Olivia Hussey and Leonard Whiting’s lawsuit against Paramount for child abuse in Franco Zeffirelli’s 1968 film adaptation of Romeo and Juliet highlights the myriad complexities involved in filming intimate scenes. Thanks to modern legislation on child sexual abuse, 55 years on some of the issues raised in this case are no longer risks; but many dangers remain in the television and film sector today. I have worked in the industry for almost as long as an intimacy coordinator can have, given that the role officially originated in 2017. In that time, I’ve choreographed a wide range of intimate scenes – from sci-fi orgies to medieval childbirth. I’ve worked with child actors (who are defined in the UK as those under school leaving age) in scenes where consent and boundaries are needed, for example where children are cuddled or kissed by adult actors playing their parents. Ensuring informed consent when working with an underaged actor is morally ambiguous at best, but there are some hard lines. Child actors cannot legally consent for themselves, nor can they legally perform nude on camera, especially not in a sexual context. Hussey and Whiting were 15 and 16, respectively, when they were filmed naked in Zeffirelli’s classic, ages that would exclude them from the same situation today. A child actor may be made aware of the full context of a scene or they may not be – depending on their age, parent/guardian’s guidance, and the recommendations of a child psychologist. Consent of a parent/guardian is always required, but depending on the age and maturity of a young actor, they may have a limited ability to understand what they are being asked to do, or the potential consequences of their performance living on in perpetuity. Even for adult actors who consent to onscreen nudity or simulated sex, there are complications. How can we be fully confident any actor won’t feel differently about their performance a day, a week or even 50 years down the line? The short answer: there are no guarantees. Part of the intimacy coordinator’s role is to help mitigate this risk as much as possible – not only to protect the actor, but to protect the production’s liability as well. Establishing clear, transparent communication around intimate content early in production is paramount. Ideally, an intimacy coordinator is brought on prior to the casting process, helping ensure that any actor accepting a role with scripted intimacy is doing so from a place of informed consent from the very start. However, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been hired to aid in a casting process this way. In the case of Hussey and Whiting, it appears that in early conversations they were assured that they would not have to perform nude. Later in the shoot, Zeffirelli reportedly changed his mind. Here is where fraught dynamics embedded in the industry continue to permeate and create risk. Often, a director or producer will emphasise that they’ve spoken with an actor who is “fine” or “totally chill” about intimate content, but when the actor has the opportunity to speak with me, they may express significantly different comfort levels. Even with the best of intentions or the most trusting working relationship, the implicit power held by someone well-connected with reverential status who is perceived as a gatekeeper to a notoriously impenetrable industry – and who may have hiring and firing power over an actor who has probably jumped through countless hoops just to get in the room – is undeniable.The most frequent mishandlings of intimacy by productions seem to arise when time pressures and last-minute changes come into play. The job of a producer is to make a project achievable, however they can. The entire production team is composed of creative problem solvers, masters of the quick pivot. However, when these last-minute changes affect the timing or content of an intimate scene, this time pressure is suddenly transferred to an actor and their boundaries. Often it is presented as though there is no other option, no possible solution besides a change to the intimate scene. Productions can make this feel like a monolithic pressure for an actor – or even an intimacy coordinator – to push back on. Despite huge strides made in our understanding of consent, trauma and power since the Weinstein scandal and rise of #MeToo, the TV and film industry remains reluctant to change in some key ways. Many professionals still fail to see why the risks of psychological injury on set deserve the same attention as the risks of physical injury. For actors, who rely on their emotional capacity to do their jobs, a psychological trauma on set can be career-ending (see Last Tango in Paris for a harrowing example). We are going to have to learn to not only change the way we think and talk about consent, but consider what compromises we are willing to make to ensure it is maintained. In the US, Screen Actors Guild contracts are governed by a 48-hour rule: any changes to the content or scope of an intimate scene need to be submitted to an actor’s agent at least 48 hours in advance of filming. This is not yet a legal requirement in the UK, though it is generally considered best practice. I look forward to best practice becoming typical practice. Even with improved legislation, Hollywood has a power problem, and cases like Hussey and Whiting’s remind us that this is nothing new. Unfortunately, it is not, yet, entirely old either. The solution is not only for productions to hire specialists like intimacy coordinators (and access coordinators, and wellbeing coordinators), but to listen and consistently implement their expertise, instead of enlisting them solely as a tick-box exercise. As an industry we need to demonstrate our true willingness to upend some of the longstanding traditions of unhealthy working environments once affectionately written off as “showbiz, baby!”. Adelaide Waldrop is a London-based intimacy coordinator, theatremaker and director