Hot rivalry: This bizarre Canadian hockey game is so hot it threatens to burn the ice you’re skating on | television

I I was surprised to learn that ice hockey romance is a common genre. Surprising, but logical. Love in cold climates has the feel of a fairytale. This is why the great Russian romances persist, even though they are not related. Most of us don’t sit near windows, waiting for a horse to arrive and tell us that our cousin has survived the winter in Smolensk. Maybe it’s time for a modern Doctor Zhivago? Take in Hot Rivalry (Saturday, January 10, 9pm, Sky Atlantic), a Canadian eccentric who’s so hot he threatens to burn the ice he’s skating on.

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are two star players from Montreal and Moscow respectively, who are mysteriously drawn to each other on the rink, under the glare of the media. Well, it’s not that mysterious. The co-leaders get down to business almost immediately, with a not-quite-pleasant encounter in the shower room. Each episode then features tense gazes, sweaty necks, and pumping muscles. Even the camera seems to be in a state of lust, gliding over the 8% fat bodies of sports stars and the glass walls of luxury apartments. It’s a bold act, which makes ice hockey exciting. This padded costume usually makes the wearer resemble something from The Fantastic Four.

It helps that the actors are charming. No matter what team you play on, Hudson Williams and Connor Story turn heads. The latter (who does a good job with the accent) resembles Michelangelo’s David, with an ass like a strut of air ham. Together, they’re strangely reminiscent of Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze in Point Break. It’s no wonder the show, created for Canadian streamer, uh, Crave, has been a huge hit in the US, with clips appearing all over hungry social media.

The heated rivalry isn’t just a game of hockey porn. It’s an interesting hypothesis. Sports are an oppressive masculine arena, and Rozanov’s home country, Russia, is hardly a paradise for gay people. He’s free-spirited, loves the club and hotties, but has family conflicts that he can’t share. Meanwhile, the clean-cut Asian-Canadian Hollander is a study in self-sacrifice. Eating “bird food” and protecting sponsorship deals, he is keenly aware of how the rumor mill can crush a personal brand. We remember the cost of fame, and why young stars may sacrifice love for ambition.

Like the arrogant Rozanov, the show knows why you’re coming. It offers a fantasy incognito browser and bachelorette party experience. However, it’s not explicit, and although the sex scenes are daring, they’re not gratuitous. It’s refreshing. Risk-averse studios in recent years have responded to changing audience tastes by excluding sex from shows and movies altogether, even romances. This is just ridiculous. What people want is better sex: more diverse scenes, that serve storytelling, reveal character, and demonstrate a specific connection.

Intense competition (like the BBC’s stable industry) gets it. Rozanov and Hollander’s intimate actions are power plays that trace their attitudes toward experience, aggression, and risk. It reflects or complicates the couple’s position on the public stage, in ways that can be hurtful or hurtful. It is bold, complex, and precariously evolving. Everything you want from a good situation.

Public enemies, separated by state, can only meet at matches, photo shoots and award ceremonies. There is a sweetness in the way they text between the locker rooms, against Hollander’s better judgement. “See you next season” becomes a bittersweet refrain. This distance gives their story the shape of a classic romance, quivering on hockey fields.

Will there be a fairytale ending, or is this another on-screen lesbian story that ends in shock and heartbreak? You’ll have to watch. As the story progresses over the years, it reveals unexpected depth and humor. It should be a star vehicle for Storrie, as he enjoys his Slavic car to the fullest. “I’ve never been so shy in my life. Russians don’t do that” is a great phrase. It is only surpassed by the enthusiastic moment in which he announces “I’m coming to the hut!” Which looks banana.

It may not be as intense a competition as Doctor Zhivago, but it has shades of The Challengers, Brokeback Mountain, and even Rocky IV. I’m not sure there is a higher compliment. There was one downside to watching perfect bodies engaged in athletic coupling: the withering analysis of my dramatic performance, absorbed as Roy Keane’s voice. If cold January weather and comfort food have caused your self-esteem to plummet, take heed. Honey, it’s cold outside, but there’s no picnic inside either.