Book Review: Directing Desire: Intimacy Choreography and Consent in the Twenty-First Century, by Kari Barclay

by Emily Edwards

Directing Desire: Intimacy Choreography and Consent in the Twenty-First Century educates its readers on the founding principles and practice of intimacy coordination. It prioritizes stories told by queer, BIPOC and feminine-presenting people as case studies to discuss these principles. Directing Desire works to explain and define any intimacy coordination specific vocabulary to its readers, making it easily accessible for those not familiar with intimacy coordination practices. One example arises early in the book, when Barclay examines “The Limits of Consent” (Barclay 2023, 6) in their first chapter. A new reader at first glance may wonder how consent could be limited, and not at first recognize it is a principle that requires nuance. But, as Barclay lays out first in this chapter and then throughout the book, consent is used beyond its legal terminology within intimacy choreography, reaching “further values like communication, equity and narrative complexity” (Barclay 2023, 8). 

In the second chapter, the author begins with the history of intimacy coordination which helps contextualize and demystify the practice. This history recognizes the practices that came before, while also acknowledging the impact of the 2017 #MeToo movement on intimacy choreography. It takes note of the theatrical practices with which intimacy coordination finds its roots, including fight choreography, movement directing, Black theatre practices and sex and relationship therapy. The third chapter offers a case study of the Alice Birch play Revolt She Said. Again. Revolt. Pulling from the concepts of the male gaze and the structures of desire introduced at the beginning of the chapter, Barclay examines the phrasing of dialogue and objectives of characters within a given scene. In doing this, Barclay models how to analyze scripts with sexual content.

In the fourth chapter, Barclay uses a case study of the play Intimacy by Thomas Bradshaw. The author brings up the use of prosthetics and stage props to simulate sex acts within the play, which creates a physical then mental barrier for the actors. In the same way that Intimacy uses prosthetics to create a divide between the erotic narrative and the actor’s body, the intimacy choreographer works to create a divide for the actor and character. They accomplish this with “Intimacy Kit[s]” (Barclay 2023, 106). The author lays out what most intimacy kits include, notably things that serve the actor’s physical body (pasties, modesty garments, knee pads) and things that can serve an actor’s state of mind (tea, chocolate, mints). The kits and what they provide are “part of crafting a divide between performer and character” (Barclay 2023, 107), an essential part of an intimacy choreographer's labor. Within that, however, Barclay notes that we do not exist in a vacuum, and the bodies of both actor and audience come with histories and traumas of their own.

Expanding upon this, Barclay begins the fifth chapter bringing up how a performer’s presence onstage “is always shaped by histories and audience perceptions that can be beyond a creative team's control” (Barclay 2023, 115). Barclay acknowledges an overrepresentation of white intimacy choreographers and mentions two organizations, who at this time of writing and according to their webpages are working to create more opportunity for more a diverse intimacy choreography community. Intimacy Directors and Coordinators are the first mentioned, and they offer free resources to anyone interested in intimacy choreography. Theatrical Intimacy Education is the second, and they offer scholarships to BIPOC artists for their workshops. To first study the power play essential to race conscious practices, Barclay analyzes the play Daddy by Jeremey O. Harris. Barclay examines the father-child role-play and how the power dynamics shift in Daddy. Barclay acknowledges, however, that the rehearsal room is not always as fluid in its power dynamics as it can be in role-play. In Harris’s Slave Play, role-play is used to understand and work through race trauma and address the complex relationship between sex and race. While intimacy choreography is not a means of working through trauma, it “can attempt to coexist with trauma and create space in theatrical performance for those whose trauma is not entirely healed” (Barclay 2023, 138-139). Just as the plays Daddy and Slave Play introduce a means for a conversation about the intersection of race trauma and sex, intimacy choreography can create space for actors with trauma. Not to heal it, but to acknowledge it. Holding space for trauma in the rehearsal room and in performances helps the actor, audience, and the director cultivate safe spaces where these hard to discuss topics can take place. 

Barclay then questions what the possible future of intimacy choreography might look like, starting with the role of consent in immersive theatre. Barclay creates a case study of Sleep No More, which “attempts to incorporate chosen moments of consent and unchosen moments of surprise” (Barclay 2023, 148). Sleep No More does not just create environments of vulnerability; it also encourages audiences to seek out experiences by interacting with the actors and performance spaces, rather than each other. The question of consent within immersive theatre gets complicated here; how can one do it? Barclay suggests an actor-audience contract that “include[s] but [is] not limited to consent” (Barclay 2023, 170). It is within the kept boundaries of a contract that both actor and audience can remain engaged in a performance. 

In the final chapter, Barclay uses a case study of an episode from HBO’s High Maintenance to highlight the similarities between those on the asexuality spectrum and the labor of intimacy choreographers which further the point of depersonalizing intimacy. Finally, Barclay maintains that all involved in the artistic practice should take part in creating an equitable space for intimacy, so from director to audience member, we may “feel together” (Barclay 2023, 184).Advertised as exploring the “rise of consent-based and trauma-informed approaches” (Kari-Barclay.com), Directing Desire does just that. With only 184 pages, there is more to be said about this emerging academic field, but the book offers some historical context and demonstrates an understanding of the world surrounding intimacy choreography. Aiming to appeal to practitioners and scholars alike, the book uses contemporary case studies to illustrate theories and concepts of consent-based performance. This is incredibly ambitious, considering the introduction of six different theories throughout the book. 

This book is of great use to individuals studying theory about intimacy choreography who already have intermediate understanding of the field. For an individual only beginning to study intimacy, Directing Desire could prove challenging. For myself, even though Barclay lays out the argument at the beginning of each chapter, I quickly and easily found myself lost within the narrative of the case studies. However, after several re-reads, I walked away with more knowledge of what intimacy choreography has been and a greater understanding of the theory surrounding it. For example: Barclay's discussion of the complications of consent within an immersive performance build upon Villarreal’s Unscripted Intimacies and invited me to think on the value of consent within an improvised performance, and perhaps what tools for consent-based and trauma-informed improvisational theatre might look like.

Footnotes and references available in the PDF