The Economics of Theater, Part III: Theater Companies

Once, there was only Broadway.

This is not true.  But it is a commonly believed untruth, and a convenient starting point.  Of course, there has always been something besides Broadway, even in its earliest days.  But.  Essentially.

Once, there was only Broadway.

Slowly, a new movement formed, a movement for less traditional, more alternative theater.  The movement grew.  It called itself Off-Broadway.

Those shows were less attended, and less press paid attention, but some did.  Enough.  And the people who did the work grew their theaters, though grants and patronage and box office, so that a core group could make a salary for their work. They became institutions.  Like all institutions, they tried to emulate their own successes. 

Others saw those institutions and rejected what they stood for. Slowly, a new movement formed, a movement for less traditional, more alternative theater.  The movement grew.  It called itself Off-Off-Broadway.

Those shows were less attended, and less press paid attention, but some did.  Enough.  And the people who did the work grew their theaters, though grants and patronage and box office, so that a core group could make a salary for their work. They became institutions.  Like all institutions, they tried to emulate their own successes. 

A new generation arrived, and it saw huge commercial theater on Broadway.  It saw non profit institutions as well that had grown large enough to also be on Broadway.  It saw other large institutions that were the bulk of Off-Broadway.  And it saw institutions, mostly set up during the 60’s wonderful companies like LaMama or P. S. 122 or the Wooster Group or the Ontological.

Slowly, it grew other institutions, which crowded in besides the old.  HERE managed to add itself to the mix  Soho Rep.  The Ohio.  Tiny theaters smaller than the other institutions that still managed to work at least a few salaries out.

But people kept coming.  And the city was crowded.

Even smaller theaters appeared, sometimes just to disappear.  Nada.  Collective Unconscious.  The Present Company.

The Present Company still exists of course, in theory.  But it has, in essence, disappeared into the behemoth of its own making, the New York Fringe Festival.  Which in itself created a model for how a modern theater company could find a way to pay its administrative staff.  By grouping hundreds of smaller theater companies under one giant umbrella.

And still more theaters appeared.  But now there was Broadway.  There was Off-Broadway.  There were the Off-Off-Broadway institutions.  There were festivals. 

How can a new theater get noticed, among all that?  How can it get press attention? How can it get grants?

How, essentially, can it make the money to at the very least pay the people spending their lives running it.

And really, with all the other theater going on, is it even needed?  I barely have the time or money to keep up with a fraction of the theater I want to see, and it’s my passion.  Maybe there’s just too much.  Too many plays I can’t see.  Too many books I can’t read.  Too many art exhibits I can’t attend.  Too many artists.  Period. 

Rocco Landesman said recently that there was a supply and demand problem.  He’s right, of course, though his statement that there are 5.7 million administrators and only 2 million artists is insane, of course. 

What he may have meant is, only 2 million that seem to be able to make any money at it, just as pure artists.

But there is a supply and demand problem.  Too much theater.  Too few audience members.  No wonder it’s so hard to make a living.  EVERYONE ELSE, GO AWAY!

Even in the mythical utopia we know as “Europe” this is a problem.  But in the American reality, and in particular in New York, it has gone out of control. 

And yet…we don’t go away.  Because somewhere in the midst of this mass of work, many somewheres, multiple times over, good and important work is being created.  Important only if you accept the premise that art is important, that theater is important, that creation and thought expressed on stage makes us, as individuals and society, better in some way.  Helps our ideas evolve.  Fulfills one of our most primal instincts, for I do believe that drama is a basic, ancient instinct, and that from those dramatic enactments have sprung humanity’s greatest social and moral advances.

And if you believe that, as I am cursed to, then you can’t go away.  Not if you believe you have something you must contribute to that conversation.

I have run my theater company for almost 20 years now.  In about a year and a half, it will be the 20^th anniversary of our first show, which I produced immediately out of college.

I should be excited about that fact.  I am told that it is a milestone to be proud of.  But I also dread it.

Because we should have a bigger budget.  We should be getting more grants.  We should be bigger.  I should be paid a full salary.

Sometimes, I feel as though I have failed. When Havel flew my to the Czech Republic this summer and I met theater artist after theater artist and he praised me and talked about my theater company and my work, I smiled and thought, if only you know.  It’s a house of cards.  It’s a sham.  It’s something I made up, and it’s only real because I pretend that it’s real, and a few people, actors, designers, The New York Times, they all pretend with me.

And yet…we are getting grants.  And we seem to keep getting a little more each year, despite the economy.  We seem to be recognized a little more each year.  Really, I didn’t devote my time in full to the theater company until 2001, the year of our Ionesco Festival.  And since then our budget has increased, we have received a lot more press, and I would even say the overall quality of our work has consistently improved.

Or at least we’ve had a little more money to realize our dreams.

And it is doable.  Despite all the other theaters, I do see, somewhere, the bright and shiny possibility.  Or maybe because of them, because I realize that some of the companies that I work with, side by side, are able to get just a little more funding.  Not much more.  But enough.

In another business, those people would be enormously wealthy.  The top of their profession.  Which means, in theater, they get by.

Getting to that level of funding will mean more time devoted to grant writing, and, ironically, probably less time devoted to art.   That is the conundrum of running a theater company.  Sometimes it feels as if you can either make good work or fund good work, but not both.

It helps when you have some people helping out, and recently, I’ve had that too.  Board members.  My friend and fellow theater delusional Patrice Miller.

And if I can just find the time to write all the grants, put together all the shows, do all the accounting, solicit all the donors, then I do think that I may be able to reach that point.

I am quite sure we are able to do impressive work with people who are impressive artists.  And yes, in magical “Europe,” money would already be flowing.

Now if only I didn’t also need to look for a little money on the side…

Oh Europe, oh Europe.  How I love the utopian vision I have created for myself about you.