Critic’s Notebook: In Praise of ‘Heated Rivalry’ and Gay Happy Endings
SOURCE:Hollywood Reporter|BY:David Rooney
Get your mind out of the gutter! The sex is hot, but it's the swoony romantic highs and tender insights into queer first love and self-acceptance that make HBO’s breakout hit special.
[This story references plot points from the entire first season of Heated Rivalry, including the finale.]
Much has been written, including by my THR colleague Seth Abramovitch, about the phenomenal numbers of women devouring Canadian streamer Crave and HBO’s sizzling gay hockey series, Heated Rivalry.
Female viewers appear drawn by the romance and the toned bodies, of course, but also by the entirely consensual nature of the vigorous raunch, the desire for mutual pleasure between partners and the relative absence of macho toxicity. It’s not just sex but sensitivity that sells, evidently.
Episode three perhaps encapsulates that appeal in a few simple words. “Can I fuck you?” asks Scott Hunter (François Arnaud), captain of the New York Admirals. “Absolutely,” replies his new boyfriend, smoothie barista and grad student Kip (Robbie G.K.), with gusto. Later in the episode, as the relationship accelerates, Kip makes the same request of Scott with a smile; the hockey star lights up as he responds with the exact same affirmative and they dive onto the bed.
I’m thrilled that the ladies are getting a kick out of Jacob Tierney’s addictive series based on the novels by Rachel Reid, I really am. There’s no territoriality here.
Sure, I’ve been known to scowl when the Provincetown ferry dumps packs of Boston bachelorettes onto the wharf and they flood Commercial Street in their crooked tiaras, drunkenly squealing, “Omigod, the gays are so much fun!” Or when they stagger up to male couples and slur, “You guys are so cute! Can we get a selfie with you?”
I believe I speak for many queer men when I say we were not put here for your amusement. But there’s a world of difference between cultural intrusion and cultural appreciation. So if women want to experience the sexual and emotional frisson of a show about gay hockey players rattling the closet doors while fucking like bunnies, I say “All are welcome” — to quote fabulous gay icon Tangina from Poltergeist.
But so much attention to female fandom — “wine moms,” as Tierney affectionately calls them — risks overshadowing what a bountiful gift Heated Rivalry is to the gays. That becomes increasingly apparent as each successive episode taps into richer veins of queer experience concerning the fight between desire and self-denial.
Whether you’re a gay teenager nervously inching toward self-acceptance, a voracious twink trawling the hookup apps or a comfortably coupled LGBTQ elder casting a wistful backward glance at that intoxicating time of liberating discovery, this emotionally nuanced, endearingly big-hearted — and yes, sexy AF — show will strike chords.
The sexual candor, hot bodies and steamy action are the main attraction. Duh. But what sneaks up on you is the sweetness with which Heated Rivalry captures a transitional time in gay men’s lives, a time that can be terrifying or freeing, isolating or joyfully communal — or sometimes all those things at once.
The principal narrative thread follows Shane Hollander (Hudson Williams), star player of the Montreal Metros; and Ilya Rozanov (Connor Storrie), a Russian hockey rink dynamo recruited to lead the Boston Raiders. (All the teams are fictional, though modeled on self-evident real-world NHL counterparts.)
The attraction between them — and the sexual chemistry of the actors — is obvious from the start in lingering glances, locked eyes and a sweaty post-workout interlude in a hotel gym, one of the sexiest scenes in recent memory even if nothing more intimate happens than fingers brushing as a squeeze bottle is shared.
It’s months in narrative time though minutes in screen time until they first get naked and go at it together — following a horny shower scene that launched a double-butt meme for the ages. Their clandestine encounters, evolving over years in secrecy whenever they find themselves in the same city as their fame continues to rise, grow more physically urgent but also more anxiety-inducing. When lust makes way for deeper feelings, things get more complicated than just coordinating hotel rendezvous.
The hyper-masculine world of professional sports is its own thing, and for countless athletes past and present, a uniquely intimidating arena in which to navigate coming out — or staying in hiding. But most of us can relate to varying degrees.
The closet is a place of fear and loneliness, in which surging hormones collide with the terror of stigmatization, of rejection by family, friends, colleagues. For those of us who go back far enough to recall a time of minimal cultural representation and legislative rights, the memory will always be raw.
Heated Rivalry captures that limbo state with compassion and tenderness. Since sex is the language through which Shane and Ilya get to know each other, the series forgoes the usual “will they or won’t they?” coyness to build tension around more delicate questions: Will their relationship progress to the next level or will it hit a wall? Who’s going to say “I love you” first? Will they ever use each other’s first names? Are they going to be exposed?
