Fringe Friendly -- Alternative Troupes Are Popping Up All Over Seattle, Dramatically Changing The Theater Landscape

Two years ago, a young stage director named Douglas Hunt migrated to Seattle from New Mexico, brimming with hopes and ambitions.

Hunt had heard the nationwide buzz that Seattle is a happening place for alternative theater. So together with three fellow drama grads from Williams College in Massachusetts, he moved here to form a company and test the waters.

Their new Theater Schmeater presented its first venture (a modernized, no-budget version of a Greek tragedy) outdoors on a grassy knoll in Gasworks Park. Heartened by the response, Hunt and his cohorts "went walking up and down the streets of Capitol Hill, looking at spaces, calling landlords and trying to talk them into free rent."

As they quickly found out, there is no free rent. But they did secure a former garage in the basement of Brocklind's Costume Shop for $500 a month. Theater Schmeater moved in and hung out its marquee soon after.

Slight variations on Hunt's story are echoed by scores of other self-starting artists who are turning Seattle into an alternative-theater mecca. Like seeds scattered on fecund soil, their fledgling ensembles have taken root throughout the city - especially in the lively enclaves of Capitol Hill, Pioneer Square and Belltown, where storefronts and basements still can be had for cheap, and where youthful audiences in search of low-cost, audacious live entertainment congregate nightly.

What distinguishes a fringe theater from a more established Seattle house of drama? Several telltale factors, with a stress on economics.

Most fringe companies can afford to pay actors little (up to $100 for a six-week run) or nothing for their labors, as opposed to the living wages offered by the Seattle Repertory Theatre, A Contemporary Theatre, Empty Space, and other fully unionized, well-supported playhouses.

But fringe patrons get a break: tickets are usually $7 to $10, compared with $10 to $25 at "major" theaters.

Fringe venues also are usually smaller (40 to 100 people constitute a full house) and boast fewer amenities. The seating is non-plush, the dressing rooms are makeshift, the bathrooms basic. Don't expect opulent sets or props. And the costumes often come from local thrift shops.

But what you first see isn't all you get. The caliber of acting at the most popular venues - New Mercury, Annex, AHA! Theatre, Velvet Elvis Arts Lounge, and others - is often surprisingly high. And the performers radiate an exuberance and maverick brio that makes theatergoers feel as though they're in on something exciting and special - like shuttle astronauts off to scout a brave new planet.

"We attract an audience who want to be challenged and surprised," declares James Marsters, who with his wife, Liane, runs the New Mercury, a loft arena near Pioneer Square.

Rm. 608 director Matthew Richter brashly claims that fringe fodder "is a lot more immediate, a lot more raw, and a helluva lot more exciting than what you see at most of the larger theaters."

But the folks running the bigger establishments also can appreciate the charms of their renegade competitors. And most agree with ACT founder Gregory Falls' much-quoted remark that theaters, like grapes, grow best in bunches.

"The more chances people get to perform for an audience, the better for us all, because they're practicing their art form and perfecting their craft," says John Kazanjian, director of one of the hardiest and oldest fringe venues, New City Theatre.

ACT's interim artistic director Steve Alter says he likes visiting the fringe "for the same reasons I like seeing the Everett Giants sometimes instead of the Mariners.

"You've got these kids on the team who may never make it to the big leagues, but they play their asses off. They swing hard, dive for balls, take risks. The enthusiasm and energy can be wonderful."

How many fringe troupes exist in Seattle today? Impossible to say, given the anarchic nature and volatility of the scene.

The League of Fringe Theatres lists 45 member companies. LOFT chairperson and Music Theatre Workshop director Tammis Doyle estimates there are at least a dozen additional groups.

Many new faces in town

The upcoming 1994 Seattle Fringe Theatre Festival will feature 77 companies - 65 of them local, notes festival director Gretchen Johnston. The event, which runs March 3-13, is the fourth annual presentation, and the most prolific yet.

"Two-thirds of the companies this year are new to me," Johnston reports, "and a lot of them are people who just moved to Seattle. In fact, last year we had some out-of-town groups come for the festival, and decide right then to settle here."

Fresh recruits are indeed arriving from across the U.S. - eager gangs of actors right out of school, as well as slightly older, more experienced performer-directors such as the 31-year-old Marsters, who relocated from Chicago in 1990.

Another growth gauge: the rising number of hopefuls who show up at the annual acting auditions sponsored by LOFT.

"Last time we saw 150 actors over a weekend," says Doyle. "But we probably turned as many away for lack of space."

Allison Narver, artistic head of the long-running Annex, says she sometimes wonders: "Can we really absorb another 500 actors in Seattle? But I won't discourage people from moving here. Selfishly, I'm excited by all the new talent that's arriving."

