Even in tough times, impassioned artists are forming new Seattle theater troupes

You don't need to be a Nobel economist to know it's a tough time to launch a new business. Especially a business that, in the best of times, can be swimming in red ink.

But theater folk are an intrepid, impassioned breed. And in living rooms, rehearsal spaces and coffee shops, dedicated Seattle stage artists still can be found plotting out the new theater company of their dreams.

If they build it, will anyone come?

It's a crapshoot. But that doesn't prevent actors, playwrights and others from banding together and hanging out their marquee.

There are no hard statistics for how many fledgling drama groups emerge each year in the Puget Sound region. Judging from theater listings, a conservative estimate is at least a half dozen. And you can add that to more than 50 existing companies.

"I think the more the merrier, especially for people whose passion is its own compensation," says Andrew Fife, director of The Shunpike, an organization that provides fiscal sponsorship and other support to more than 40 emerging theater and dance troupes.

Fife has had a front-row seat to observe theaters rise and fail here — including such long-popular but now-defunct outfits as Empty Space and the Bathhouse. Yet he's optimistic about the new crop.

"We have an incredible creative community here," he declares, "and I really think our best days are ahead of us."

That said, Fife knows the obstacles that face new companies, on many fronts. Finding affordable rental space to mount shows. Attracting patrons who've never heard of you. Competing for audience, individual donations and civic grants with larger, more established companies (Seattle Rep, ACT Theatre, Intiman, Village, etc.), as well as other charities.

Yet it's a centuries-long tradition for theater people to plunge right in, contributing buckets of sweat equity to subsidize their dream teams. Seattle's cultural life prospers from their drive, talent and fervent idealism. Yet given the poor odds of earning even enough to cover their members' carfare, you can't help but wonder: Are these guys nuts?

We asked that of several new Seattle troupes and learned what it takes to get a new company up on its feet.

Theatre Machine

In many cases, young theater companies are started by eager-beaver drama students, fresh out of college. That's the model for Theatre Machine.

Formed by five 20-somethings (three of whom met studying theater at Seattle University), the outfit's first production, a short run of British playwright Caryl Churchill's "Vinegar Tom," is now playing at Stone Soup Theatre.

And while the Theatre Machine manager is jazzed about that, she's trying to be practical, too.

"I worked on a show last summer that made me realize, if that director can pull a group together then I can," says Suzannah Rogan, an earnest 25-year-old stage director and Seattle U alum. "So some of us got together and just said, 'We have something to offer that's different and fresh and we need to do it.' "

Ah, the audacity of hope. And what's that special something? "A stripped-down focus on the actor and the story of the play," Rogan says. In her view, too much theater fare is "more spectacle than real substance." With her equally idealistic colleagues, she wants to buck that trend with quality shows that "bring to light suffering and injustice in society."

For their first show, Theatre Machine chose the well-traveled 1976 script "Vinegar Tom," which has a strong feminist take on the 17th-century witch trials in Britain. Directed by Rogan, the piece (which runs through Saturday) is demanding: serious and irreverent, ironic and sincere, with nine songs and meaty roles for young actresses.

Selecting the script, analyzing and rehearsing it — that's the fun part. Finding a space was harder, but Theatre Machine managed to book a run at Stone Soup's 47-seat venue in Seattle's Wallingford neighborhood.

Rogan, the six-woman cast and everyone else involved have volunteered their time to the effort. But they needed a chunk of change also — mainly for rent, which is pricey in the wake of Seattle's upscale real-estate boom.

"The total budget for the show is roughly $2,300," reveals Rogan, who by day toils at a Starbucks. "Most of that has come from my personal savings and some supportive family and friends who've offered financial assistance to get us on our feet."

Do the math: If "Vinegar Tom" sells out its entire run at $15 per ticket, it will make money — but not much.

Rogan says her satisfaction isn't based on the balance sheet.

"We're starting out slow," she says. "We haven't planned a whole season or gotten too far ahead of ourselves. I think we're being very realistic."

Many fringe groups disband and scatter after mounting a single show. But while she hopes to keep Theatre Machine whirring along, Rogan isn't just shooting for high attendance or good reviews. "Ticket sales aren't necessarily a good judge of whether we're successful," she says. "What we want is for people to see the play and find it interesting enough to talk about it later. That would be the biggest measure of success."

