A concerned reader and avid Seattle filmgoer recently relayed to us a fundraising appeal from the U District's non-profit Grand Illusion Cinema (named for the famous Renoir movie above). The communication was apparently meant only for members of the GI (who enjoy discounted tickets and other benefits), but was forwarded to SW and other local papers. The reader's email sounded pretty dire, reminding us of emergency roof repairs that forced the theater to shut for several weeks last December.

Is the tiny, 38-year-old indie venue in jeopardy? And if so, what forces are putting it in peril? Hookers and crack dealers are part of the problem, as the GI's director just explained to me...

Owing to those winter roof repairs, which dragged on longer than expected, "We lost a lot of revenue," says Guerren Marter, who leads the non-profit's board. Prints for a repertory series had already been ordered, and the studios demanded payment--even if there were no tickets to sell during the same period. He reiterated the point in his March 15 letter to GI membership:

"As The Grand Illusion Cinema enters our fifth year of operation as an independent non-profit corporation, we need your support more than ever. Over the past few months, we experienced some financially painful obstacles that have resulted in our need to do some serious fundraising. First, our roof nearly collapsed in December curtailing revenue for most of the month. Second, in January we unexpectedly had to upgrade our antiquated film projectors with the latest audio technology. And last, the current state of the U.S. economy has greatly increased our operating costs -- especially shipping and program costs."

As a result of all these forces, Marter told me by phone, "The start of 2008 has been very, very slow. Our attendance is down. We don't know all the reasons. We're having our first-ever mad push for fundraising. It's prompted by a big cash crunch."

So is the financial appeal scheduled, or the result of a crisis? "It's both," replies Marter. "It's emergency-ish."

That's a pretty good term, emergency-ish, for all indie filmmaking--from the initial screenwriting to the funding to the shooting to the exhibition. There's never enough money. There's too much competition for festivals, including SIFF, and there aren't enough distribution deals or theaters to get indie flicks seen by the public. (In theaters at least; online and DVD are a different story.)

Back in 2004, as we previously reported, Marter bought the GI when it was spun off by the Northwest Film Forum, which was consolidating operations on Capitol Hill. Now, though Marter and company maintain friendly relations with NWFF, they find the GI in competition with the larger non-profit, SAM's generally repertory programming downtown, and with SIFF's year-old venue at McCaw Hall. With their subscription bases and endowments, says Marter, those latter two "are sort of eating our lunch. Underwriting makes their choices so much easier for the. [But], I think our programming is stronger than theirs."

And on the commercial side, the U District is dominated by the Neptune, Varsity, and Metro, part of the Landmark Theatres chain owned by Texas Internet billionaire Mark Cuban. As a business matter, that makes it harder for the GI to make competitive bids on newer titles like Lost in Beijing (which opens this Friday). For older titles, like those in the Bette Davis retrospective beginning April 11, Hollywood studios have little incentive to bargain with a tiny non-profit that will contribute little to their bottom line.

This leaves Marter and the GI pursuing a twofold programming strategy: try to snag interesting older titles on the cheap; then strike deals with new media companies pushing, ahem, odder fare. "The old-school [programming] has always been our strongest," says Marter, "and we're hit and miss on the new." Thus for example, the current Funky Forest (below), from J-pop importer Viz Media: "They're using us to help promote their DVDs."

Another challenge for the GI is its location, a former dentist's office where Randy Finley established the Movie House (as it was then called) in 1970. (Finley grew that single screen into owning most of the art-house facilities owned by Landmark today--the Seven Gables, Harvard Exit, etc.) Back then there was no cable, no VHS, no DVD, no Internet, and not many opportunities to see foreign and art-house cinema. Also, as Marter well knows, the Ave was much nicer back then. Today, "It's just sort of scummy right now. I watch people sell crack and hookers from my porch all day long."

Other U District merchants have long echoed the same sentiment, and it's unclear whether rezoning, new development, the westward expansion of the UW, and better policing have had much effect. As a result, says Marter, so far as the GI's ticket sales are concerned, "I think what we're losing ... is the itinerant U District patron." Meaning those moviegoers tempted to drive (or bus) to the Ave for that obscure old Phil Karlson title that's not on DVD at Scarecrow, but they're deterred by the parking hassles, street kids, panhandlers, and petty crime.

The GI's location at 50th and University "is unfortunately an anchor for all that," Marter concedes.

Then there are the market forces creeping northward up the Ave. Even as retailers struggle, the UW's insatiable need for offices, lab space, and student housing is rapidly reconfiguring the area. A big new mixed-use project looms just to the south of the GI, whose lease runs into 2010.

"Our building is fine; our lease is fine," insists Marter. He describes friendly relations with a landlord not all U District merchants view so kindly. Tenants haven't been so stable and content as the GI in the cafe space next door (once Still Life on the Ave) and below (presently a used book dealer).

Then there's this final market paradox: If the Ave cleans up over the next couple years, if crime goes down, if the UW (and rental housing developers) see more opportunities to expand, that would simultaneously make the GI moviegoing experience more attractive and threaten its lease. So long as the area is sketchy and depressed, a landlord is more likely to accept the rent a non-profit can summon. Once it goes upmarket, hello apartments-above-a-Starbucks. Where, of course, you'd be able to buy recent releases on DVD along with your latte, but nobody's ever heard of Jean Renoir.