That widening pool of gung-ho performers - some with theater degrees from Yale, Rutgers and other prestigious institutions - has been most responsible for the explosion of Seattle's underground drama. But the phenomenon also owes much to the fecund local theater culture initiated by the Seattle Rep and ACT, and by the wave of "middle-tier" professional companies (Group Theatre, Empty Space Theatre, Intiman Theatre) that followed on their heels.

Seattle's expanding audiences and busy theaters drew migratory young actors here like hummingbirds to nectar. So did the grunge rock scene, which gave the city an added aura of rowdy hipness.

But they learn on arrival that paid acting jobs are limited and competition for them keen. Thanks to fairly reasonable rents, and a game audience willing to sample many styles of drama, newcomers often stay on to open their own shops alongside the more established fringe institutions.

Aesthetically these alternative companies run the gamut. At Theater Schmeater you'll find a classic Russian comedy by Gogol, and late-night staged episodes of TV's old "Twilight Zone" series.

The New Mercury and AHA! offer a mulligatawny stew of obscure older dramas and up-to-the-moment recent ones. Seattle Public Theatre emphasizes interactive plays with political themes, the Jane Doe Ensemble presents work by Northwest women writers, Brown Bag Theatre serves up lunchtime one-acts, and the Music Theatre Workshop focuses on contemporary musicals. Under-represented, though, are works by and featuring minority artists.

Kathy Hsieh of the sturdy Northwest Asian American Theatre (an exception to the rule) believes that "many non-white actors are busy just trying to get their foot in the door, and some training. They often don't have enough experience yet to start their own companies."

But Hsieh points out that in addition to long-established theaters like hers or the unionized Group Theatre at Seattle Center, new multi-cultural fringe troupes are slowly emerging - like the Politically Correct Theatre, Valley Productions and Repertory Actors Workshops.

Another weakness: Seattle's fringe has not yet yielded the substantial crop of exciting new plays or daring experimental ventures one should expect from the cutting edge.

Only a few of the original works seen at the Fringe Festival and venues like New City, Annex and Rm. 608 have gone on to an extended life - including a searing solo piece by Kristin Kosmas. But in theater, quantity begets quality, and it can take bushels of dross (and years of trial and error) to yield gold.

That's why new playwright workshops are forming around town, and why Rm. 608 hosts Idiot Wind, a monthly open forum for trying out new works.

"It's always a wild night, because I have no idea what's going to happen," Richter says.

"Everyone gets nine minutes onstage. It's a no-risk deal because the audience comes in with no expectations. Usually you get three or four of the worst things you've ever seen, but now and then a real gem pops up."

To stay viable, Richter believes the fringe has to innovate: "I mean, how many times do we have to see an old Sam Shepard play? Our theater is like a petri dish, an experiment in allowing what is going to replace the mainstream repertory theater movement to take shape and test itself."

Fringe fans aplenty

On a given weekend, theatergoers can chose from 20 or more offerings on the fringe circuit alone.

Is there an audience for all this stuff? Apparently yes.

The Fringe Festival expects to sell upwards of 18,000 tickets to its 300 performances this year. And though most attendees probably will be in their 20s and 30s, Johnston says, "I also see a lot of gray hair, too."

No one knows how many more theaters Seattle can absorb before reaching critical mass. Or if all the current ones will survive and flourish.

"The level of activity may dissipate in a few years," reflects Alter, who witnessed a similar flowering and decline in Minneapolis.

"But what amazes me about Seattle is the audiences, which are the best in the country. If the work stays interesting, people here will check it out."

A more problematic issue may be finances. "It's hard to keep people doing this if we can't pay them," admits Marsters.

To help remedy the situation, Actors Equity is offering fringe groups a new contract that lets them hire union actors at a reduced rate of $125 a week.

But the vast majority of performers are non-union, and must rely on day jobs to subsidize their art - a compromise that gets less glamorous as artists age. As for raising money through grants and contributions, much of the funding pie already is divvied up by the professional, non-profit groups.

"I'd like to get in a time capsule and travel three years in the future to see the lay of the land," muses Kazanjian. "The best thing that could happen is that the independent, alternative community evolves, and the artists continue taking risks and doing better and better work."

That's what Douglas Hunt has in mind, too. "I want to create an organization that perpetuates itself," he claims. "We're definitely out to prove that theater is a public art form, and you can do it well with almost nothing."

--------------- FRINGE FESTIVAL ---------------

The 1994 Seattle Fringe Theatre Festival takes place March 3-13, with 300 performances at seven Capitol Hill venues. Tickets are $8 per show; $4 for students and seniors. Program guides will be available starting tomorrow at Tower Records and the Broadway Market. For more details, call 325-5446.

For general information about fringe theaters, including a brochure describing many of the individual companies, call the League of Fringe Theatres Hotline at 637-7373.