If you asked me what compelled R Kelly to make Trapped in the Closet, I wouldn't the foggiest clue. Maybe it was a call from Jesus, or some higher power that only comes to people whilst on the heaviest of psychotropics. But whatever it was, this is a work where you can never be completely sure whether or not Kelly was serious or not with what he was going (in some interviews he takes himself perhaps far too seriously than someone with his reputation ever should). He absurdly takes the angle of infidelity to one crazy step after another, until we're met with a very scary notion of a midget in a cop's cabinet. Did I mention the music?
Yes, there is, of course, God awful music that doesn't vary in the slightest for the entire 45 minute running time (filled with sounds of droplets and, well, you'll have to hear it for yourself in all cringe-worthy glory). Everything is sung by Kelly, playing over all the parts, and it becomes clear very quickly this is some kind of vanity project taken to a whole other level. First we have the man himself, played by Kelly, trapped in a closet of his mistresses, then there's the mistress's husband comes home, THEN the husband's man mistress, followed by R's wife, then... Should I keep going on, or will it kill the suspense? How much you enjoy this series, basically, depends on how much you can take R Kelly singing out a wretched soap opera, like some Z-grade director with aspirations to be legit, and at times the circumstances not making any sense whatsoever.
In fact, I probably did deep down really dislike this series, but somehow I couldn't stop watching, and laughing my dumbfounded head off. I applaud R Kelly for this achievement, but against all my better reasoning.
