It was the first time I'd ever been downstairs at ACT, and I marveled at the splendor of the physical plant: a massive old building in the heart of downtown; four thoroughly modern stages; a cavernous warren of rehearsal studios, offices, and dressing rooms. I couldn't help noting how impressive (and expensive) everything looked--the lights, the photos on the wall, even the actors. As I walked the long corridors, I was struck by two questions: How much did this place cost to run, and how the hell can a theater company afford to run it?
Recent news has uncovered the answers to both of these questions: The place cost far more than anyone imagined, and a theater couldn't afford to run it. The Seattle Times reports that ACT is $1.7 million in debt and, with $3,000 in the bank, facing an almost certain demise. If an "angel" doesn't step forward with a $1.5 million check, ACT is history. Arts people are expected to react to the news of a theater closing with alarm. Another closing. Another theater falling victim to the unforgiving economy of large-scale arts funding in the early 21st century. Isn't it a pity?
But is it?
Founded in 1965, ACT quickly attracted a significant local audience, and funding to match it. Thirty-one years after its debut, the company moved into the multimillion-dollar downtown edifice that proved to be its downfall. Somewhere in between, the company's focus shifted away from keeping Seattle audiences "intimately involved with new theatre," and toward filling its seats with as many middlebrow butts as possible.
Certainly, it's unfortunate when a theater like ACT closes, considering the number of people it employs. And arts boosters are quick to lament the passing of any arts organization, on the grounds that art must be protected from the vicissitudes of the modern world, with its unfair emphasis on corporate growth and consumerism. We must protect those noble souls who dedicate their lives to the pursuit of creation. And we must mourn when a prominent workshop for such creation goes under--it's a death in the family. That's all fine, of course, until you ask what kind of family lives in a house it can't possibly hope to pay off. A Contemporary Theatre isn't dying because people aren't interested in the contemporary theater it makes--according to the Seattle Times story, ACT sold about 120,000 tickets and 9,000 subscriptions last year; there's no apparent shortage of middlebrow butts in Seattle. No, ACT is dying because it was run more like a 1998 tech company than a theater. Theater is a tough sell in the year 2003, and ACT's current business model--a $30 million building, a $6 million budget, high-priced out-of-town talent, etc.--is completely out of touch with the reality of ACT's increasingly irrelevant product.
ACT is dying because it emphasized corporate growth and, judging from the facility, obscene levels of consumerism. Not to put too fine a point on the matter, but if you can't run a successful theater with the kind of numbers they've had, you really have no business running one. (Speaking of numbers, consider another recent independent-theater upgrade: New York's Roundabout Theatre, also founded in 1965, moved to Broadway around the same time ACT moved downtown, renovating a 740-seat proscenium theater in the middle of Times Square, at a cost of $24 million. That's $6 million less than ACT spent.)
Which brings us back to The Education of Randy Newman. The show, which featured dozens of great songs, written by an important but eccentric American composer, was an embarrassment. A vaguely intriguing idea was unmade by wishful thinking, corny staging, false performances, massive expenditure, and poor execution. As I watched the excruciating spectacle of Newman's songs being mangled, I was outraged--all this money spent on a piece of lightweight fan art that degraded its own source material, to say nothing of its audience. I couldn't help but think of all the good theater that gets made on the cheap in this town, against all odds, and without the backing of major sponsors. As the evening ground on, I found myself praying for the demise of ACT. Now that it's closing, I find myself unable to find the situation sad. Seattle won't miss another outlet for overpriced, mediocre theater that exists only to justify its own resources. After all, we've still got the Intiman.
