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The role of the intimacy coordinator – a relatively new but increasingly vital position in film and television – is facing scrutiny and misunderstanding, even as demand for these professionals continues to rise. From fielding inappropriate questions at social gatherings to navigating pushback from established filmmakers, intimacy coordinators are working to establish boundaries and ensure safe, consensual on-set environments in the wake of the #MeToo movement.
A Response to a Changing Industry
For many, intimacy coordinators represent a crucial step forward in protecting actors and crew during the filming of intimate scenes. Celebrities like Michelle Williams, Alexander Skarsgård, and Emma Stone have publicly praised their contributions, highlighting the increased safety and creative input they provide. However, others view them as impediments to artistic expression, fearing they introduce unneeded bureaucracy and potential HR complications.
The debate has played out publicly, with some high-profile figures voicing their reservations. Mikey Madison reportedly opted not to work with an intimacy coordinator on the film Saltburn, and director Terry Gilliam has been vocal in his criticism of the role, calling it “horrendous.” Despite these objections, the profession is gaining traction and becoming more formalized. While precursors to the role existed for decades – sex educator Susie Radiant choreographed intimate scenes for the 1996 film Bound – it wasn’t until after #MeToo that intimacy coordination became a widespread industry practice. Today, the profession is becoming increasingly formalized, with unionization through Sag-Aftra in the US and a registry under Bectu in the UK. These organizations require extensive training and a minimum of five paid production credits.
Beyond Choreography: A Multifaceted Role
The work of an intimacy coordinator extends far beyond simply choreographing intimate scenes. Waldrop emphasizes, “We’re not just there to whisper in the actors’ ears between takes.” Coordinators typically begin by meticulously breaking down intimate scenes in the script and conducting confidential discussions with both actors and crew to establish a clear plan of action. These conversations can encompass sensitive topics, including past trauma or personal boundaries that might influence an actor’s approach to a scene.
“Everything takes a bit longer, but that’s no bad thing,” notes one male actor with experience working both with and without an intimacy coordinator. “You never really know what actors have been through; we’ve all got pasts. So having that conversation, where no questions are asked, is really important.”
The role also involves practical considerations, such as providing modesty garments and barriers – ideally at least three for simulated penetration – and conducting risk assessments to ensure a safe set surroundings.Coordinators also play a crucial role in protecting female crew members from being asked to provide emotional support during intimate scenes, a practice that was common before the advent of the role.
Addressing Historical Harm and Future Challenges
The need for intimacy coordinators is underscored by a history of exploitation and abuse within the film industry. Waldrop points to infamous incidents of real sex on screen, describing them as “an assault on the crew as much as anyone else,” and recalls the case of Maria Schneider, who felt “a little raped” by Marlon Brando and Bernardo Bertolucci during the filming of the infamous butter scene in Last Tango in Paris.
For many in the field, the current backlash feels especially frustrating. Tommy Ross-Williams,a trans intimacy coordinator,notes,”It feels super minimising… I’m a trans IC; I’m basically the beginning of a joke.” Ross-Williams believes the criticism stems from a broader societal discomfort with openly discussing bodies and sex.”If people want less nuanced intimacy on screen, then get rid of intimacy coordinators,” they state. “But as ICs came along, I think people have been braver about telling intimate stories with nuance and complexity.”
Ultimately, many intimacy coordinators hope the current fascination with their profession will subside.As Waldrop concludes, “I know I’ve done a good job on a set when nobody notices me at all,” because a successful outcome means that all parties involved feel safe, respected, and empowered to deliver authentic performances.
