Intimacy Coordination: Sex on Set and Its Ethical Conundrums

In a resurfaced interview from a 2002 episode of ‘The Rosie O’Donnell Show’, Mila Kunis and Ashton Kutcher lightheartedly joked about their first on-screen kiss on ‘That ‘70s Show’, coincidentally also Mila’s first ever kiss. At the time of shooting, the actress was 14 and her co-star 19. The conversation poked its head into public debate around the time when Danny Masterson – Mila and Ashton’s colleague on the show – got sentenced to 30 years to life in prison for raping two women at his home in the Hollywood Hills in the early 2000s.

In a similar vein, in her memoir released in 2022, actress Jennette McCurdy, best known for her role of Sam Puckett on Nickelodeon's ‘iCarly’, opened up about being “Terrified of being looked at as a sexual being” on set. Jennette also wrote about having her first kiss, with co-star Nathan Kress, for an episode of the show. And while she is categorical that the actor was respectful throughout, she didn’t feel comfortable during the process. “My mind is saying who cares that this is your first kiss, that your first kiss is on-camera. Get it over with. Do what you're told,” she wrote about the experience.

Those are among perhaps hundreds of publicised and even more swept under the rug instances of inappropriate behaviour on set, or otherwise just badly handled scenes of intimacy. And while some productions draw the line at asking a 14-year-old girl having her first kiss with a 19-year-old co-star, other scripts take things a lot further.

Film should certainly not be a censored medium. There are plenty of sex-related stories, or stories involving intimacy, sexual trauma, sexual awakening and nudity that need to be told and are part of bigger and better movements. However, the cast and crew that bring those stories to life must be protected sufficiently in the process. This is where ‘intimacy coordination’ carried out by certified intimacy coordinators comes to set and becomes an invaluable part of it.

By SAG-AFTRA’s definition, an intimacy coordinator is “An advocate, a liaison between actors and production [...] in regard to nudity and simulated sex and other intimate and hyper-exposed scenes.” The New York Film Academy (NYFA) believes that the role is a fundamental one beyond just a “stuffy administrator”, often seen as the enemy of creative expression. An intimacy coordinator is paramount, according to NYFA, in any scenes with simulated sex, simulated kissing, simulated genital contact, specialised movement (i.e. strip-tease), sexual trauma and even scenes depicting power dynamics or pre-existing relationships within the company. To add to the list they say an IC should be on set whenever “the director is not confident in handling a scene appropriately or navigating the actors in physical and emotional moments.”

Hiring intimacy coordinators, unsurprisingly, hasn’t been the norm until only a few years ago, when protecting cast and crew during scenes of intimacy became a priority for those aiming to make production a safer and fairer business. At LBB we’ve spoken a lot about production’s ‘old-school’ bogged down approaches which no longer work for anybody. Intimacy coordination is one of the tools that can help production companies learn from their mistakes and prevent instances like the above-mentioned spouts of scandal that have, over the years, turned into a raging fire of cast and crew coming forward with harrowing stories of abuse on set.

Rufai ‘Roo’ Ajala is a cinematographer and certified intimacy coordinator repped by Loop Talent, who completed their IC training under a special mentorship programme by Screen Skills and Moving Body Arts to introduce more diverse genders and identities to intimacy coordination. “I think I’m kind of breaking into a new area, because I don’t believe there have been other intimacy coordinator-cinematographers before me,” they tell me. 

Many of the productions Roo was involved in at the start of their career included intimacy, sexuality, nudity, sex and trans bodies, so they already had an avid interest in the sphere. “Although I didn’t have the training yet, I had a personal interest in consent culture, and I was closely knitted to the kink community – I was constantly learning about consent and safety.” Roo brought that interest and passion to their work as a cinematographer on those early shoots, when intimacy coordination wasn’t something producers were actively seeking out. “That gave the people I was filming with the ability to connect and the sense of structure, whilst exposing themselves to extremely vulnerable scenes. I was sort of bringing intimacy coordination on set without even knowing.”

Roo, previously to their accreditation, worked on ‘Something Said’, winner of Best Experimental at Aesthetica Film Festival among other prizes – a film by Jay Bernard focused on the New Cross house fire, a major tragedy in 1981 that claimed the lives of 13 young Black people and was initially met with indifference. ‘Something Said’ heavily focused on queer exploration of Black British history and explored the social and political rupture following the fire. The story depended on authentic representations of LGBTQIA+ sexualities. 

“My early work told the stories of the people from my community – queer, trans, people of colour. The people I was filming were often my friends or partners and the stories I was telling around them were so vulnerable and intimate – going through chest surgery, touching stories about sexual intimacy, experiencing queer joy. Shooting around these topics within my community often naturally means I had to be able to fully present the story in its most authentic version.”

What also made Roo marry their pre-existing cinematography experience and their interest towards intimacy coordination was their own personal experience in front of the camera. “Back in the day there was a need within production for background and supporting artists on scenes with sex and nudity, who were OK with being part of that,” they say. “I myself ended up in that role – after having a long career of being mostly behind the camera, I saw myself in front of it.” Being in those roles, regardless of if they had no script, really helped Roo understand the level of vulnerability required to be part of them.

“During one of those productions, I also had an unfortunate experience where the director abused their position of power. That left me quite traumatised,” they share. “You could say that this experience kick-started my search of trying to find structures and guidelines that can protect me and my colleagues in the future.”

But, back in 2018-19, the practice wasn’t yet well known or written about either, so Roo went through a somewhat unsuccessful search for a training program in the UK. It was just as the lockdown was starting that they found the Moving Body Arts programme that would change the course of their career. “I immediately saw the benefits of implementing what I had learned within my cinematography,” they add.

