Heated Rivalry might be one of the strangest television phenomena we’ve seen recently.
In five short weeks, the Canadian drama centered on two hockey players, Shane Hollander (Hudson Williams) and Ilya Rozanov (Connor Storrie), who are engaged in a secret romance, has become a sensation. It is Canadian streaming service Crave’s biggest-ever hit by far. It has also occupied one of the top two spots on HBO Max’s television chart since its release. The series has sparked fervent discussions about its raunchy sex scenes, depictions of queerness, and the sexuality of its leading men.
Heated Rivalry has spurred a flurry of contrasting, sometimes contradictory reactions from both its detractors and fans. The former insists that the series is fluffy, empty gay smut that isn’t worth the attention. (It’s worth noting that they are contributing to said unworthy conversation.) Meanwhile, fans fervently defend the series as worthy while also deriding criticism, arguing that serious critique is beside the show’s point. (That doesn’t include the accusations of homophobia, sexism, racism, and ableism flung from both sides.) It makes for a confounding experience. Diminishing the series as softcore porn ignores its attempts to say something about sexual identity in the public eye. On the other hand, some of the fanbase discourage applying some rigorous curiosity to these efforts as a form of protection.
This tension adds weighty anticipation to Heated Rivalry’s season finale. The episode focuses on Shane and Ilya spending two weeks together at Shane’s woodland cottage, away from the glare of the hockey rink and fans. For fans of the books, the cottage is sacrosanct, with excitement running rampant about how showrunner Jacob Tierney will adapt Shane and Ilya’s wilderness romp and the emotional breakthroughs that follow. Will it be a non-stop parade of ravenous sex, the kind that made the series a late-year breakout? Or will it focus more on Shane and Ilya’s romantic development outside the bedroom, as the penultimate episode did to great effect?
“The Cottage” leans toward the latter. Ilya and Shane don’t just have uninterrupted sex, but also seek to parse out the practicalities of coupledom. Kip and Scott’s stunning kiss in the rink broke the glass ceiling for Shane and Ilya. However, that doesn’t mean they can just be together. For starters, they haven’t spent that much time alone. The cottage marks the first time they’ll see their whole selves and their idiosyncrasies. Sex is great, but what about cooking and sharing a meal? What of their interests outside of each other and hockey? What about the complements and contrasts of how they live together?
Tierney spends half the episode answering those questions. We see several little glimpses of friction between Shane and Ilya throughout their first days at the cottage. Shane feels slighted when Ilya chastises him for making eight hamburgers, even though the recipe called for it. (“You cut it in half,” Ilya says as Shane flips the burgers.) He also bristles at discussing his sexuality with his parents. Ilya subsequently feels shut out, the camera focused on his hand slipping from Shane’s thigh as Shane leaves the table. Ilya is also jealous when Shane gets a text from his ex-girlfriend Rose, and terrified by the sound of a loon making noises in the distance. (It is the funniest scene of the series.)
Some of the friction between Shane and Ilya is comedic, while other bits hint at deeper issues between them. However, the uniqueness of these tiny glimmers of conflict is that the couple actively wants to rise above them for the sake of their fledgling relationship. They are communicating in ways that would’ve been unfathomable even in the last episode, like when Ilya shuts down Shane’s questions about his family. At the cottage, while lying in Shane’s lap, Ilya reveals that his mother died by suicide when he was twelve. Making that confession even more gutting is Ilya’s insistence that his mother wasn’t weak. It points to a familial dynamic that likely informs how Ilya initially relates to Shane. His disclosure here shows that he wants to actively deconstruct it to be a real romantic partner.
Another nighttime conversation reveals Shane’s insecurities about their relationship. Ilya casually mentions to Shane that he could marry Svetlana to gain US citizenship. The idea rattles Shane, who realizes that Ilya’s bisexuality could, in theory, lead him down a path away from him in favor of a female partner. Ilya reaffirms his opposite-sex attraction, but also assuages Shane’s fears. He explains that said attraction doesn’t matter because of his deep commitment to Shane, his freckles, and his “weak backhand.” Shane appears mostly convinced, but he still asks Ilya, with tear-filled eyes, not to marry Svetlana and to let them find another way for them to be together. The intensity and vulnerability of Shane’s request mark Hudson Williams’s finest moment of the season. It’s also clear that Ilya and Shane understand that they have crossed an emotional rubicon.
That point is codified when Shane wakes Ilya up in the middle of the night to pressure-test an idea. Shane posits that they need to “change the narrative” from heated rivals to something at least more cordial. He suggests that the two form a charity and carefully lay the groundwork for them to be public friends, so by the time they both retire, they can credibly become more.
