The Playwright and His Audience

I take exception to Abdoh’s overwhelmingly self-important statement that people who are offended by his lurid, depraved, disgusting play are afraid of their own demons. It’s not true.

We are not terrified of our own relatively benign demons. We are simply nauseated by the self-indulgence of Abdoh’s depravity. His demons are his own. He shouldn’t try to convince us that the evil of the sick few reflects any hidden defect in the soul of all. Most of us have no desire, hidden or otherwise, to castrate by chain saw or do any of the other demented acts presented in his play from hell.

Unfortunately, Abdoh, like many other modern-day charlatans, exists under the illusion that rejection by the public somehow proves his artistic merit.

Abdoh, unlike Shakespeare, Shaw or Chekhov, “has more important things to do than to satisfy the taste buds of the people.” I for one have more important things to do than to have culture dictated to me by a con artist who has so much disdain and hatred for the audience.

LINDA KUTI

Redondo Beach