The job of the intimacy coordinator on movie sets has been a hot-button issue in the entertainment industry and has been reignited recently through a public rebuttal from Welsh screenwriter Russell T. Davis against Paltrow’s criticism. Paltrow, who has been in the film industry for decades, expressed her discomfort at what she described as “overdressed dancing” when acting in intimate scenes, mentioning her recent experience working with Timothée Chalamet on ‘Marty Supreme,’ a sports drama. She told Vanity Fair, “I was like, ‘Girl, I’m from the time when you get n***d, you get in bed, the camera’s on’… We said, ‘I think we’re good.’’ Her candor, and what her comments suggested about a generational and power-based split in the world of actors about what it means to protect oneself on set, immediately caught the eye.
Excellent cultural reporter and television writer for many years, Russell T. Davis didn’t mince words. He captured Paltrow’s attitude to be a reaction of one of the most hotly debated issues in Hollywood today. Davis says that her kind of statements are made from a tremendous privilege and job security that most actors don’t have. Davis says that for actors who are not as big as Paltrow, who don’t have as much name recognition, or as many career options, intimacy coordinators are more important to feel safe, respected, and protected during intimate scenes. He says that’s the difference in opinion that makes the debate so controversial and so vital, so important to be out in the open.
The intimacy coordinator’s role has been institutionalized as a regular fixture on sets since the #Metoo movement started with a series of confessions and lawsuits. For years, actors, particularly women, had experienced uncomfortable, exploitative or even abusive situations during the shooting of sex scenes without reporting the behaviors. The coordinator role was created as a practical solution, a trained individual to choreograph physical intimacy, set boundaries and encourage the actor to feel comfortable during live sessions. That’s a game-changer for many working actors. It takes away the pressure of having to set boundaries with a director or co star in real-time and it normalises talking about consent in a world that used to value silence.
But the thing that really is so eye-catching to veteran party regulars like Davis is that Paltrow had a completely different kind of Hollywood to come from. She came out at a time when all things nudity, simulated sex and pressure in the work environment were normalized. It was hard for those actors to be assertive, or even considered difficult or limiting. Paltrow’s statement about working in a time when she’d just “strip down and get in bed” without having a third party there is a true generational difference. But Davis says he can’t help but remember that way with affection, disregarding the fact that many less powerful actors were terrified and uncomfortable during those same years. His point is that Paltrow had a ton of name recognition and family to turn down what she didn’t want to do; the actor, who was an unknown in a supporting role, didn’t.
This gap is not necessarily a difference in age or experience, it’s a difference in how Hollywood works. An intimacy coordinator isn’t only for someone who has a lack of confidence or little experience. They also help actors avoid unclear instructions, sudden shifts in choreography, and the soft pressure that’s placed on them when set shooters aren’t sure if they’re going to be a pain. If a strong star feels the character is unnecessary then the unnecessary can seep down to weaker actors and they feel compelled to let go of the protection meant for them. Davis appears to be stressing that the very criticism that could be used to chill those safeguards that apply to the bottom can also chill those that apply to the top.
There is also an argument, from a practical art perspective, that is lost in this discussion. Other directors and actors fear intimacy coordinators will make acting scenes look more like a production than a conversation, eliminating impromptu moments and real chemistry. Whether that is what it is, Paltrow’s discomfort with detailed choreography is not uncommon; there’s a belief that emotion in intimate moments demands rawness, and it’s possible that they think that planning can kill that. To be fair, she is not the only one that is concerned. There have been several famous actors and directors who have voiced similar concerns about a highly managed set that can result in a performance that is only as real as it is managed.
But fans of intimacy coordinators say it does not mean that good choreography removes chemistry, it’s about the safety created for the emergence of true vulnerability. If an actor is not concerned about accidentally exposing a private part, getting unwanted attention by another actor, or not knowing what the director wants them to do, they can sink even deeper into the scene. Many actors who have worked with intimacy coordinators say that having clear boundaries and building the trust before you start working together doesn’t make them feel less free, it makes them feel more free. It’s the nuance Davis is trying to uphold: protection and artistry are not mutually exclusive, they’re hand in hand.
The unique aspect about this clash is that both teams have elements that are correct from their perspective. Paltrow is right that she would have gotten by without coordinators, so naturally, they’re not necessary for her. She is talking from a lifetime of experience on set where she has never been seriously hurt, or if she has, she has the ability to push back. But Davis is expressing himself in a more general way; he has witnessed the abuse of power in less public places in production. The truth is that the strategies he uses to handle the production control of an Oscar nominee are not applicable to the third-audition-of-the-week young actor.