But the merge of the two professions wasn’t clear-cut from the start: “At first it was more like ‘OK, I’m working as a cinematographer and I’m filming a lot of intimate, nude scenes with friends and colleagues. I love the topics around intimacy and stuff like that. But I just, before the training, didn’t have the proper framework or guidelines to help support these people correctly.”

In fact, Roo admits, when the official training began, they took it more as a self-healing process in relation to their own traumatic experience in front of the camera as an extra. “But after I finished I started working on a lot of short film sets, again, surrounded by my community and the topics I love. There came to be a big demand for intimacy coordinators from a lot of big productions and there were so few of us that I ended up getting work even when I wasn’t looking for it.”

Unfortunately, though, as the penny dropped and productions realised the vital importance of having an intimacy coordinator around to help with both contract and physical execution of the scenes, many took up the role without the appropriate accreditation. To Roo, one of the most important aspects of involving ICs in your production is checking if they’re on SAG-AFTRA or Bectu’s lists of accreditation. “There are things that need to be taught and learned, so that structure is obtained and so we can avoid the harm done by uncredited and uncertified coordinators.”

They follow with an anecdote: “I once had to come in on a production where an uncertified intimacy coordinator had worked prior to me and had created a lot of harm. I was the one who stepped in to try and repair the damages, but it was very difficult.” Trust had to be rebuilt between teammates, and stereotypes about the role needed to be erased. “I had to show them I am somebody who would help and not further complicate the situation.”

“With the person before me, the whole process went really wrong and they harmed the production and cost-effectiveness of it. When I came in they were already one or two weeks into the filming process, which meant that I couldn’t really do any of the prep I’d usually do.”

The training itself, which now has a few iterations across a number of countries, that can get you certified is a combination of ethics and constitutional law. It teaches students to look at the laws of the country they’d be operating in and hammers home the varying meaning of ‘sexual harassment’, ‘assault’, as well as what, in terms of simulated sex, can air on TV within the country’s respectful legal framework. GDPR is also a subject heavily studied on the programmes. 

A formalised process like this one helps newly certified intimacy coordinators deal with contracts and pre-production better than anyone when it comes to intimacy and actors’ rights. Roo, like everybody else, has a unique way of working and breaking down a script. 

“Even just breaking down the intimate scenes in a script, if they’re high stakes you need to request rehearsal time prior to the shoot date. This way the director and actors can familiarise themselves with the scene and the level of intimacy,” says Roo. “In my process, whenever signing up to a production, I first have a chat with the director about the creative vision. I look at the script to see what the scenes entail and try to really get how they see them. Then, I speak to the actors to get an understanding of their personal boundaries and if they mismatch with those of the character.”

Personal boundaries aren’t black and white either – while there are people who are happy to participate in simulated sex, they may struggle portraying an emotional kiss or embrace. In many of those cases it’s the job of the IC to consider the usage of body doubles, CG or VFX, or sometimes prosthetics. But can AI help too? 

“So far, the only conversation I’ve had around AI is instead of attaching a prosthetic penis, using AI to create one and show full nudity. Usually CG is used in scenes like this and most classically, real life body doubles. But I think there’s certainly scope and opportunity to implement AI, and I’m sure it will come in, to a degree,” explains Roo.

Sometimes, rehearsal isn’t necessary, but open and honest conversation always is, regardless of the scene’s stakes. “Having the conversations and meetings needed prior to the shoot is paramount,” stresses Roo. “It’s my responsibility to know the cast’s boundaries, understand the director’s vision and help them all know their own rights. On the allocated day when we arrive there should be time for another check in – boundaries might have changed.”

The coordinator also makes sure that realism is at a good level. Of course, there is space for artistic freedom, but often directors would try to portray sexual situations that might reinforce harmful stereotypes. “This is why, during prep we as intimacy coordinators are the first port of call when it comes to these things. We give feedback on every front. For example, it would be my job to advise if a stunt coordinator is needed, or a second IC, or a BDSM consultant.

Our job is indeed to ensure the integrity and not just realism, but truthfulness of the intimacy depicted. Because if we have an intimacy coordinator who is unfamiliar with BDSM working on that kind of scene, they might do all the safeguarding necessary, but not know about smaller things that should be taken into account when depicting kink, such as check ins or aftercare. Again, this might not do harm to the cast, but it would affect the way BDSM and kink are portrayed.“ 

Same goes for scenes beyond sex – birthing or abortion are often parts of the script that require a second pair of trained eyes. “I think many people forget the ‘secondary’ things when we talk about sex. Many people have their first kiss on set and that affects them. Our role has expanded in the sense that we need to take care of the way people’s boundaries intersect,” explains Roo.

Roo is clear – not everybody can thrive in the demanding role of an intimacy coordinator. Of course there is the ‘ethical gatekeeping’ of checking a person’s criminal history and history with sexual assault to make sure they’re appropriate for the position of power that would be given to them in the role. But qualities like empathy and a deeper understanding of the impacts of sexual trauma are also necessary. “The scene somebody is doing might not have anything to do with their personal trauma in their life, but you need to understand how to provide help if it does trigger them.”

For Roo, the most rewarding part of their job is being able to see the smile on the face of the people they  have helped – people who might have gone into the production process with a heavy heart, but saw in them a safe space. To them, the catharsis of the experience comes with knowing that they’re part of a bigger movement towards better cast and crew protection and building a safe environment in a historically unsafe industry. 

Turning to production companies, Roo leaves us with this: “An intimacy coordinator, despite what is being shared and the muddled views on the subject, is there to protect the production and the people within it. We help with writing contracts, we make sure there is clarity between what the creator of the film wants to portray and what the actors’ boundaries are. For work in the UK, refer to Bectu for a list of accredited intimacy coordinators.”