A RE-INTRODUCTION TO INTIMACY
Intimacy on stage and film has been a passion of mine for decades. When I first started my career, an incredible woman by the name of Tonia Sina had just started offering short classes at stage combat workshops—my introduction was at my alma mater, Louisiana Tech University, at a weekend workshop we lovingly call “The Boil” due to its fame for ending in a giant crawfish boil. At the time, those of us already flourishing in the world of theatrical and film violence were encouraged to gain competency around intimacy as well, as we were usually the ones asked to direct that kind of choreography. “Hey, while you’re rehearsing that rapier fight, there’s a rape scene too. Mind blocking that as well?” And because we all wanted everyone physically and emotionally safe, we fight directors typically took (and still take) it on because better us than someone untrained who might place performers in harm’s way. But those small workshops, an hour of training here and there, they were first aid compared to the depths the industry has discovered true intimacy direction/coordination requires to truly build safe rehearsal and performance spaces—which yield, of course, the most compelling performances.
Today I found myself under the tutelage of Intimacy Directors (among many other titles) Siobhan Richardson and Samantha Egle. It was the first class on the first official day of the workshop, and this first two-hour session was mandatory because every one of us needed a baseline understanding of the six pillars of intimacy: Context, Consent, Communication, Choreography, and Closure. And that included my six-year-old son, Aidan, who was thrilled to jump in. We learned how to place walls around the partnership experience by tapping in and tapping out however felt right to us. Aidan and I chose a simple double high-five, but others did “potatoes – French fries” which looked something like a double fist bump followed by spirit fingers. Anything simple and connecting on the visual, aural, and touch levels to help the bodymind understand that we were entering or exiting a space for this work.
After learning how to tap in, we described our green zones—those areas we are comfortable with others touching. Our partner listened, and followed up with their understanding of our red zones (places not to touch) based on the green zones we had described. Then we had the opportunity to correct any errors in their interpretation. It felt so empowering, having permission to draw boundaries and correct others who might have misinterpreted them. Even in this small exercise, I began to feel the power the Intimacy Director wields to protect everyone involved as teams work together to create compelling art.
Once we had a handle on partnering in this way, we were invited to walk through the space—all 80 of us—and when we made eye contact with someone, we were to ask permission for something physical. “May I give you a high five?” “May I give you a hug?” And whatever the person’s answer, we accepted it positively and continued. We got to practice having an offer rejected, as well as simply saying “no.”
I’ll admit it felt strange after decades of stifling my own boundaries for the sake of others’ comfort. But my goodness, this changes everything for the better. As a final challenge, Siobhan and Sam brought to our attention that sometimes a counter-offer to a rejected request may be outside the first partner’s comfort zone. The example used was: “May I boop your nose?” “No, but you can shove your finger up my nose!”
What do we do then, when we’ve asked for consent and the other person is comfortable with something outside of our own boundaries? We watched the experts communicate back and forth to find a solution, which was ultimately that Siobhan could bend her finger and press her knuckle against Sam’s nose, which created the visual of shoving her finger up her nose in a way that Siobhan was comfortable performing. Of course this was a silly example, but all of our gears were turning as it dawned on us what very serious negotiations this could represent in our work.
We ended the intimacy work on that note for the time being, tapped out of course, and moved to some sticky hands to get our bodies back into the combat world and shake off the heaviness. When Aidan and I joined Andrew and Valerie in our quarters afterward, Aidan taught them how to talk about green and red zones, and of course played a few rounds of sticky hands. I am hungry for more. Intimacy Direction and Coordination seems to be a lifelong study with a very urgent need in nearly every theatrical and film experience. I often teach my own students about the “kiss or kill zone,” when two individuals reach a certain distance at which they must either make love or fight. Those two aspects of the human experience, reached when words are not enough to express emotion, seem more intertwined now than ever.
