What happens when a man who thinks he has all the answers is suddenly forced to listen? It begins in Nick Marshall’s slick Chicago condo. Steam fogs the mirror, Sinatra croons, and a hairdryer purrs, until a slip sends it plunging into a full bathtub. The lights strobe, and when the buzz fades, a new sound emerges: the unfiltered, unspoken thoughts of every woman around him. This comedic jolt d...
