We met Twan — the Twan — in the lobby of the theater because ******* knows him interviewing him, but ******* is wasted now and maybe I’m not just high but also super turnt. “Bump and Grind” dance party commences and I’m pretty into it as the combination of weed & Fireball got me tripping like an infant that’s just learning to walk. Here are hundreds of turnt college kids in a pristine Christine chapel of a theater — Holy shit, I’m so sick with this word shit. Get at me.

Here’s a sociologist’s dream case study: A nearly all-white audience giggles as the word “ni**a” appears on-screen for the first time in the sing-along, and I’m high enough to spend the subsequent 25 minutes contemplating the state of modern day racial relations.

“I’m about to climax!!!” screams an audience of horny millenials in a dark room listening to Kells. “Everyone’s mad, but they’re all cheating on each other, so none of them really has the right to be mad,” suggests the sage Gillian Jakab to my left.

I leave to take a piss while Gillian goes to the counter and haggles her way into free popcorn and when we re-enter, the plot has thickened of course, and a midget and heavy set white trash woman have entered the “Closet” story as I munch the munchies away on this popcorn — thanks Gillie — and candy cigarettes.



Okay so I’m hoarse already I’ve never been more in love with R. Kelly in my life, getting a little emotional got to talk to Twan and I feel like I’m in Disneyland might’ve just eaten a whole tub of popcorn lol R. Kelly is mayhem.

I brought fireball into the theatre sry. I lost my voice I’m catching some Holy Ghost I’m so fucking trapped right now. Serious creative liberty on these subtitles by the way.

But actually it’s like chapter 17 now and people are going nuts I feel like I’m on a crazy pirate ship, oh shit Twan was just dreaming! Nobody was shot thank god that crazy Italian Joey, R Kelly has the worst Italian accent ever.

They gave us condoms and fake money in the goodie bags but where did mine go? Where??

Made it outside and I’m not sure if anything I just saw was real though I swear I’ve run into Big Man the Midget before somewhere I promise.



The absurd. The offensive. The incredible.

I took my place in the Michigan Theater’s red velvet Theatre — that’s theater with a capital T — complete with a balcony and potential for an orchestra. The perfect operatic sensibility, paired with the intoxicated cult of crazed “Closet” fans around me (most notably the friends I came with and the others I waved to across the theater exchanging “haha isn’t this hilarious?” expressions), struck me as more than amusing.

R. Kelly’s hip-hopera narration began taking us down the twisty-twervy road of musical melodramatic violence, sex and lots of betrayal. In order to avoid becoming carsick on the journey, I had to leave behind the analysis that a sober mind provides and try to get on the level of my baked and buzzed friends. No one can enjoy “Trapped in the Closet” through a critical lens – you’ll find the glorification of almost every negative, and you’ll try to put a finger on what all the hype is about.

The hype is the hype. The audience is fueled off each other’s absurd enthusiasm.

This enthusiasm seeped into my bloodstream during the pre-screening dance party as songs like “Bump and Grind” clouded my thoughts and the imagined nicotine from the candy cigarettes in our goody bags gave me a head rush. Soon, I heard my voice joining the chorus shrieking R Kelly’s lyrics and cheering wildly after every chapter. When we saw Twan after the show — forget it — my excitement was that of a “Trapped” junkie.


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