Aimee Kuge is a Japanese-American independent filmmaker with a passion for crafting thought-provoking horror films that explore the human experience. Her diverse credits include writing, directing, and producing Cannibal Mukbang, which is out now on VOD, co-producing Black Eyed Susan, and serving as a story producer for MTV’s Teen Mom franchise. Aimee holds a BFA in Filmmaking and a BA in Studio Art from the University of Colorado at Boulder. Currently based in New York and New Jersey, she continues to push creative boundaries in her storytelling. (Photo by Eva Tusquets.)
I suggest that, for maximum erotic fun, you listen to the following exclusive tracks while reading this piece. The music was created by Mitch Bain, sampling dialogue tracks from my new movie, Cannibal Mukbang, which is out now VOD and coming to Blu-ray on April 22 from Jackrabbit Media.
It’s August 19, 2022, and I’m pacing back and forth in the basement of a secret location in Bergen County, New Jersey. The room is bathed in bisexual pink and blue lights, like those of one of my favorite Stuart Gordon movies, From Beyond. There’s a stainless-steel industrial chef table placed in the center of the plastic cocoon my art team has crafted. It’s a big shoot day for Cannibal Mukbang, a day I have prepped arguably the most for throughout this entire process.
My two lead actors, April Consalo and Nate Wise, enter the basement wearing lightweight robes, half-full water bottles in hand. We greet each other, hugging, smiling and engaging in small talk. We’re all a little loopy from the 12-hour overnights and quick pace of the shoot. I look around at my cast and crew and put on an enthusiastic smile: “Everyone feelin’ OK?” You could cut the tension in the air with a butter knife. We all know what’s coming.
Fast forward to June 27, 2024, the day Letterboxd user Graham Joey reviews Cannibal Mukbang, which has been on the festival circuit for eight months. Joey’s review read, “There’s a lot of good kissing in this. Rare.” Why did this review hit me so hard and feel like such a compliment? I guess I’m a sucker for a steamy on-screen kiss, but this question got me thinking – how rare is “good kissing” in film?
Kissing was first seen on screen when Thomas Edison featured actors May Irwin and John Rice in a short film called The May Irwin Kiss in 1896. We’ve seen smooches throughout the decades, as countless characters – old, young and everything in between – have locked lips in the movies.
One of the first on-screen kisses I personally remember was between Winona Ryder and Gary Oldman in Francis Ford Coppola’s 1992 film, Bram Stoker’s Dracula. There was so much built-up tension. You could feel Dracula’s decades of lust bubbling just under the surface of his human façade, ready to burst at any tremble of Mina/Elisabeta’s lips. Even as a kid watching these intimate scenes through my mom’s fingers, as she tried to shield me from any whisper of sex, I knew this mix of horror and romance was downright powerful. But I didn’t fully understand why.
Flash forward to Christmas 2024, watching a double feature of Halina Reijn’s Babygirl and Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu (affectionately dubbed Babyratu by my friend group). Both films presented examples of unconventional relationships and power dynamics, all of which were clearly communicated through unique sex scenes that not only helped move their respective plots forward, but were also undeniably hot.
So, rewinding here a bit: what makes a good movie kiss? This is subjective, of course, but in my humble opinion, what makes a kiss “good” is its ability to effortlessly communicate deeply personal information about the characters sharing it. All the examples I’ve presented have characters whose tensions, turn-ons, motives and flaws transform and progress throughout the film, one lip-lock at a time.
On the other side of the spectrum, nothing snaps me out of the world of a film faster than a bad kiss with zero chemistry. I’m not going to name any names, but we’ve all seen it. Those sex scenes where we’re supposed to believe two characters who clearly want nothing to do with each other go from zero to climax in the span of a few clumsy, rushed pecks and thrusts – and, if we’re lucky, a little bit of tongue thrown in.
Where is the root of the poor chemistry? Does it start on paper, when the screenplay is being written? What about in casting? Maybe the actors had no time to rehearse? Would an intimacy coordinator have helped?
The role of intimacy coordinator is still relatively new to the film industry, gaining prominence around 2017 with the #MeToo movement. Lately, there has been some controversy surrounding intimacy coordinators. Films like Sean Baker’s Anora have proudly touted their absence, while other productions, like Babygirl and Nosferatu, state that they are helpful and necessary on-set roles. Gwyneth Paltrow, while talking about her new role in Josh Safdie’s upcoming Marty Supreme, told Variety that when the film’s intimacy coordinator tried to check she was OK with a certain aspect of the scene, she said to her, “Girl, I’m from the era where you get naked, you get in bed, the camera’s on.”
I know very well that I am operating on an entirely different level than the productions I’ve listed in this article. Cannibal Mukbang is my directorial debut. It’s truly indie, filmed in 14 principal photography days and six pick-up days, with no A-list actors or big studios involved. Despite these limitations, when I had the chance to produce and direct it, I knew I wanted to be as prepared as possible to avoid any awkward moments like Gwyneth’s “get naked, get in bed, the camera’s on” experience.
Do I believe hiring intimacy coordinators is necessary in 2025? If you’re able to, yes – of course, yes! Are there exceptions? Unfortunately, yes, but the only truly valid reason, in my opinion, is that oftentimes productions simply can’t afford to hire another role on set, especially at the micro-budget/indie level. I also understand that some filmmakers feel that having an intimacy coordinator “spoils spontaneity” and makes actors feel like their creativity and craft are being undermined. In all these situations, I believe that communication between the talent, director, producers and crew needs to be crystal clear, which in some cases it is — and things move smoothly.
So, let’s return to August 19, 2022. This time, we’ve finished filming a very passionate and vulnerable sex scene in Cannibal Mukbang, which writer and film critic Lisa Laman would later cite in her Collider piece titled Sex Is Back in Movies – But It’s Different:
With this shift in cinematic influences comes a shift in the kind of cinema dominating the culture. A new generation of directors was inspired by movies that recognized how beautiful and exciting sexual intimacy is in cinema … these 2020s voices aren’t afraid of sex. They embrace this aspect of reality in their cinematic exploits.”
I don’t want to be afraid of filming sex scenes. I don’t want good kissing in film to be rare. That’s why I hired an intimacy coordinator, Kennedy G. Murray, on Cannibal Mukbang. Authentic intimacy on screen isn’t just about capturing the spark between characters – it’s about creating an environment where actors feel safe and supported enough to explore their craft fully.
I hope that in the future, intimacy coordinators aren’t just seen as a luxury for big-budget productions. As filmmakers, we have a responsibility to prioritize safety, especially when exploring vulnerable moments like love, desire and connection. When these moments are handled with care, the results can be electrifying, elevating a story and creating scenes that resonate deeply with audiences.
If we want to ensure that good kisses – and good intimacy – are no longer a rarity on screen, then the role of intimacy coordinators must continue to evolve and expand in the industry. By embracing these roles, we can pave the way for more daring and honest storytelling while honoring the boundaries and well-being of everyone involved.
Intimacy isn’t just worth capturing on film – it’s also worth protecting.
