Patrons

I just got back from the opening of Harold Pinter's The Birthday Party. A couple sitting behind us made harshly critical comments throughout the entire play, much to the annoyance of my friends and myself. They lambasted the script, the actors, and the play itself.
And I thought to myself, "surely these people will not come back again, after such an unpleasant theatre-going experience." But then something dawned upon me. Despite their scorching criticism of the play, they were having a great time. Maybe what was bringing them back wasn't their appreciation of theatre, but that they got a chance to mock it. That is always something that has bothered me–how easily some people can scoff at and mock a book, a play, a movie, an entire world, crafted just for them, that so many people worked so hard on, that has so much depth and insight. It gives them a chance to "harmlessly" find fault, to find cracks and pry them open, like picking off someone's scab to watch them bleed. It's a chance for them to be above another world, to be smarter––to be a critic is to claim superiority.
So relish it. Keep coming back for it. But you'll never know what your missing, and you won't even know you're being left behind.