for you to like,” he tells her bluntly.

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It may not be for us to like either, but I suspect that many will. Just because Ray makes Colin shave his head and wear a collar that only he can unlock doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about him, and Skarsgård, who’s as imposing a physical presence as he’s ever been here, makes every one of his few words — affectionate or otherwise — count. Pillion isn’t the first dom-com, but it might just be the best.