
If you’re not watching Heated Rivalry yet, it may be time to check for a pulse. The queer (and Canadian) hockey romance series has swept the world with its heart, humour and hella horny sex scenes. For viewers, the show’s NSFW content feels like it’s granting unfiltered access to forbidden love. Behind the scenes, however, each steamy moment had to be carefully choreographed. Enter Chala Hunter, Heated Rivalry’s on-set intimacy coordinator, whose job was to ensure that the actors’ comfort levels and personal boundaries came first. Here, she explains the military precision behind the show’s spiciest encounters and why cock socks don’t go in the laundry bin.
Before you were the heat master on Heated Rivalry, you spent years working as an actor. Did that experience inform your work in intimacy coordination? I am still an actor when I have time, which is not right now. Over the course of my career, I did a lot of intimacy, nudity and hyper-exposure in my own performances. When intimacy coordinators entered the mainstream consciousness during the #MeToo movement, a friend asked me to work as one on a film. I did some research ahead of that gig, but after doing the job once, I knew it was important to pursue professional certification, which I did through an organization called Intimacy Coordinators and Directors International. It is really important to have that training. Without it, you can have good intentions but still do harm.
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What could that harm look like? There are specific techniques for choreographing simulated sex that are intended to protect the performers involved. If you don’t know them, you may be encouraging unnecessary or inadvertent physical contact. There is also the learning around language that is trauma-informed and recognizes that we can’t know what a performer has been through and what they may experience as triggering.
As an intimacy coordinator, do you prioritize the wants and needs of the performers or staying true to the script? Definitely the performers. I think of myself as the person on set whose top priority is protecting actors in terms of consent and boundaries. Just by existing on a production, an intimacy coordinator can provide a certain amount of security by letting the actors know there is someone who is their advocate first. When I was acting and doing this kind of hyper-exposure work, I was so motivated to do the part well—to serve the story and even to please the director so that they would feel that the project was succeeding. But there are times when those desires can be in conflict with an actor’s comfort levels and personal boundaries.
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As an intimacy coordinator, what is the first step when you start on a new production? Generally speaking, the first thing I will do is read a script, break it down and flag anything that seems like it could fall under the umbrella of intimacy—the sex scenes, of course, but it could also be a scene where a character is modelling in his underwear, or maybe one character is giving another character a massage.
When you were reading the Heated Rivalry scripts for the first time, were you thinking, Man, I’ve got my work cut out for me? The thing with the Heated Rivalry scripts is that they were so specific. The artistic vision and the voice of the person who wrote it and their ethics and values and artistry were so embedded in the script. That really came across—the intentions of the narrative feel like they’re part of the storytelling, and then the intimacy itself is very specific. Like beat by beat, it’s all on the page.
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Let’s talk about a specific scene. Shane and Ilya’s first hotel-room hook-up must have been challenging. It’s the first time they’re getting together, so the stakes are high. It’s also a really long scene with a lot of different scripted actions. You have the emotional arc, and then there is the physical arc that goes along with it, so that order of the movements is very intentional: how they enter the room, how they come together, who touches whom and where they’re touching each other, when the thumb goes in the mouth—that is intensely choreographed, similar to a complicated dance, so it was a case of running it again and again.
Is the goal to get the actors to a place where they know the steps of the dance so well that they don’t have to think about it and can let loose? We’re definitely trying to get to a place where they can relax because they know the sequence, so they can imbue the choreography with imagination and spirit. I don’t know what percentage of an actor’s brain is engaged in the technical requirements of a scene, but there are considerations to stay on top of. For instance, a hip has to stay two inches forward to avoid showing the modesty garment. There is a lot of work that goes into simulating nudity.
Speaking of modesty garments, the term “cock sock” has been trending since Hudson Williams talked about it with Jimmy Fallon. But I guess that’s just standard equipment in your world. Oh, sure. There is a wide selection of intimacy garments for people of all gender identities and bodies. If you have external genitalia, then you place it in this particular sleeve, and then there is a piece of padded foam at the front that acts as a barrier. It is secured with a drawstring situation that gets tucked inside. It’s a very personal garment. One actor uses it, and then it’s done.
