Connor Storrie and Hudson Williams shine in Heated Rivalry
TERRY VANDIVORT | Contributing Writer
tv75218@aol.com
Heated Rivalry is a phenomenon because it’s phenomenal. In every way. There are so many ways to look at it, social, political, emotional, cultural. But, after a second viewing I can only talk about it personally, subjectively.
First of all, let me say that Heated Rivalry is fun. That does not mean it is not serious, or suspenseful or heartbreaking. But the joy of seeing a truly authentic love story between two men that is a runaway hit really is like oxygen.
Much has been written about the nudity and sex scenes, and they are highly erotic — thrilling even. But this is a love story, and, like life, as the relationship changes and evolves, so does the sex, sometimes in small ways and sometimes in very large ways.
Their story is in the details, because life is in the details — details of character, details of longing, details of fury, details of fear, but, most importantly, details of love.
Two seemingly commonplace scenes are among my favorites: Ilya tying Shane’s shoes, and the two making tuna melt sandwiches. Ordinary on the face of it yet underscored with vivid affection.
The performances are peerless, without exception, but the leads are, of course, the focus.
And they are fully developed, no detail left unexamined. Connor Storrie, who is from Odessa, is the volatile, dominant Ilya Rozanov, and Hudson Williams is the more contained, even submissive Shane Hollander — submissive, that is, until he’s not. Connor Storrie gives a star-making performance. He has the inner intensity of Montgomery Clift and the physical expressiveness of James Dean.
But no one does it alone. Hudson Williams is the anchor, his quieter struggles and awkwardness showing themselves vividly in his eyes, his gestures, his fearfully purposeful walk.
Their chemistry is so complete that it sometimes feels like we’re voyeurs struggling against themselves, against each other, against their families and against the environment that suffocates them. Most of us are not hockey players, but many of us share these same struggles, and these common struggles are what give Heated Rivalry its accessibility.
Straight relationships, from Casablanca to Carnal Knowledge, have dissected their lives from every possible viewpoint, while we watch on, needing a leap of imagination to enter the story. But with this piece, we don’t have to enter the story in Audrey Hepburn’s shoes. We can walk in barefoot, surrounded by a gay community enthralled to see ourselves.
One of the ways we define ourselves is by images we see in the culture, images that are familiar, surprising, hopeful, heartbreaking, even triumphant. This piece gives us all those opportunities and more.
Many years pass as we watch their dance of seduction change tempos, rhythms, dynamics and, ultimately, the dance itself. For much of the story, Ilya wears a mask of invulnerability, sparked by sarcasm, cynicism, sometimes small jokes — whatever the situation calls for to keep Shane from getting too close. Something is deeply troubling Ilya, and it is not until the fifth episode that the mask cracks.
(Spoiler Alert) Ilya’s father dies, and he returns to Russia, to his dysfunctional family, and it’s so troubling that he walks through the rain and goes into a tunnel to find a way out of the tunnel he lives in. So he calls Shane. And what follows is the most extraordinary scene in a work of art that I’ve ever witnessed.
He has trouble articulating to Shane the magnitude of what he’s hidden, he halts and starts again, speaks in unfinished phrases and says he can’t really explain well, because English is too hard. Then Shane tells him that if he speaks in Russian, maybe he can unburden himself.
And so he does.
His inner torment, his tortured emptiness spills out, and, finally, at last, how much he needs and wants to be with Shane. But what is most beautiful, is that Shane understands him, because their love is so deep that it leaps over language, time and distance. It is the miraculous power of love.
There is one scene, a subplot involving another major hockey star who comes out on the ice after winning the championship and brings his young boyfriend onto the ice, where they embrace and kiss, while the crowd goes wild. Not believable some say, couldn’t happen. But this isn’t a documentary.
Art can be aspirational as well as telling a straightforward and traditional narrative. And I believe we have earned that aspiration. RFK said, “Some look at things as they are and say why? I dream things that never were and say why not?” Precisely.
At a time when our community is under constant attack, Heated Rivalry is a touchstone, a rallying cry. Its subversion is the willingness to defy social norms and tell the truth about our lives. It can fill us with hope, give us the strength to fight against erasure of our visibility, and not fucking give up.
I urge you to watch this beautiful, powerful film, give yourself up to this depiction of our extraordinary ability to love, even under the weight of hate.
The final episode is called “The Cottage,” and all I’ll say is get in your car and floor it all the way to the cottage. The journey is damn well worth it.