Like nearly every gay man and housewife in America (and Canada…), I watched Heated Rivalry. For those who aren’t aware, it’s a gay coming-of-age story set between two major league hockey players. What sets this show apart is the emotional intensity and the (wonderfully) gratuitous sex scenes. It’s also tremendously filmed and has an insanely perfect soundtrack.
Now, I’m not the most emotive guy on the planet. I never cry at movies, and I usually mock those who do. But for some mysterious reason, Heated Rivalry opened me up. Pun intended. The more I watched the series, the more I found myself deeply affected. The characters were real, the drama was real, and I found myself having flashbacks to those spots in my younger gay life which I had chosen to repress.
I remember a time when being gay wasn’t something to be discussed. To be clear, I’m talking about the early ’90s. It was ok to be gay, but you didn’t really dwell on it, and you certainly didn’t broadcast your man-on-man love in any way that might destroy the image your closeted self was desperate to protect. With every failed attempt to convince yourself that you’re actually straight, you just began hating yourself and entering a painful depression that you knew you couldn’t tell anyone about. I can’t count how many times I head “oh, he’s just in a mood” when I was having a tough time dealing with what I couldn’t actually say.
Without giving away major plot points –there’s gotta be someone reading this who hasn’t watched Heated Rivalry– Shane Hollander may as well have been me. I’m not saying I was a NHL prospect, but watching him realize he was gay without knowing how to accept or process this self-discovery, brought back a flood of painful memories. Not to mention that Ilya can’t process this revelation in the slightest. In fact, we see that it frightens him — likely because he knows he can’t say those same words to anyone.
Hudson Williams, in every slight tremble, watery eye, and wave of early self-hate and awareness, laid me out completely. I remember those emotions with such visceral pain, and the desire to just “be normal,” that having them come flooding back to the surface overwhelmed me. I found myself in tears watching the story unfold.
Then there’s Ilya. A tragic dynamic leaves him alienated from his family. He knows he’s interested in men (and women), but that would never be accepted in Russia. As we eventually learn, he has no friends to talk to. I mean, he has friends, but none that would ever want to be burdened with this type of knowledge. The few that do know (a previous impulsive hookup, a lowlife brother) keep him convinced that he needs to keep these feelings completely internalized. Nobody can know. This creates someone who desperately (we learn) wants to be able to love but is stunningly frightened and totally unaware if it’s even possible. Connor Storrie’s portrayal is gut-wrenching to watch. He balances the need to project a straight image while trying to hide from himself the fact that he might just be in love with Shane. Ilya’s intense jealousy knowing that Shane can (at least) talk to Rose (to someone) while not being able to himself was heartbreaking to watch.
Back when, I remember that I needed to be able to tell someone that I was gay. This was too big and painful a secret to keep, and simple denial just wasn’t an option. It couldn’t be. The feelings I was having were too strong. It wasn’t just a hormonal thing, it was about realizing who I was and that nobody actually knew me. At 15 years old, it was more than I could handle. And in the very early Internet age, there weren’t a lot of places you could go. And the thought of going to a gay support group –someplace real, in public, and possibly being spotted — absolutely not. I couldn’t do it. If someone saw me there, my life (I was certain) was over.
When Ilya collides with Shane, from their first meeting, and their first sexual encounter, I was thrown back in time (again) to a place I wasn’t sure I wanted to revisit. The pain was too much. While the on screen action is captivating, it’s the emotional performance from both Shane and Ilya, (Hudson and Storrie) that take this from fluffy and inconsequential (ooh, gay hockey players!) to something truly profound.
These masterful performances don’t miss a beat at any point. From the small, intimate gesture, to the yearning for love and acceptance, Heated Rivalry mirrored moments that every gay person goes through in the process of becoming who they are. Its raw emotion is so powerful that now, years later, all of those feelings, those emotional wounds, come flooding back.
Heated Rivalry transcends anything that came before it. It’s a reminder of the power of emotion, the pain of denial, and the endless hope that love can truly conquer all. And more than that, it gives me the confidence to be better in a world that (especially now) doesn’t always want me to be.
