Ita O’Brien

You’re an intimacy coordinator. What does that mean?
It means I’m a practitioner who brings a professional structure and choreography to intimate scenes, just like a choreographer would do to a dance or a stunt coordinator would do to a fight.

This is a relatively new profession. How does someone become qualified?
It is new. It’s completely mad that it’s new, because it’s the last bit of human physical storytelling left without a professional process. And of course, all the stories of actors feeling awkward or harassed or abused [are] just because it’s like, “You know what we want. Just do it.” Now, my journey to doing this job has been completely organic. I’m a musical theater professional, and I was doing a piece [with] a perpetrator and a victim. I was looking at what processes and principles I needed to put in place so I could create or explore this work in a really safe way. One of my colleagues in movement teaching said, “Please come and teach what you’re developing.” I ended up teaching this in drama schools since April 2015. The students were saying, “This is great in schools. What about in the profession?” So I gradually created the intimacy on-set guidelines. Then the Weinstein allegations happened, and the industry was ready to listen to what I’d been developing. I was able to say, “Within your codes of conduct, this is how you work with respect to intimate content.”

What’s your process like once you’re on-set?
It always starts from reading the script. Then the first thing is talking to the director, right? “What’s your vision? What’s your wishlist?” Then I say to the director, “You talk to the actors first.” Once the actors have spoken to the director, I’ll speak to [them] about what’s wanted. “What are you happy with? What are your requirements regarding nudity, regarding where you’re touched?” Very importantly, inviting the “positive no.” In the industry before, if an actor ever said “no,” they’re going to be [labeled] a “troublemaker” and would be frightened that their job would be at risk. So it’s flipping that, because I’m saying to the producers, “I want you to have an actor who can feel empowered and autonomous, so they’re free to give you the best of their talent.”

Fight coordinators pull from martial arts. Where does your choreography come from?
It depends on what the storytelling is of these characters. If it’s a queer male, I’ll be researching, reading books, asking people from that community to make sure the detail is right. A queer female has a very different journey, or [a character in] the trans community. You just do the research. And it’s also you doing the research of these characters. What is this situation? Who are they? As I say, it’s never “just a kiss.”

Michaela Coel said you were instrumental in filming I May Destroy You. What was it like working with her?
Oh, she was just truly astounding! I’d meet up with her for breakfast, we’d be chatting away, and then she goes, “Oh, hold on a minute. I’m going to a producers meeting,” and boom, she’s there. Then I see her on set, and she’s the actor. Then she’s finished her scenes, into her own clothes, [now] co-directing. She has incredible ease and incredible grace as a human being, but also that professionalism to jump into being present.

I May Destroy You was inspired by Michaela Coel’s own experience with sexual assault. Did that add extra pressure to your role?
Whenever I’m on a production, I recognize the idea of a risk assessment. Just as a stunt coordinator is going, “Okay, you’re going to have swords or jump through fire,” it’s the same with this… But while I can recognize perhaps that someone [has been] triggered, I don’t have those skills to support that, so I work with an artist wellbeing practitioner… That’s a big thing in situations like this, where [Michaela’s] written it as a person, then she’s playing the character of Arabella. Arabella isn’t Michaela. And [if you’re] making sure you’re keeping that distinction, then you’re able to offer up a place of wounding for art, so that it’s not therapy.