Film review “Woman of the Hour” (2024)

It's been a year since I first saw “Woman of the Hour,” Anna Kendrick's directorial debut, in its world premiere at the 2023 Toronto International Film Festival. It still haunts me. Written by Ian McDonald, the film is inspired by the true story of how serial rapist and murderer Rodney Alcala appeared in 1978's The Dating Game. Not only does Kendrick give a typically intelligent and courageous performance as Sheryl, an aspiring actress and the contestant who competed with him on that fateful day, but as a director she displays a keen curiosity about the power of the gaze, both cinematic and human.

“You are beautiful,” Alcala says to all his victims, mostly women on the fringes of society. He is a photographer. He knows the power of be look, his camera. Kendrick begins her film with a victim who was murdered in 1977. We hear them offscreen before we see them. The first image of her is framed by Alcala's lens. “Forget there’s a camera here,” he tells her. Kendrick then points her lens at Alcala's face. Actor Daniel Zovatto's eyes disguise themselves as open pools of empathy, the tool he uses to lull women into a false sense of security. As he enters predator mode, an overwhelming sense of cruelty overcomes him. Kendrick holds his face and allows the change to happen first our eyes and puts us directly into the psyche of his victims.

Later in the film, Alcala and Sheryl go out for drinks. The appointment isn't going well. Sheryl's laughter has caused a change in the seemingly charming bachelor. In recovery mode, she says she doesn't date much. He notes the irony of her going on a dating show. “My agent said it would get me seen,” she says. “Did you feel seen?” he asks. The camera takes close-ups of both of them and makes the conversation appear like a duel. “I felt looked at,” she admits. “How are you feeling right now,” he urges. “Good,” she says, despite her visible discomfort. “Good,” he replies mockingly. There is a threatening pause. Then he continues: “You know, most people don’t like to be seen. They are afraid. Because you have to feel good. You need to stop performing.”

Every woman in Kendrick's film has a moment where she needs to be “nice” to deal with a situation. Sheryl has to deal with this type of performance many times throughout the film. Take, for example, the moment when game show host Ed Burke (Tony Hale, downplaying the scandal perfectly) enters Sheryl's dressing room and spews a torrent of casual misogyny and racism before telling Sheryl not to use her intelligence to the Bachelors scare away. He tells her to just smile and laugh, just like in another scene where two men openly discuss their physical worth in front of her at a casting. Just like she does when she rejects the advances of neighbor and aspiring actor colleague Terry (Pete Holmes) over a drink. Just as Amy (Autumn Best, a firecracker), a teenage runaway whose escape from Alcala ultimately led to his arrest, uses smiles and laughter to survive her violent encounter with him.

At the end of the game show, Sheryl asks if she went too far by changing the questions and turned the whole misogynistic enterprise on its head. Her makeup artist assures her that this is not the case. “No matter what words they use, the question behind the question remains the same,” she emphasizes. “What’s the question?” Sheryl asks. “Which one of you will hurt me?” the woman replies. This question remains at the heart of Kendrick's film, as it does for most women who live in a world that often does not protect them from male violence. “I knew he was risky, but fuck it – everyone is risky,” says one of the victims, describing her ex-partner to Alcala as he photographs her minutes before violently murdering her.

The film examines the power of being seen and, in particular, of being understood through the act of being seen is most effective in three mirrored cases. While filming the game show, a woman named Laura (Nicolette Robinson, who plays the role like a bare nerve) has an emotional reaction when Alcala is revealed to be one of the bachelors. She is convinced he is the man who killed her friend in Malibu last year. As she hastily leaves the studio, she knocks over a monitor. During the commotion, the women look into each other's eyes, but the blinding lights prevent Sheryl from seeing the message in Laura's eyes. Later, on her date with Alcala, he tries to order a second round of drinks. Sheryl looks the cocktail waitress in the eyes and nods desperately, “No.” The message comes in and the woman says they are closed overnight. Near the end of the film, Amy, trapped in Alcala's car, looks at a man in a truck as they are stopped at an intersection. Her eyes convey an urgent cry for help, but the man in the truck looks right through her as he continues driving.

There is a universal language in the exchange of looks between women, especially when a dangerous man is present. I don't know a woman who hasn't had such an experience, although unfortunately these situations don't always end in rescue. As I watched the film, I remembered an evening in my twenties when I was organizing a dinner with an older man, a professional acquaintance. He often gave off strange vibes, but I was young and ambitious. I thought having friends at dinner would protect me. But one by one my friends left. They didn't understand the message I conveyed through my gaze. I got out of the situation before it got too dark, but when I was finally alone with the man, boundaries were crossed and I have never felt so unsafe in my life. Kendrick knows this feeling all too well, as she uses every cinematic tool at her disposal to express it.

Comparisons to David Fincher's Zodiac are inevitable, and that would be fair, at least on a superficial level. Kendrick has made a clever '70s thriller about a serial killer whose reign of terror lasted a decade. Fincher's film is about the men whose lives were consumed with unraveling the mystery of who the Zodiac was, and the toll that obsession took on their lives. Kendrick's film uses Alcala to criticize the society that made it possible. It's about how society normalizes violence against women through seemingly harmless sexism and misogyny, which ultimately paves the way for escalated violence. The imagery could be seen as a criticism, even of “Zodiac” and the true crime films that came out of it, which often seem to revel in recreating this violence.

Although we get glimpses of Alcala's brutal attacks, Kendrick films them either from a distance or in extreme close-ups, minimizing and obscuring them. She builds tension in these scenes through a soundtrack of ambient noise, birds chirping in the wind, the hum of fluorescent lights, and traffic on the streets. Before the violence becomes dazzling or exploitative, it stops abruptly and ensures that the viewer becomes aware of his own voyeurism, which she is able to deny. Instead, she dwells on everyday moments of threat. The many times men touch Sheryl's neck or hair without her permission. The way Laura's boyfriend immediately doubts and then questions what she believes to be true down to her core. The way the police officers are delighted by Alcala and let him go, laughing and smiling.

In the middle of filming her episode of “The Dating Game,” the makeup artist tells Sheryl, “You should have fun. That's the whole point. Say what you want.” Wouldn’t it be nice if life were so simple and so safe?

Now on Netflix.