Could your dream date be a 1970s serial killer?

It's one of them The Stranger Footnotes in the Annals of American True Crime: In 1978, a decade into the nationwide reign of terror and still a year away from finally being caught, serial killer Rodney Alcala was a candidate The dating game. “Bachelor No. 3″ impressed the episode's bachelorette, Chery Bradshaw, so much that she won an all-inclusive trip with her to Carmel, California. A post-show conversation convinced Bradshaw that perhaps she should pass up the opportunity to spend more time with someone who, TV-friendly charm or not, represented a walking, talking red flag. Let's be brave and say: Smart move.

A serial killer thriller, a '70s kitschfest, a catalog of vintage irony-filled sexism, the impressive directorial debut of Anna Kendrick, and the latest Netflix film to grace your Because They're Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story algorithm — Woman of the hour is many things. But what this unsettling, undeniably compelling look back at a strange collision of psychopathy and pop culture has under its paisley-patterned decor goes beyond just a mass murderer and lots of obscene game show references. Alcala was no exception in terms of the decade's predators, moving from city to city, hiding behind artistic pursuits (he often used photography to lure victims to where he sexually abused and killed them) and a superficially likeable personality, to pamper yourself a pathology. Yet he was also no anomaly in terms of men whose egos were easily bruised and who could go from engaged to angry when a woman said the “wrong thing.” The movie isn't really about the sociopath who did these things. It's about the society that allowed him to continue doing them. But first a word from our sponsor!

Based on a screenplay by Ian Macdonald, Kendrick establishes Alcala (Daniel Zovatto) as a free-floating threat from the start and offers clips from various crime scenes from the period between 1971 and 1979. A pregnant woman named Sarah (Kelly) lives in Wyoming. Jakle is strangled while Alcala photographs her in a remote piece of land. He then revives her with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and rapes her. In New York, a stewardess named Charlie (Kathryn Gallagher) asks Alcala to help her move some furniture into her apartment and meets a grisly end. She is based on Cornelia Crilley, who authorities believe was one of his earliest victims. In Los Angeles, a young runaway named Amy (Autumn Best) out of desperation accepts an offer to be photographed in the desert and manages to survive the encounter by feigning embarrassment and pretending they are a couple. Like her real-life counterpart Monique Hoyt, she will get lucky at a rural gas station.

In between these disturbing interludes, Kendrick pulls double duty as Bradshaw, showing us what a 1970s woman had to endure on a daily basis. As an actress struggling to break into the business, she has become accustomed to men discussing other women's characteristics during her auditions. She shys away from doing nude scenes just to make sure “they're okay” when one of the interviewers points to her chest. An overly friendly, boundary-pushing neighbor (Pete Holmes) keeps giving unsolicited advice; When he is wounded and sulks because Bradshaw is surprised that he touches her cheek, she sleeps with him out of politeness. The Oscar-nominated actress has always been the kind of film actress who seems to work particularly well in close-ups, where the camera can capture how subtle eye movements or the slightest recalibrations of facial expression can signal her to take in the space and respond accordingly. You see that Bradshaw has to constantly adapt to ensure that men's feelings are not hurt and that they are never made to feel like they are somehow inadequate. Otherwise, they might become moody. Or even worse.

Bradshaw doesn't exactly jump for joy when her agent tells her that she got her client a TV spot and it turns out to be a game show. Still, a performance is a performance, and a lady doesn't want to be annoyed. All she has to do, according to the buttery-smooth blowhard of a host (Tony Hale, having the time of his life), is not be smart on stage. Intelligence – that’s it So threatening for boys! Besides, he says, change your clothes. Show off your figure, sweetie.

After showing the parallel paths of the woman of the hour and the murderer on the street, the film now brings them together for their date with fate. And like Bradshaw – who is encouraged by women The dating gameis willing to ignore this nonsense about taming the clever – Woman of the hour is not afraid to be smart. There's never a moment when we don't perceive Alcala as both cunning and frightening, with every eloquent response and seemingly innocuous exchange feeling as if the noose is being insidiously tightened by millimeters. When Bradshaw begins to go off script, much to the chagrin of dim-witted Bachelor #1 and sleazy Bachelor #2, you sense the underlying menace that resonates in every playful back-and-forth. All of this pays off in two sequences that take place after the show ends: a casual post-show conversation at a tiki bar in which Bradshaw slowly realizes who's lurking under that nice guy mask; and a walk back to her car that becomes a minimalist exercise in catch-and-release tracking. The latter is also a great example of how well Kendrick handles working behind the camera, as she uses space, camera movements, the entire length of the frame and some expert editing and pacing to heighten the tension. Welcome to the stage, Anne Kendrick, genre writer!

And yet Alcala is simply the most toxic example of something else, something that seems somehow invisible yet unavoidable, seeping through even in the most innocuous moments. Just before the show starts, Woman of the hour introduces a supporting character, played by Nicolette Robinson, who is present at the recording with her boyfriend. She immediately recognizes Bachelor No. 3 and freaks out. After she regains her composure, she asks to talk The dating gameis the producer and soon becomes the butt of a cruel joke. Further investigations by the police lead to nothing. Do your damn job, She screams at the unfortunate police officer – it's the second time in the film that we see the meaninglessness of life in a man-man-man-man world turn into unbridled female rage. The film allowed us to feel disgust and squeamish about the murder sequences and to feel superior to the outrageous examples of seventies chauvinism on display. But the more mundane scenes in which women are marginalized, dismissed, patronized, objectified and completely ignored seem far more insidious. Sexism was not part of the culture when this prolific serial killer managed to evade authorities for nearly a dozen years. sexism Was the culture. And we're not so sure if we should use the past tense here.