It’s a compelling idea, but it also highlights one of Heated Rivalry’s weak points. Aside from some commentator voice-overs during their games, it isn’t clear why Ilya and Shane’s public narrative needs to be changed. There are very few indications throughout the season that hockey fans would be confused or disturbed by seeing them together. Their times in public together, such as during their joint press conference in the pilot and at an awards ceremony in the second episode, seem pleasant. There’s nothing to suggest that the general public feels differently about what they’ve already seen. While not a fatal flaw, only hearing them talk about how people see their public personae weakens the practical stakes of their relationship.
The emotional stakes for Ilya and Shane, however, are clear, present, and heartbreaking. As Shane works through his plan, Ilya realizes that Shane actually wants a long-term future with him, beyond the boundaries of their long-distance situationship. Shane’s commitment to that future overwhelms Ilya, who rolls on top of Shane and frantically kisses him. Ilya then confesses that he loves Shane, something he could only say in Russian before. He almost walks the confession back when Shane acts surprised, but then Shane repeats it. Ilya falls on top of him, and both men shed tears from the long-overdue catharsis of the truth.
Their first-ever “I love yous” mark a sea change for the couple. Naturally, their sexual relationship is impacted first. The episode’s first major sex scene (technically, Ilya gives Shane oral sex while Shane is on the phone with Hayden, but it’s played for laughs) retains the pair’s trademark carnality but filters it through a more intimate and gentle prism, which could only be achieved by their newfound honesty. In the afterglow, Shane resurfaces his charity idea, suggesting that they open a hockey camp for children that also helps with struggles with mental health and suicidal ideation. He suggests naming it after Ilya’s mother. Deeply moved, Ilya whispers, “She would’ve loved you…like I love you.” It is a stunning moment of connection, capping off Ilya’s episode-long effort to open up to Shane about his family tragedies.
Of course, Ilya isn’t the only one with parents. Shane soon finds himself in a similar position to Ilya when his father, David, surprises him at the cottage and finds Shane and Ilya kissing outside. Shane panics, and Ilya takes on the supportive role, encouraging Shane to speak to his parents. (He also gets in a charming quip: “Maybe he didn’t notice.”).
The fortified couple gets their first real test when they sit Yuna and David down and unpack their relationship. Shane’s parents are understandably stunned, which makes for awkward questions and reactions. One such reaction leads to Shane and Yuna talking outside, where Shane insists to his mother that he “tried” to be straight for her. Yuna is horrified and apologizes to Shane for making him believe he couldn’t be honest with her. Equally overcome, Shane forgives her.
Shane’s parents ultimately come around to and support Shane and Ilya as a couple. However, that doesn’t mean that the wider world will. Yuna immediately leaps into mom-ager mode, while David asks about them seeking counsel from the newly out Scott Hunter. (He opens the episode by professing his love for Kip while accepting an MVP award.) The swirl becomes too much for Shane, and he retreats into himself at the kitchen table. It resembles Shane bolting from Ilya’s house in the fourth episode.
This time, though, he actually stays and tries to come to terms with his discomfort. Ilya is also able to comfort Shane this time, too. He reminds Shane that he has his family and his boyfriend in his corner. (It is the first time that either of them has claimed the other as a boyfriend.) That reassurance is what Ilya and Shane leave the house and the season with. The road ahead will undoubtedly be difficult, but the cottage gave them the experience they needed to meet the moment.
So, with the season in the books, what do we make of Heated Rivalry? While it indeed began as a steamy soap, the final episodes demonstrated a genuine interest in the dynamics underpinning Shane and Ilya’s sexual attraction. They build upon compelling foundations set up throughout the season, from Shane’s sexual submission allowing him to assert his emotional intelligence to Ilya’s familial estrangement in his deep passion for Shane. There are also some hiccups. Strong as the character work is, there are gaps in the world around them that make it difficult to contextualize the couple’s challenges in a likely difficult sports culture. It was less of an issue this season, but Shane and Ilya’s commitment will need that context.
Heated Rivalry finds itself as an unwitting microcosm of the limited ways we engage film and television as of late. There is a simultaneous resistance to engaging with the series seriously and acknowledging its frothier tendencies. In truth, they aren’t mutually exclusive. The show belongs to the soap opera tradition, and soap operas can tell stories that are sexy, silly, and serious. (Any fan of daytime television can tell you that they sometimes mix and mingle). Writing the series off as either an infallible celebration of queer romance or a vapid slice of smutty slop misses all the potential stories told within and beyond those restrictive frameworks. We are nowhere near the end of Heated Rivalry’s story, and the show’s impending hiatus affords an opportunity not to miss the goal when the second season arrives.
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