Backwards Ensemble Theatre Company

This team of Cornish College of the Arts grads brings a level of enthusiasm similar to Theatre Machine — and encounters similar difficulties. But Backwards Ensemble Theatre Company sets an even higher bar for itself by doing entirely original plays with a quirky bent.

"People call us scrappy, because we kind of throw things together in a way that's fun to watch," says manager and writer-director Zac Eckstein. "We don't build huge sets. We focus on the actor and the text."

The post-collegiate quartet who founded Backwards hail from Texas, California, Florida and Seattle. All have day jobs (Eckstein works in the Cornish College scene shop). And all pitched in to pull off their first noncollege, full-length show in July, "On the Meditation of Man and Dinosaurs," written by the company's other Zachary, Zach Adair.

"It was this really crazy absurdist piece with T-Rex as the main character," Eckstein says. "It spoke to some social issues. But mainly it was just a big, entertaining thing starring the dinosaurs people love."

As with Theatre Machine, the bulk of the production budget ($2,500) went to renting a venue (Theatre Off Jackson), with only $600 spent on costumes and dinosaur makeup. Families and friends helped out with some cash.

Next up for Backwards is a December edition of Virgin Playwrights, its monthly play-reading series.

And the group is set to debut a second play, "Ode to Niobe," in January 2009. For a change of pace, this one is about an ancient queen of Thebes who picks a bloody fight with a Greek goddess.

Would Eckstein advise other young stage artists to crank up new fringe troupes in Seattle, despite the sacrifices and hard labor involved?

"I would — if they're willing to create their own career. The bad economy could, perversely, be good for groups like ours if rents go down. And in terms of economic stability, we're not really scared. We're already the lowest common denominator."

New Century Theatre

Not only 20-somethings are forming theaters.

Longtime professional actors Paul Morgan Stetler and Amy Thone perform at the biggest theaters in town — Seattle Rep, ACT, Seattle Children's Theatre, et al. They've also taught acting, and done theater-administrative work.

But these busy, seasoned stage veterans made time to join nine of their colleagues and create another ambitious company, the New Century Theatre, from scratch. Their motive is twofold: to give the city another theater that pays artists a living wage; and to pursue ensemble projects that excite them, like their inaugural show "The Adding Machine," opening Thursday at ACT's Falls Theatre.

"It all began with a typical late-night, alcohol-fueled actors' conversation," reports Thone."We felt like we were in the middle of this shrinking-theater molecule, watching Empty Space and other mid-level theaters close."

"We're not fringe actors or kids just out of college," adds Stetler, who recent performed in "Eurydice" at ACT Theatre. "We've seen a lot of theaters go under since the early 1990s, but no new theaters coming up on the professional level. It was time to take stock and inject a jolt of adrenaline into the scene."

His feelings are shared by other New Centurians — most of them respected local actors in their 30s (e.g. Ray Gonzalez, Thone's husband Hans Altwies, Darragh Kennan), many with families to support.

"We love the bigger theaters, and they've been unbelievably supportive to us," Stetler notes. "But this is about bringing in a new voice. It's about getting some work out there that's edgier and riskier than what's already being done."

Pledging in their press material to "produce timely, vital stories that will reconnect Seattle audiences to the transcendent power of live performance," New Century scheduled an unusually lengthy rehearsal period for "The Adding Machine."

Thone notes that most pro companies only allow three to four weeks to rehearse, and it's often not enough. "We've taken more time, and we also have been in a lot of shows together, so there's this rapport that helps us dig deeper."

For their first splash, New Century Theatre wants a "blow out," Stetler says. They decided on "Adding Machine," Elmer Rice's 1923 expressionist classic about the mechanization and dehumanization of the workplace, for its current resonance. Inventive California director John Langs is staging the piece, and the whole shebang will cost $55,000.

That budget, suggests Stetler, "is about a sixth of what it would cost ACT to do this," in part because New Century worked out a contract with the Actors Equity union to pay the actors more modestly.

Still, that's a lot of bread for low-income stage folk to raise. "We've done e-mail appeals, yard sales, keggers, you name it, and received tremendous support," says Thone. So far 300 people have pitched in about $40,000. But there's more to be raised, in a difficult moment to be passing the hat.

"When we started, who knew this terrible economy would hit us?" Stetler says. "But all the best theater comes out of economic hard times. Our feeling is, the doors just keep opening to us. And unless they firmly close, why not keep walking through them?"

Misha Berson: mberson@seattletimes.com