She comes in and kisses me and, to my surprise, she ain’t you…”īy now we are already likely to feel entirely confused, severed from any firm sense of how this text is asking us to view it could it be that this is all intended to be taken seriously…? Welcome to Trapped in the Closet (2005), one of the most unique, baffling, and flat-out pleasurable audio-visual experiences you are ever likely to have.
I’m stretchin’ and yawnin’ in a bed that don’t belong to me.Ī voice says ‘Good mornin’ darling’, from the bathroom “7 O’clock in the morning and the rays from the sun wakes me Kelly we glimpsed previously on the bed, as we are shown, step by step, the events he describes: He opens his mouth and begins to sing sagely about the other R. He looks up from the floor as if he has been expecting us, his expression troubled, wise, and immediately hilarious. Suddenly, we find ourselves on the other side of the door and staring directly into the deadly serious eyes of a brooding R. Now we are gliding past a double bed containing a sleeping male figure and advancing, with speed and determination, towards the closed door of a closet. We thought we were dealing with parody: is this modern backing-track, with finger-clicks and water-droplet beats, being mocked too? Perhaps - it still seems possible. We’ve seen this kind of thing before, we think: the self-conscious cheese, the knowing fakeness - we know where we stand…Īs we pull back through an open bedroom window, leaving the city behind, a bass-heavy, slow-grinding R & B beat kicks in, replacing the Hollywood pastiche strings.
The title of the film unfurls from left to right like an old Noir B-picture. On the soundtrack, bucolic saccharine strings well with Casio artificiality.
The city skyline in front of us, illuminated by a soft orange dawn, looks unmistakeably like the two dimensional model that it is. NOTE: An extended version of this article, which also takes in chapters 13+ of Trapped, can be found here.
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