is the word 'diary' better than the word 'blog'? probably not.
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Be Careful Not To Get Trapped In The Closet.
Be Careful Not To Get Trapped In The Closet.
Oh. My. God. I just saw chapters 1-12 of R.Kelly�s Trapped In The Closet. First of all, please stop to consider that title. That�s right, R.Kelly is Trapped In The Closet. And yet he seems to be unaware that this means he is a gay man who for some reason cannot admit it openly; though perhaps his overt homophobia speaks loudly enough on its own. Have you seen this thing? Well, if you haven�t, it�s not like I can really in good conscience recommend that you do so, but, well, at the same time I dearly want you to do so (especially if you can do so without him profiting off your viewing) because I want you to understand how amazingly stupid, literal, uninteresting and unintendedly hilarious it is. Oh. My. God. I feel certain that he actually thinks that the narrative he gives us is interesting and crazy and shocking, and yet at the same time I can�t believe that he could think that, because, well, it is none of those things. And so it is something about which nothing should be said but at the same time it can�t help but evoke a morbid fascination in me because of its hyperliteral narrative standpoint and its ABSOLUTE STUPIDITY. It is UNBELIEVABLE.
(Here is a link to the first five chapters on Google Video. If you really have nothing AT ALL else to do, maybe look?)
The thing is unbelievable because I don�t think he intends it to be a joke. (On the DVD there is actually an extra feature where he comments on the plot, as if it needed to be explained?) And yet you can�t help but laugh most of the time, or at least during all the moments when you aren�t staring, mouth agape, at the screen asking yourself whether he could possibly be serious. In case you wonder, here are some choice lines: "He says, �Yes,� I say, �No,� he says, �Yes,� I say, �No,� he says, �It's the truth!�" (Chapter Three) Or how about this one, when �R.Kelly� steps out of the closet (where, apparently he isn�t actually TRAPPED) to speak to us as interpreter to a scene that we might not otherwise (he fears) be able to understand in all its craziness: "What I'm about to tell you is so damn twisted / not only is a man in the cabinet, but the man / is a midget-midget-midget." (Chapter Nine). Or there�s my personal favorite from the spine-tingling end to Chapter One: �He looks at the closet / I pull out my berretta / He walks up to the closet / He�s close up to the closet / Now he�s at the closet / Now he�s opening the closet closet closet�
This series of twelve vignettes (out of a projected 30!) is pathetic not only because it repeats the same melody pattern with different lyrics twelve times, nor only because the melody and lyrics are boring and simple, nor only because the plot is so ham-fisted that it would only make sense if it were a Comedy Central project intended to make fun of something else, but because all the things R.Kelly apparently thinks we are going to find so surprising, mindboggling, twisted, things that are set to rock the very foundations on which we stand, are, well, nothing at all. A woman�s husband has a gay lover. WHAT?! That�s enough to make R.Kelly want to shoot someone. In particular it makes him want to shoot a gay man. Then, a black cop has a large white wife. WHAT?! And that large white wife is cheating on her husband. Not only is she cheating, but, hey, she�s cheating on him WITH A MIDGET! Can you imagine anything more twisted than that!?
Yes, I am certain you can. In fact, I am certain that you yourself may have lived through scenarios infinitely more complicated and interesting than anything R.Kelly will have thought to dream up and sing about for you. Though I hope that you have fewer people in your life who pull guns out so easily.
Of course, there is something to the attempt to blend ridiculous soap opera plot with R&B song. I suppose if the plot were good and the song were decent this would be an entirely different enterprise. Instead we get the most impassioned intonation of these words ever committed to recording: "Next thing you know, a call comes through on my cell phone / I tried my best to quickly put it on viiiii-brate / But from the way he act, I could tell it was too late / He hopped up and said, 'There's a mystery going on / And I'm gonna solve it'/ And I'm like, 'God please, don't let this man open this closet'"
The best thing any of us can take from R.Kelly might be called �the (comic) art of the everyday.� I feel certain that for weeks, possibly months to come, I will be singing inane lyrics to describe what I�m doing. For instance, tonight Caroleen sang to me about the pizza we had ordered, and I sang about the intense backpain I�m undergoing today, and my need to overdose on ibuprofen-profen-profen.
Better and more interesting things have happened to me in the last days than the viewing of this DVD. For instance I played Guitar Hero with Cash and Sunshine, and I didn't suck at it. It's a Playstation game that comes with two guitar-shaped game-tools that you have to strum, press the indicated chords, and, on occasion use the whammy bar and "star power" (lifting the neck up high like a rock dork, etc.) to get points. It was actually very fun. And I finally got to be in a band with Sunny. And Cash. But anyway, my back hurts and it's time for sleeping. More about the more interesting things later. (Including cute and funny pictures of Sunny and I.)
12:35 a.m. - March 09, 2006
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