Alexander Skarsgård is infuriating in Pillion–and that’s exactly the point
Wholesome and heartwarming shows such as Pose, Schitt’s Creek, and Special helped us all get through the throngs of the first Trump presidency. This go round, we’re pulling out the condom drawer, cock-rings, and paddles for the big screen.
Pillion is a dark comedy exploring BDSM and queer relationships, and it dives into the complexities of intimacy that include both care and harm. This duality echoes what we saw in Heated Rivalry, where queer relationships can be messy and tender–not immune from disrespect and imbalance.
I have to be honest—despite the gaze-worthy sexiness, I was frustrated and even angry with the characters played by Connor Storrie (Ilya Rozanov) in Heated Rivalry and Alexander Skarsgård in Pillion (Ray). Their portrayals as tops were far from kind or respectful. I found myself thinking, “Wow, I hate these characters.” They are exactly the kind of dominant tops that I don’t play well with. However, their unhealthy, toxic flaws expose uncomfortable truths about power, entitlement, and disrespect in queer relationships that often go unspoken.
Why is it so important to see both sides of queer intimacy—the healthy and the unhealthy? Because many viewers don’t realize they’re trapped in harmful relationships until the media reflects those dynamics back and clearly names them. When stories only show perfect or idealized queer relationships, or conversely only toxic ones, they miss the crucial middle ground where real growth happens. It’s in seeing the full spectrum that people start to recognize what respect, communication, and care actually look like as an example.
In Pillion, Alexander Skarsgård’s character, Ray, fails to consistently respect his partner, Colin, leaving him feeling isolated—a dynamic painfully familiar to many. Yet, the show also offers brief, but punchy moments where those patterns are challenged, offering glimpses of what healthy queer intimacy can be.
During a BDSM weekend in Pillion, a character points out to Colin that he doesn’t know how he puts up with Ray’s “no kissing” rule. This isn’t just a throwaway line, because it serves as a foil that opens Colin’s eyes to the fact that he doesn’t have to accept neglect or lack of affection. It shows that within the BDSM community, respect and care aren’t mutually exclusive with kink. Boundaries, consent, and affection can coexist, providing a healthier template for queer intimacy.
And in Heated Rivalry, the relationship between Kip and Scott, played by Robbie G.K. and François Arnaud, respectively, stands out as a clear contrast to Shane and Ilya’s more tumultuous dynamic. Kip is able to communicate his boundaries with a straightforwardness that feels refreshing, while Scott shows a genuine willingness to listen and accept those limits without resistance. Their interactions come across as more balanced and less tangled with tension, offering that glimpse of what healthy communication looks like in queer relationships. Whereas Shane, played by Hudson Williams, and Ilya’s long back-and-forth, leaves Shane frequently feeling frustrated and uncertain about whether Ilya truly understands or respects what he wants.
Media has this unique power: it can break cycles of harm by making invisible dynamics visible, and by holding up examples of care that inspire change. When queer stories reflect both pain and possibility, they can become tools for self-understanding and empowerment.
In a world where queer representation often risks being simplified or sensationalized, which has certainly also happened, Pillion and Heated Rivalry have the potential to remind us why complexity matters. They can educate, challenge, and ultimately help reveal things about ourselves that show new possibilities and ways of being.