Tierney deftly amplifies that suspense by stoking their reputations as fierce competitors on the ice and even in private. Playful teasing initially allows them to keep their guards up.
Ilya, whose chilly family life in Moscow, with a stern, impossible-to-please father and a leech of a brother, has contributed to his sharp-edged manner, hides behind his cocky swagger, repeatedly reminding Shane that he’s “boring.” Mixed-race Shane — more openly vulnerable and socially awkward, his career micro-managed by his loving but laser-focused Japanese Canadian mother (Christina Chang) — informs Ilya more than once that he’s “an asshole.”
There’s a wrenching private moment in an elevator after Adorable Baby Keanu, sorry, I mean Shane, pulls away and we see how much his romantic yearning is hurting him. The brief scene hits acute notes of impossible love and inevitable heartbreak. (We’ve all been there.) But ultimately, it’s smoldering tough guy Ilya who cracks first, confessing his feelings during a phone call — in Russian — that represents a major breakthrough in emotional transparency for the character, even if Shane doesn’t understand a word of it.
After reeling us in with two opening episodes entirely centered on the Shane-Ilya connection, Tierney turns the tables in episode three by abruptly shifting to Scott, a character previously observed only in passing, and Kip, the only one of the four principals who is out and at ease with who he is.
The strategy behind that plot detour becomes clear at the end of episode five, when the Admirals win the NHL cup. Scott has endured the crushing loss of Kip, for whom being kept in hiding was suffocating. But as his teammates’ loved ones pile onto the rink to share in the victory, Scott beckons a confused Kip down from the stands, locking him in a passionate kiss in front of the crowds and TV cameras in an ESPN money shot.
That wordless declaration is a soaring moment that’s almost corny in its romantic rapture. It’s a scene familiar from the emotional climaxes of innumerable movies and TV shows as obstacles crumble and exultant love reigns, though it’s seldom afforded to queer couples. And damned if it’s not a ravishing thrill, given an extra kick by the shock and confusion on the unsuspecting faces of Shane and Ilya, watching the championship game on TV in different parts of North America.
Scott’s bold move galvanizes them both, prompting Ilya to accept Shane’s invitation to join the Montreal player at his secluded lakeside cottage. The two-week summer interlude provides a gorgeous payoff for the series as awkwardness transitions into the kind of relaxed physical intimacy, domesticity and rewarding companionship — with lots of hot sex — that the two men have probably never even allowed themselves to imagine.
Potential problems arise, such as how they sustain their relationship without jeopardizing their hockey careers, or what happens when Shane’s father stops by and catches them mid-smooch. Sure, there will be challenges ahead, but the simple fact that they tackle these questions together makes nothing seem insurmountable.
Plenty of other TV shows have charted the rocky paths of love between gay men — Queer as Folk, Looking and Heartstopper, to name three prominent examples. But the combination of sex-positivity and swoony romantic wish-fulfillment makes Heated Rivalry hugely satisfying, taking it far beyond the notion of “Canadian gay hockey smut,” as it’s been reductively called.
Perhaps it was inevitable that female viewers would respond to a series not only rejoicing in man-on-man love but also expressing gratitude for the precious lifeline of friendships between women and gay men, in which the absence of sexual tension can make way for a unique kind of intimate understanding.
With disarming generosity of spirit, Tierney and Reid give their characters fortitude through female besties who intuit their desires, often before they themselves can take ownership of them.
Bisexual Ilya’s occasional fuck buddy Svetlana (Ksenia Daniela Kharmalova) knows everything there is to know about hockey and everything there is to know about her friend’s heart. Movie star Rose Landry (Sophie Nélisse), with whom Shane falls into a romance that sparks more excitement on the gossip sites than it does in him, cements what seems destined to remain a beautiful friendship when she gently informs him that as a couple, they are trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. In a glorious moment of what can only be described as Bottom Pride, Shane confesses, “The thing is, I kinda prefer being the hole rather than the peg.”
Kip has not one but two bosom buddies. His colleague at the smoothie shop, Maria (Bianca Nugara), can cram a full hilarious spectrum of approval into the word “Girl!” every time Scott stops by for his regular blueberry and banana blend. And Kip’s closest pal Elena (Nadine Bhabha) is like a glam guardian angel, looking out for his emotional safety — and even Scott’s — with the protectiveness of a devoted big sister.
In those relationships as much as the slow-burn romances, Heated Rivalry is speaking directly to women. But let’s not understate what a tonic the show is for queer audiences.
Only one gay friend out of many who have been watching has expressed reservations, complaining that the hockey scenes are unconvincing. I rolled my eyes and gave the only suitable response: “Bitch, no one is watching that show for the hockey.”