Spoiler alert: The following article contains information regarding the characters and plot of “Woman of the Hour.”
On October 18th, “Woman of the Hour” debuted on Netflix, instantly becoming a sure candidate for the most terrifying release of the year. Omitting the usual elements associated with particularly scary movies, this film is bone-chilling for different reasons. “Woman of the Hour” is so disturbing because it illustrates with startling realism the experience of navigating the dangers of life as a woman. Though it is devoid of jarring jump scares or graphic scenes of gore, nothing is more frightening than the everyday terror of womanhood.
“Woman of the Hour” is based on the true story of Rodney Alcala (Daniel Zovatto), a prolific serial killer thought to be responsible for the deaths of up to 130 women in the 1970s. The film largely centers on Alcala’s appearance on a 1978 episode of a TV dating show during the height of his killing spree.
While starring as a contestant, he encounters Sheryl (Anna Kendrick), an aspiring actress who signs up to be a bachelorette on “The Dating Game” in hopes of getting exposure and propelling her career. When Sheryl unwittingly selects Alcala as her match, she must rely on her instincts as she stares down the barrel. Anna Kendrick’s directorial debut taps into the undertones of fear that plague the female experience. The reality of this portrayal elevates “Woman of the Hour” beyond your typical thriller, leaving an uneasiness that lingers long after the credits roll.
This film exemplifies the importance of putting women in charge of telling women’s stories. Kendrick successfully focuses the narrative around the victims and survivors, devoting time to personifying each woman. Instead of glorifying the perpetrator, an issue many portrayals of gendered violence encounter, no opportunity is provided for the audience to sympathize with Alcala.
A constant spotlight is placed on the female perspectives, the voices deserving of a platform, allowing them to be much more than a footnote in the story of a cold-blooded killer. “Woman of the Hour” bounces between secondary plots featuring young women who found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. While Alcala is the common element uniting these storylines, he is not the focal point, as each woman is uniquely humanized and given the chance to share a glimpse of her life.
The film also refreshingly strays away from typical crime content in depicting violence; the film does not capitalize on gratuitous gore or blood. Kendrick expertly prioritizes subtly over shock value; tension and fear are found in ever-so-slight shifts in expression once a woman recognizes she is in the face of danger. The minimalistic approach to violence maintains respect for the victims and blurs the line between fiction and reality, allowing the audience to place themselves in the scene.
Though Alcala’s crimes are the most overt example of victimization in the film, “Woman of the Hour” is riddled with more latent, everyday instances in which gender-based power imbalances are leveraged against women. Whether it’s the neighbor who won’t take “no” for an answer, the dismissive casting directors or the disparaging host of “The Dating Game” who encourages Sheryl to dumb down, the male characters in the movie exhibit various levels of misogyny. Kendrick weaves together the latent and extreme to craft an alarmingly accurate representation of the culture of hostility that women must endure.
This serves as a reminder that degradation is not isolated to the anomalous events of the film but embedded within the ordinary. The kicker is that these minute threats are the fabricated elements of this story. This culture of casual misogyny is truly what enabled Alcala to operate without detection.
In the film, society’s tendency to silence survivors is embodied through the character of Laura (Nicolette Robinson), an audience member who recognizes Alcala as the last person seen with her friend before she was found dead a year prior. We watch her painstakingly attempt to get someone, anyone, to act on her warnings, only to receive dismissal from law enforcement, a network security guard and even her boyfriend. “Woman of the Hour” authentically depicts the frustration of not being believed or taken seriously as Laura has door after door slammed in her face, leaving viewers wondering what could have been prevented had one person listened.
The true genius of “Woman of the Hour” lies in its realism; every woman lives with the knowledge that there are men who intend to harm and the uncertainty of whether the man sitting across from her might be one of them. Kendrick depicts with incredible authenticity the experience of noticing that something is not right: the heart-racing, stomach-dropping shift into survival mode. The technical choices accompanying Sheryl and Alcala’s date bring this feeling to life. The atmosphere goes ice cold as their conversation progresses, perfectly capturing the isolation when it becomes recognizable that danger is near. It is a moment of frozen terror as the restaurant falls silent, the heightening tension becoming palpable as all-consuming fear sets in.
Kendrick also masterfully captures the task of maintaining an exterior of politeness and courtesy in the face of the discomfort that society bestows upon women. Throughout the film, there are a plethora of instances in which the female characters find themselves forced to sacrifice boundaries to placate aggressors, using nervous smiles and forced laughter to speak volumes on the issue.
When every instinct urges her to get up and leave, Sheryl continues to engage with Alcala, rooted in her seat by the conditioned responsibility of dismissing her unease to avoid retaliation. This experience is all too relatable: many of us are familiar with the need to be accommodating when faced with discomfort because it is uncertain what turn the interaction may take if we do not play along. This expectation of appeasement is, at best, belittling and, at worst, fatal.
Through this familiarity, “Woman of the Hour” constructs a sense of solidarity between the film’s female characters and the women looking on as their lived experiences are brought to life on screen. The film makes sisterhood a point of repetition, illustrating through subtle yet poignant moments the shared understanding that exists between all women.
It is found through the waitress, who cuts the date short by declining Alcala’s request for drinks, informed by nothing more than a panicked glance from Sheryl. It is found through the makeup artist of “The Dating Game,” who empathizes with the threats posed by misogyny, recognizing that for women, interactions boil down to a question of “Which one of you will hurt me?” It is found through Laura, who goes to great lengths to sound the alarm and stop Alcala. Even in the smallest gestures, “Woman of the Hour” shines a light on the silent yet universal bond inherent in womanhood, offering a counterbalance to the pervasive sense of danger underscored throughout the film.
Kendrick’s directorial debut is a commendable anomaly in the true crime genre, capturing with acute authenticity just how terrifying it is to be a woman in the everyday world. While the film is set in the 1970s, it contains a timeless depiction that rings true today. “Woman of the Hour” unflinchingly platforms the collective experience of discomfort and fear endured in a society still rife with currents of misogyny, achieving what countless other representations have failed to do. The film’s greatest strength is its resonance, allowing female audiences to see their own experiences reflected, acknowledged and validated.