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Another day, another heated debate over the role of intimacy coordinators in film and television. In July, TV Insider asked NCIS: Tony & Ziva star Cote de Pablo whether she and costar Michael Weatherly used an intimacy coordinator on set. “Did not need one,” Cote said. “They asked me first, I think because I’m a female and blah, blah, blah, and I said, ‘I don’t need one. Thank you for offering.’” (Much of the coverage of Cote’s comments failed to mention claims of sexual harassment on set by Michael’s previous costar, Eliza Dushku.)
Cote de Pablo might have been comfortable without one, but as experienced intimacy coordinators will tell you, this isn’t only for the actors involved. In fact, that’s just one of the many misconceptions of the job.
Having an intimacy coordinator on set only became common practice in the past decade or so, but they’ve helped architect some of the most beloved sex scenes in recent years. Bridgerton famously used intimacy coordinators in every season, giving us the hot onscreen sex we crave while also ensuring everyone on set was professional and, hopefully, comfortable. The job of an intimacy coordinator depends on the project, but they also liaise between departments behind the scenes—often with wardrobe and props—and ensure that sets are closed when needed.
However, despite this wide range of responsibilities, intimacy coordinators typically only make headlines when celebrities like Cote de Pablo, Sean Bean, Michael Douglas, or Jennifer Aniston call them unnecessary.
For example, back in March, Gwyneth Paltrow said she and Timothée Chalamet told an intimacy coordinator, “I think we’re good. You can step a little bit back” when working on their upcoming film, Marty Supreme. She told Vanity Fair that she would feel “stifled” if her sex scenes were heavily choreographed.
So, while we often hear from A-list celebrities about the ways intimacy coordinators suppress creativity, we rarely get the intimacy coordinators’ perspective on the debate. Do they have a role to play in keeping performers and production crew safe on set? Is it frustrating to deal with doubters or just part of the job?
To find out, we spoke to two of the cofounders of the SAG-AFTRA accredited intimacy coordinator training organization CINTIMA, Yehuda Duenyas and Jaclyn Chantel, and longtime intimacy coordinator Nicole Callender whose credits include American Gigolo, The Undoing, High Maintenance, Happy Gilmore 2, and Sirens.
Many celebrities have publicly criticized intimacy coordinators, saying that they don’t need them on set. What kind of pushback have you experienced?
Callender: Some people are just like, “It’s just so unnecessary. It’s over the top. It’s just a kiss, or it’s just a hug.” And sometimes it is, but it could also turn into something else. Or sometimes maybe you’re there for a particular person. Maybe it’s a young person and their first kiss is onscreen, and you’re there to help support that. And it might not be much, but them knowing that you’re there is a big deal.
I read many articles about intimacy coordinating and sometimes they’re harsh. We’re really just trying to help people and do our jobs and make a living. Usually, I can shut out the noise. Sometimes on set, if I get pushback from other departments or people on set, I do find that challenging.
Chantel: There’s so much more that goes into this role than showing up on set and making sure that things are going well. You have to assess a script and [flag] things that that a production might not be aware of or might need help coordinating. For instance, if I’m using a prosthetic of some sort,1 that’s a budget item. So if people are just throwing out the word “prosthetic,” do we know how much money we have for the prosthetic? Do we have enough time? Those are things that fall under our role and responsibility.
1. Think the penis in The White Lotus season 3.
Duenyas: We make sure that the sets are closed, we make sure monitors are flagged, we make sure personnel necessary to the filming of the scene are on set. We’ll take the Gwyneth Paltrow situation, where she’s like, “We asked that intimacy coordinators step back and said, ‘We’re good.’” In my mind, that’s the relationship working out great. The intimacy coordinator did their job. They talked with the actors, they got the writers together, they spoke with a director, they created a space where the actors felt comfortable doing what they were doing.
Callender: Some people in the camera department don’t always realize that somebody might be naked from the waist down, and when you open up the set for the crew to come in and start adjusting lenses and lights, they might accidentally walk in on somebody whose pants are down, and that’s jarring for them as well. Having an intimacy coordinator on set will help keep the set closed until everybody is dressed and ready to go, and then we can allow the crew to come in, and then the actors are protected and covered. Maybe we just need to provide a modesty garment, or maybe we need to shift the camera angle. We’re mediators between all of those people.
These critiques can essentially be boiled down to loss of creativity or spontaneity in intimate scenes. How do you respond to that?
Duenyas: We’re creative collaborators, so if an actor does revoke consent for a particular act or a particular angle or they don’t want to show a body part, we are trained to be able to tell these stories and to work within those parameters.
This helps the actors feel more comfortable and more supported and it helps home in on what the story is. We want to create a framework of consent and safety so that the actors can go to those emotionally dangerous places that they want to go to.
Callender: It doesn’t stifle creativity; it allows you to be creative without harming your partner. The story, in and of itself, is a framework and is a boundary. We have to make sure we’re all telling the same story, and if the story for one person is saying, “I can do this, that, and the other and grab here,” and the other person’s like, “Whoa,” then they’re not telling the same story. They’re on totally different pages. We get clear on everyone’s physical boundaries, we know where it is okay to be touched, and, most importantly, we know where it is not okay to be touched. And within that framework that we’ve built now, the actors can create.
