What We Talk About When We Talk About the Intiman

Last week the Intiman Theatre’s management threw themselves on the mercy of the court of public opinion, and announced what most anyone who cared already knew, which is that they were in Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Financial Shape: “Intiman needs $500,000 by the end of March, an additional $250,000 by June and an additional $250,000 by September.”

The disarray at the Intiman–and the board’s late-to-the-party response to it–leaves the bystander a little dumbfounded.

Even now, when Brendan Kiley interviews Intiman board president Kim Anderson, her responses are vague–“significant cost overruns in a few of our shows,” “a couple of items that appeared to be income items appeared to be inflated or were never negotiated”–and she suggests that June, when an audit is finished, is when she can say more. At this point, though, it appears that the irregularities were directed toward staying afloat. (People do embezzle from non-profits, they just don’t usually get rich doing it at mid-size theatres.) 

Nonetheless, that puts the Intiman in the nightmare position of needing to raise $750,000 before, apparently, they can fully and accurately detail their financial situation. That’s three-quarters of a million dollars in addition to their regularly scheduled annual campaign. It’s a lot to expect from an Acting Managing Director and an Interim Finance Director, and more skeptical donors remain frozen by the board’s failure of oversight, failure to manage the story, and failure even now to mount a compelling case for Intiman’s future.



But for real Jacobin fervor, let’s turn to local playwright Paul Mullin calls the ask “institutional arrogance,” and adds “I hope they die.” Operating under the assumption that saving the non-viable Intiman would be stealing from the larger Seattle arts pie, Mullin suggests giving your money to others instead. It’s an odd argument, not least because he offers ACT Theatre as a strong, bankable alternative. (You remember that ACT was $1.7 million in debt in 2003, and arrogantly refused to close to allow new theatres to flourish. This is the “already healthy,” per Mullin, ACT that today carries $2.7 million in debt.)

I happen to be a fan of Mullin’s plays, but I sometimes wish upon him a role in management of a larger theatre, so that he could confront some of his more blithe presumptions and prescriptions. The fact is that Seattle has only two mid-sized theatre companies, ACT and Intiman, is in danger of losing both, and has been in that position for the past decade. (Not that larger arts organizations have had the recession much easier; Seattle Symphony and Seattle Art Museum have both struggled financially.)

If the Intiman isn’t viable, then the evidence argues that no mid-size theatre is. That would be a damaging blow to actors; set, lighting and costume designers; stagehands, and a whole host of support staff, and it would lay waste to all of the subsidiary relationships that a mid-size theatre maintains with smaller groups. 

I think the Intiman and ACT are viable, though their size and position in the market makes them more susceptible to economic shocks (from within or without). When Mullin self-dramatizingly writes, “But I will also not be a party to keeping the institution on life support past the time of its viability,” I have to wonder if he’s aware of how uninvested he sounds–the audiences of these institutions have responded to the buffetings that arise from recessions and executive transitions for the entire lives of the organizations. (The “Blame Bart!” contingent should remember that one of Sher’s first duties when he arrived was to beg banks for an extended line of credit.)

The Intiman is not Kim Anderson. It’s not Kate Whoriskey. It wasn’t Bart Sher. It wasn’t Brian Colburn, and it wasn’t Laura Penn. The Intiman is the people who care about it, and people care fiercely, from 20-year subscribers to artistic and administrative staff. The Intiman is memories of that space coming alive as the house lights dim. And pace Mullin, it has rarely felt more alive, experimental, and engaged than recently, under Whoriskey.

If you are not a fan of the Intiman, put your wallet away. If you don’t care for their productions, or their artistic ventures, if you can think of better organizations to support, good for you. By the same token, while it may be tempting to divvy up the spoils, they’re not yours. The Intiman’s future belongs to its audience. They are loyal, and close-knit. Anyone invested in theatre should applaud the miracle of their existence. This is not the time for a circular firing squad. 

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