The role of the intimacy coordinator has become one of the most hotly debated topics in modern filmmaking. Hailed by some as a vital safeguard and dismissed by others as an artistic hindrance, these specialists in choreographing sex scenes are under intense scrutiny. Recent comments from high-profile actors have only fuelled the fire, raising the question: is this the most misunderstood job on a film set?
A Role Born from Necessity
While versions of this work have existed for decades—sex educator Susie Bright choreographed scenes for the 1996 film Bound—the position became an industry mainstay following the #MeToo movement. Today, intimacy coordinators are unionised in the US with Sag-Aftra, and the UK maintains its own registry under Bectu, requiring extensive training and credits on at least five productions.
Adelaide Waldrop, an intimacy coordinator whose credits include Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy, reveals the awkward social perceptions. "I've considered saying I'm an accountant," she admits, describing how revelations about her job often lead to seedy questions about erections, merkins, and her personal sex life. "We're a hot button topic," she says.
Stars Speak Out: Praise and Criticism
The profession exists in a dichotomy. For actors like Michelle Williams, Alexander Skarsgård, and Emma Stone, intimacy coordinators are crucial creative partners who ensure safety and consent. However, a vocal minority of stars have publicly questioned their necessity.
Mikey Madison opted against using one for her Oscar-winning film Anora, while Gwyneth Paltrow asked hers to "step back a little" during Marty Supreme. Jennifer Lawrence, who had a coordinator on Die My Love, said she couldn't remember it and felt it was unnecessary because co-star Robert Pattinson "is not pervy". Former Channel 4 drama chief Caroline Hollick labelled Paltrow's comments "irresponsible", but such remarks have contributed to a negative narrative.
"There was a lot of demand very quickly for this role that outstripped the ability... to appropriately train people to do it well," Waldrop explains, noting some may enter the field for the wrong reasons. "My role already gets a lot of unwanted attention, and it can be a distraction to the work."
What Does an Intimacy Coordinator Actually Do?
Far from being mere on-set observers, their work is meticulous and pre-emptive. It typically involves:
- Breaking down intimate scenes in the script long before filming.
- Holding confidential discussions with actors and crew to establish boundaries and choreography.
- Conducting risk assessments and overseeing closed sets.
- Providing modesty garments and physical barriers (ideally at least three for simulated penetration).
"Everything takes a bit longer, but that's no bad thing," says one male actor with experience of shooting scenes both with and without a coordinator. "You never really know what actors have been through... So having that conversation, where no questions are asked, is really important."
Robbie Taylor Hunt, an intimacy coordinator specialising in queer content for shows like Heartstopper, notes concerns can range from past trauma to simple body image issues. "It can just be as simple as someone hating a part of their body and not wanting it to be seen on camera."
Importantly, coordinators also prevent female crew members from being improperly tasked with providing emotional support to actors, a common practice in the past. Taylor Hunt recounts a friend's experience where a director made female crew share their first sexual experiences to "help" a young actress.
Looking Beyond the Clickbait
For practitioners, the reduction of their complex job to tabloid fodder is frustrating. "It feels super minimising," says Tommy Ross-Williams, a trans intimacy coordinator. "I'm basically the beginning of a joke... If people want less nuanced intimacy on screen, then get rid of intimacy coordinators. But since ICs came along, I think people have been braver about telling intimate stories with nuance and complexity."
The ultimate goal for professionals like Waldrop is seamless integration and invisibility. "I know I've done a good job on a set when nobody notices me at all," she states. "Because everything's been done in advance, so everyone knows what they're doing in a scene, and all I do is step back and let it happen." As the industry continues to evolve post-#MeToo, the debate around intimacy coordination is unlikely to fade, but its proponents hope the focus will shift from sensational headlines to a deeper understanding of their craft.
