What I respect in the Kopit double bill of one-acters [Sing to Me Through Open Windows and The Day the Whores Came Out to Play Tennis] is that these "absurd" playlets are trickily disguised confessions, impersonal expressions of what is essentially personal. (p. 373)

[One] may think of the brief Sing To Me Through Open Windows … as a boy's memory of a lost "father," whether "he" be a person, a way of life or a dream of the theatre's magic. This may strike one as overly sentimental; but a touch of unexpected color redeems it from banality.

The longer piece with the frisky title—The Day The Whores Came Out To Play Tennis—possesses a somewhat vicious extravagance that surprises one into risibility. Behind its nonsense lurks a revulsion from a wealthy Jewish business background…. The play develops a metaphor for a rootless urban middle class that is going rapidly to pot in its own inanity, obscenely mocked and ultimately to be destroyed by the whorish world outside—or simply by its women!

You may find this distasteful or little better than fraternity-house Ionesco, but it does exist as a creation, howsoever minuscule. (pp. 373-74)