The Role of IC: Supporting Artists’ Boundaries.

When we started, most of the cast was concerned not about the choreographed kisses, but about working with a child. The child actor was not involved in any scenes dealing with physical intimacy, and neither the actor nor his mother, who was present, were concerned about the intimate scenes in the play or about my role as an IC in the production. Nonetheless, this is where the majority of the concern was centered; most of the cast and production team’s questions focused on communicating a story of queer love with a child actor present.

We started with a workshop and a conversation around consent and boundaries, and everyone was enthused. I outlined the ways in which we would work, and clarified that the child actor would not be present at rehearsals when we began choreographing intimacy or the removal of costumes. After rehearsal I found it difficult to leave, because so many of the actors wanted to share their previous experiences and how excited they were about the contrast in this process.

Choreographing intimacy with the two actors was a breeze. They were full of ideas, game to experiment with multiple ways of telling the story, and willing to clearly communicate boundaries and make space for care during the process. We set choreography that was lovely and tender with a touch of trepidation, and the actors and director were pleased with the resulting physical storytelling. One actor was effusive about the way that the physical storytelling supported his developing understanding of the character and the motivation behind his lines.

Then I got a call.

Maybe about a week later, the director called me, and gave me a heads up: one of the actors abruptly left rehearsal a few moments ago, and might reach out to me soon. The director stated that they were uncertain why the actor had left, but had a feeling they’d reach out to me.

The next day, the actor called.

They were flustered and upset. I walked them through some breath work, and then they were able to communicate clearly.

Their concern had—apparently—little to do with intimacy or my choreography. However, I believe it’s important for ICs to note this instance, because actors have boundaries that are not related to romantic performances, and those boundaries are absolutely as valid and as deserving of support as boundaries brought up while creating scenes that are sexual in nature.

The actor had left rehearsal the previous day, and did not feel safe returning today. When I asked why, they explained that in a terse scene, their scene partner had—without prior communication—slapped them, full force, across the face.

“My vision was blurry, he hit me so hard” the actor said, adding: “we have a fight choreographer to choreograph falls. If the director wants a slap, why isn’t that being planned and choreographed, too? The director keeps talking about consent with [the kissing scene, in which this actor was one of the romantic partners], why not with something like this?”

In this instance, improvised violent physical contact crossed this actor’s boundaries.Yet, the actor felt that this boundary had been violated and that the production team supported this violation. There had been no apology, no discussion, no acknowledgment from the other actors or the director that this person could continue in the process without future improvised touch of this sort.

In this instance, I called the director, and explained that improvised violent physical contact did not work for the actor’s boundaries. The director stated that they thought the two actors had discussed it prior to the scene, and that the director had put it in the daily notes (which get emailed to actors) that the scene “shouldn’t come to a physical fight” for future rehearsals.

The director asked for help. “How do I fix this?”

I supported the director—and both actors—through a process of apologizing, clarifying professional boundaries for the rehearsal space, and communicating clear steps moving forward to ensure no such harm recurred.

In this instance, I became more of a mediator than a choreographer, but this is within the work of an IC.

A boundary is a boundary. And when someone’s boundaries are violated, continuing to work in that setting can become unsustainable— even intolerable—especially if not addressed. And as an IC, my role is to help ensure that the rehearsal process utilizes consent-based practices, even when those consent-based performance techniques are not applied specifically to “intimacy” when defined as “romantic or sexual in nature.” Because being open and available to scene partners in a process is an intimate and vulnerable process. Acting is an intimate art form, and the role of an intimacy choreographer is to support actors who feel vulnerable by ensuring that their boundaries will be respected—throughout the whole process, not just in the “intimate” scenes.

In this instance, because the director had enmeshed my presence from the first read-through, the actor felt capable of reaching out to me when their boundaries were crossed,I was capable of supporting the process by clarifying boundaries and providing tools for moving forward.

It’s important, I think, for ICs to remember that we are there to support artists’ boundaries, not merely to create or own choreography.