One balmy evening last week I found myself standing outside a small theatre passionately discussing with my companion all the various pitfalls of theatrical ineptitude to which we had just been subjected when a casual acquaintance, standing off to the side and sucking down the last bit of chemically enhanced mentholated smoke into her rapidly aging lungs, turned to me and lackadaisically burbled: “Gee, Addison, tell us what you really think.”

I could scarcely restrain myself from removing completely what little acrid breath she had left. My friend, knowing she was a Board Member of that particular company and sensing instinctively my rapidly elevating levels of righteous indignation, suddenly smiled very wide, blinding us both with his freakishly white dental implants. While both she and I tried to erase the sun spots from our eyes, he quickly ushered her away from me and into the nearest bar.

Using the vernacular of the lessers, when did voicing strong opinions about our theatrical endeavors become a “negative” thing?

Time was when planetary citizens were held in high regard for their well-formulated opinions regarding matters artistic, political, social and/or philosophical. Our greatest minds were known by their public opinions and points of view. They were lauded, respected, and sought out for input on disparate issues. Topics often related not even a whit to their own personal areas of expertise. The thinking at the time being that an educated and well-spoken individual should be listened to on many subjects as they may bring a fresh perspective to stodgy ideologies and, therein, bring forth illumination, furthering our universal knowledge and various cultures.

So much for that idea.

At some point in time, when I was busy, no doubt, berating my staff for not changing the kitty pan in a timely fashion, or planning an overseas adventure of some kind, a dictum was handed down by powers greater than I that deemed it necessary to flatter rather than analyze, preen rather than pronounce, and acquiesce rather than acutely criticize. Clearly, I missed a memo. A pseudo correctness has seeped into our critical factories and infected us with a go-along to get-along mentality. This contamination weakens both our culture in general, and the theatre in particular. But it does wonders for dabblers, dilletentes and unchecked egos.

One can always find a small something to say that is simultaneously constructive and honest. Should one try. I would even go so far as to recommend opening a discussion with that small something should one find oneself in the unenviable position of proffering an opinion after a particularly dreadful performance or production. But I am not of the belief that it stops there. How many times have I been given the privilege of a fellow theatregoer’s free-flowing, unfavorable opinion pertaining to one show or another and then immediately be witness to that same theatregoer turning tail the moment one of the players approaches our critical circle for an after show ego stroke?

“You were fabulous!” They proclaim through clearly clenched teeth, moments after having lambasted the artist for over-indulgence and shoddy technique.

We should be wiser in the gods we choose to serve.

When questioned as to their insincerities, these two-faced opinionates will offer, rather weakly, that they are only trying to “take the high road”, “spare the feelings of their fellow artists”, or “avoid an awkward situation”. Twaddle. What they are doing is serving themselves and none other. It is preferable to them to silence their perfectly valid, if critical opinions when faced with the offending party because it privately serves them either socially, politically, or economically. They are taking the high road to a lower place. To believe otherwise is misguided, illogical, and naïve.

I live and die by my opinions. I have been proven wrong on several occasions and welcome corrections like a new friend. But, I stand by my aesthetic opinions as a Palace Guard, ever-unsmiling, stiff and taciturn, offering my thoughts and continuing to hope that I am being heard by an adult who is in the theatre for the right reasons. If not, then I suggest people either A) ignore me completely and continue on in their delusion that what they were offering up as Art was worthy of my time and money, B) listen to my thoughts, process my opinions, and take or leave the criticism with an appropriate amount of salt or C) Do. Not. Ask.

What does this have to do with the theatre? Just so.

When responsible artists of any discipline choose to bury their opinions under the guise of political correctness, faux kindness, or some other easy rationalization, they are acting as enablers to an already dysfunctional, limping art form. Railing to the skies over drinks after a questionable performance does zero good without the discussed artists’ presence. As these Pecksniffian opinionaters complain about the theatre world being underappreciated in Los Angeles - dwindling audiences, incompetent directors, selfish actors, journeyman writers - I suggest that it is they themselves who are the very cause of these woes.

If, for example, a child takes the contents of its diaper and wipes the mess all over a pristine wall, should a parent express their great appreciation for the bold and innovative strokes employed by the infant? All the while cleaning up the mess and hoping it’ll be better next time? Or should they explain the problem clearly, discuss how to do it differently next time and, if needed, apply a healthy swat to the offending body part? How will non-talented, naïve, misguided, ill-informed, untrained, wrong-headed, clueless theatre practicioners ever learn their craft if their peers flatly refuse to offer honest opinions about the work just witnessed?

Simply because someone expresses an opinion does not automatically make them right or wrong. If you disagree with someone’s critique, speak up. Express your opinion (assuming you have one). Serve the theatre not your ego. Serve the play not the feelings. Serve the art not your career. Otherwise, you’re gradually killing the thing you claim to love most.

And even a lackadaisical death is a permanent one.