Heated Rivalry is More Than What Meets the Eye, by Victoria Marx

DISCLAIMER: This article contains spoilers for the television adaptation of Heated Rivalry.

I’m going to be fully transparent here: I’m bored. Devastatingly so. When I’m searching far and wide across platforms for a mouth-watering piece of media to consume, I shudder. I get a chill down my spine with the crushing realization that everything looks beige and sadistic. I’m beside myself. One lonesome tear falls down my cheek. I lay my head in my hands and wish for better days to come. I yearn to be entertained. Even a once beautiful land of wit, Twitter (I know, it’s been renamed, I don’t care–it’s Twitter) is being overtaken by mindless quips from users asking Grok to explain something to them. 

I must preface this by saying great art has come out in the past year. As 2025 comes to a close, I’m confident I can say that much. However, it’s been a rare treat. Like I’m a caged animal being fed scraps through the wire. 

It’s entirely possible that I’m getting older and the rose-tinted glasses I once wore are long gone. How much media can a person consume before everything begins to pale and blur? There are time periods I’m overly fond of, namely the 2010s. I consider it my favorite time in pop culture. But I was in middle school then. I was eager to experience everything, just starting to develop a taste of my own. I often wonder if I’d still feel the same about that decade if I were to experience it now in my 20s. Honestly, probably not.

I remember watching the provocative and raw UK drama Skins as a pre-teen and being exposed to things I’d never seen before, for better or worse. Or, in a similar vein, the American dramedy Shameless. I loved the grit. I knew then that what intrigued me was the unspoken and taboo. Like most 13-year-olds, I wanted to feel the angst and emotional turmoil of a real teenager. Better yet, an adult. Star-crossed lovers, brutal quarrels between family members, it all fascinated me. If curiosity killed the cat, curiosity slowly tortured me for fun and left me reeling. I miss it. 

I’m a broke college student watching the world collapse around me. The slivers of joy I get from an incredible show or song are literally all I’ve got. I’ve been craving something–anything–with substance. Everywhere I turn, I’m surrounded by outdated aesthetics and ideas lacking in originality. I feel like I’ve been forced to consume a diet of microplastics and grass, utterly deprived of the nutrients I need to survive. But even when it seems like a wasteland, occasionally something juicy slips through the cracks, like a story about a pair of young gay hockey rivals who struggle to fight off their infatuation with one another. 

I stumbled upon a Twitter post about a show called Heated Rivalry. After falling down a rabbit hole of edits, I eagerly went to HBO Max to watch two grown men go from enemies to lovers, and holy shit—it was glorious. To say I’ve never seen anything like this on screen would be an understatement. Heated Rivalry held nothing back, and I mean nothing. As far as explicit content on TV goes, this goes further. However, it isn’t for the sake of shock value. At its core, this is a love story with a focus on queer eroticism. It’s vulgar and tender all at once. 

Part of what’s so captivating is the sexually charged love-hate dynamic between the two main characters, Shane and Ilya. The pair compete against each other constantly, head-to-head, vying to be the best in their sport—while desperately trying to mask the magnetic pull lying beneath the surface. The tension between the two is palpable even in their first encounters. 

In one particularly tense scene, we see the pair catching their breath after working out together. Ilya takes a long drink from his water bottle, pauses, and motions for Shane to drink. Shane swats his hand to the side, as if saying, “I’m good.” Ilya swishes the water bottle back and forth, insistent. Shane caves and takes a sip. When he finishes, Ilya mouths “more” under his breath. Shane lifts the water bottle back to his mouth for another sip. This exchange isn’t an overt display of the power dynamic yet to come, but it’s enough to entice viewers. Despite Shane’s mixed emotions, he slips into submission with a single word from Ilya. A word that was barely even a whisper. I found myself entranced by all that was communicated with so much left unsaid. 

For everything bold and straightforward in this series, there are unspoken moments and subtext tenfold. The intimacy created as a result of intentional choices from the director, writers, and actors is almost overwhelming to bear witness to. It’s open and searingly beautiful. Ultimately, what I crave is something that feels closer to the human experience. I think that is exactly what a lot of pop culture is lacking nowadays—sincerity. 

There’s a difference between making something to sell versus making something to strike a chord in an audience. Doing so requires an earnest effort to connect with the viewer. People want to be coaxed into feeling something without being spoon-fed the meaning. If everything that occurs in a storyline is formulaic and easily digestible, then all intrigue is lost. What is there to pick apart if everything is laid out for you?

To put forth something that’s revealing and stimulating enough to provoke a stir of emotions, empathy and creativity need to be centered in the process. Director Jacob Tierney seems to have a perfect blend of both, skillfully crafting the show in his careful hands. It doesn’t hurt that Hudson Williams and Connor Storie have taken to their roles as Shane and Ilya with the utmost humility, respect, and sensitivity. Surely, this is the kind of magic that stems from a team with good intentions, motivated to make a story come to life––and like hell they did.