Anna Kendrick’s solid directorial debut, Woman of the Hour, is a tough, uncomfortable examination of patriarchal misogyny and sexism through the lens of actor Cheryl Bradshaw’s brief time in Hollywood. Looking for any kind of professional break, Bradshaw went on The Dating Game in 1978 and unexpectedly matched with contestant Rodney Alcala. For those who may not remember this incident, Alcala was a serial killer who, by then, had murdered five women and had jumped bail in New York City. He would be arrested a year later; after many appeals and newly discovered victims, he died in prison in 2021.
Woman of the Hour sits us right next to both Bradshaw (Kendrick) and Alcala (Daniel Zovatto) as Kendrick takes us down both of their respective paths that led to their infamous appearance on The Dating Game. Bradshaw’s story is told on a straight timeline, showing us a fictionalized account of her life as an auditioning actor, complete with rejections, producers slimily talking about her while she’s standing in front of them, men not listening to her objections, and other micro- and macro-aggressions written by Ian McDonald to push our buttons and throw us into a world of disgust.
As Bradshaw, Kendrick emotes a bright flame unwilling to be dimmed by anyone. Even though Bradshaw faces every manner of toxic masculinity prevalent in the industry – especially in the 1970s – Kendrick effortlessly shines through it, giving Bradshaw an indomitable spirit, pivoting from being the spunky ingenue to taking charge of her life in the film’s latter half. We know Kendrick from previous bubbly girl-type roles, but here, she plays this type with the express purpose of being the light that balances the turbulent darkness Daniel Zovatto uses to play Rodney Alcala.
Zovatto fits extraordinarily well into the era, his long hair and ‘70s-appropriate duds sheathing a bubbling rage that reveals itself suddenly and viciously when he has his target positioned where he wants them. We’re exposed early to his brutality as he murders a victim in the desert; prior to this, he’s seen as a soft-spoken ladies’ man, seemingly knowing all the right things to say to disarm his prey. It’s quite a contrast to his more violent overtures, and this combination produces a choking cloud of foreboding anxiety with his every appearance.
As opposed to Bradshaw’s straightforward timeline, Alcala’s story is told in forward motion with ascending flashbacks catching us up to the film’s present day. We see fragments of his time in New York and elsewhere, full of encounters with unsuspecting women unfortunate enough to catch his eye. Kendrick chooses a more effective and haunting route of not showing Alcala’s violence directly, rather hinting at these acts or masking them from view. We don’t need to see these murders; knowing they happened and hearing the women’s frantic cries and gasps is more than enough to frighten us and turn our stomachs. It’s similar to seeing crime scene aftermaths overlaid by the sounds of the murders themselves in Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, and it’s just as horrifying.
Kendrick poses serious questions about women’s safety and the nature of the devil you know versus the devil you don’t. Portrayals of rampant sexism and dismissal are prominent in this film – a heartbreaking example is shown when Laura (Nicolette Robinson), a woman who suspects Alcala of murdering her friend, tries to report his presence on the game show – and they’re framed to carry as much weight as what Alcala does to women away from prying eyes. In the eyes of almost every man in this film, women are to be seen and not heard; this notion is referred to by Bradshaw’s neighbor Terry (Pete Holmes), who does that “I’m annoyed, but I’m gonna couch it like I’m joking” complaint when he tells her he’s able to hear her rehearsing. Of course, he’s also got a thing for her and expects something in return, considering he’s helped her run script lines.
Woman of the Hour confronts societal misogyny head-on, as the kind of things that Alcala does are a product of these beliefs that women should give everything they have to men. From the smallest snide comment to barehanded strangulations, Anna Kendrick portrays each of these an act of violence, and she’s right. Devaluing women because men view them as playthings has consequences leading to dehumanization and objectification. Woman of the Hour wasn’t meant to be a film about triumph; it’s a cautionary tale meant to cause revulsion. There’s no victor here; no woman comes through this film unscathed or without the baggage they’ve gained after what they’ve had to deal with (take note of the makeup artists’ chatter during the Dating Game scenes). Even when we think the monster has been vanquished, we’re left with a lasting image of a victim’s beaten and bruised face, our souls disquieted at the knowledge that the scars are just the beginning.
