Girl on the Third Floor
(Travis Stevens)

In the opening passage of Travis Stevens’ unbearably dull Girl on the Third Floor, enterprising father-to-be Don Koch (Phil “CM Punk” Brooks) observes the lay of the land of his new home. It’s a total gut job and he’s looking to proceed with the project solo. Donning khaki slacks and a button down shirt, the straight-edge superstar doesn’t resemble the man I remember. And when he proceeds to crack open a cold one, the same guy who had to be tied to the ropes of a Ring of Honor ring and forced to guzzle beer by his arch nemesis Raven, the Pepsi-plunging, voice of the voiceless seems to have become everything he’s hated: he’s like everyone else.

This is an intriguing role for the former wrestler and the composite antithesis of his image. It’s also a role free of subtly. There’s just not a whole lot of nuance to Punk’s performance or anything about the film itself, which serves as a facile allegory for toxic masculinity and the deep-rooted insecurities that course through the DNA of evil men, which renders a lot of Girl on the Third Floor to come across as a WWE-studios version of Darren Aronofsky’s mother! This Chicago-based production is clearly a labor of love, with its use of practical effects being especially effective. But it’s too blotted by stilted dialogue and anchored by Punk’s disappointingly wooden performance. The film is at its most persuasive when it shifts perspective, following Don’s wife Liz (Trieste Kelly Dunn). But the shift comes too late into the film, at which point you’re left with a clumsy, uneven exercise that seems to perpetually hint at something more thoughtful.