So no laundry service for the cock socks? Ha! No.
Is the goal discretion? Or avoiding accidental arousal? The goal of the garment is to ensure privacy—if an actor has articulated that they don’t want that part of their body seen on camera, then I want to make sure that it’s not seen on set either. And then you also have the padding in place to create a barrier between the wearer’s body and whatever they might be coming into contact with.
Accidental arousal must happen, though, right? It actually hasn’t happened, at least to the best of my knowledge, on a project that I was on. But it’s important to address it either way—to name it and take the curtains off. My strategy is to lay it all out and be as direct as possible before filming starts. I will get into it and just say, We’re all trying to do our jobs, to complete this task. I say that, if an actor needs to take a pause or a break for any reason—whether they’re worried about unintentional arousal or anything else—then we can pause.
Were there cases on the Heated Rivalry set where an actor’s boundaries meant reworking a scene? A big part of my code of ethics is confidentiality, so in terms of conversations with specific actors, that’s not something I can discuss. I can say that, in my experience, there is always a workaround—a way to serve the story while also respecting an actor’s comfort level. A concept I learned during my training that I often come back to is that a no is as helpful as a yes. They are both pieces of information that allow us to move forward on the same page.
Okay, but is it fair to say that you don’t take a lead role on a show like Heated Rivalry if you’re not comfortable, say, going topless? I wouldn’t say that. And certainly, if an actor has been cast in a role, I would never be trying to convince or coerce them to do something because it’s in the script. There are garments you can use, ways to suggest nudity that don’t require actors to be naked. You can put performers in bandeaux and sweatpants. You can show over the shoulder, a naked arm, cheeks touching.
Would an intimacy coordinator be involved in some of the less R-rated but still sexy scenes? The kiss between Scott and Kip at the end of episode five has captured the hearts and loins of the internet. Were you involved? I will often be involved in that kind of scene—whether I’m giving an emotional note about exactly what a particular kiss is supposed to convey or a technical note around sight-line. With that particular scene in episode five, I don’t recall giving any feedback. François and Robbie really knew what they were doing, and it obviously worked out really well.
I read an interview where François Arnaud was talking about the cues they used in the particularly graphic sex scenes. A squeeze to indicate a certain level of climax, etc. Is that something you’re involved in? There are a lot of different ways to signal the trajectory of an intimate scene between the actors involved, including a hand on a certain place or a vocal cue.
Do you ever give directions on sex face? I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard that term.
I guess, when you are simulating sex, you’re also simulating the faces that might go with it. Because of my experience as an actor, I would probably wait to discern if that level of guidance is required. I’m there if they need me, but I would generally see how it goes and then go from there.
You mentioned that intimacy can be a lot of different things. I want to talk about the scene on the couch at Ilya’s home, after he makes Shane the tuna melt. It’s not explicit, but after years of sex in hotel rooms, this is the moment that really freaks Shane out. How did you approach that scene? It felt really important, when they are on the couch, to show this vision of what they might be if they were just in a regular relationship, not dealing with all of the concealment and pressure. There is the moment where they’re sort of cuddling, and Shane has his head on Ilya’s chest. We talked about how this was almost a domestic boyfriend vibe, where you’re just hanging out and watching TV and being close. We considered all of those subtleties—like how you might breathe differently when you’re able to relax and feel comfortable with someone. Exploring the minutia of what our bodies reveal about us unconsciously is a big part of my role.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Courtney Shea is a freelance journalist in Toronto. She started her career as an intern at Toronto Life and continues to contribute frequently to the publication, including her 2022 National Magazine Award–winning feature, “The Death Cheaters,” her regular Q&As and her recent investigation into whether Taylor Swift hung out at a Toronto dive bar (she did not). Courtney was a producer and writer on the 2022 documentary The Talented Mr. Rosenberg, based on her 2014 Toronto Life magazine feature “The Yorkville Swindler.”