Theater critics, when they pan a particular show, are often accused of hating the entire art form. I can’t speak for my possibly masochistic colleagues but, for me, that makes no sense. Every time I take my seat in the audience I do so with pleasure and with my mind prepared to engage and enjoy. The theater is where I have always felt safest and therefore most receptive to whatever new ideas might be on offer.

But I admit to certain prejudices.

I don’t like — in any medium except sometimes print — science fiction, fantasy or horror. I find it hard to excuse gratuitous depictions of violence. Jukebox musicals, monologues and hagiographies are not my favorite things. Except in last season’s “Fairview,” by Jackie Sibblies Drury, I have yet to experience any audience participation scheme that enhanced the effect of the play enough to justify its damage to my nerves.

And though I have no categorical allergy to movie adaptations, the wave of them inundating Broadway these days keeps me wary. If I didn’t like the original, the remake starts out at a disadvantage.