WOMAN OF THE HOUR. In the “real,” nightmare world of late 20th century America, when serial killers seemed to lurk inside every tricked-out van and basement apartment in America, there was a television show predicated on the importance of the male gaze and horrifically distorted sexual dynamics and expectations (really, it was only one of many). That show, The Dating Game, shrouded three eligible bachelors in obscurity while a female counterpart lobbed questions insulting to her own intelligence at them, with the final prize being an all-expenses paid date for the star and the consort of her choice — most likely the least of three evils.
One noteworthy episode of the show (and the centerpiece of this dramatization) featured Sheryl Bradshaw (Anna Kendrick), a Pennsylvanian with quickly evaporating dreams of an acting career. All but broke, misguidedly seeking the solace of companionship with a neighbor (Pete Holmes, creepy without perhaps meaning to be) and beyond frustrated with the process of auditioning for cretins, Sheryl takes the gig on a lark. Unexpectedly and for disturbing reasons elsewhere to be revealed, Sheryl’s appearance affords her the opportunity to do some unsanctioned rewrites and a little improvisational acting. The high she experiences is dispelled both by mistreatment by the powers that be and a visceral, undeniable reaction to the bachelor with whom she is intended to vacation with in Carmel.
It’s no spoiler (and one of many intentional but questionable structural decisions made by screenwriter Ian McDonald) that Bachelor No. 3 Rodney Alcala (Daniel Zovatto) is, in fact, a brazen and insatiable killer of women, hiding in plain sight. By the time Sheryl hits the stage, we’ve already seen Alcala commit murder in multiple states, each time enacting some unspeakably motivated revenge on a young woman. In fact, Woman of the Hour opens with one of his crimes — a discordant note against which the title plays.
But that seems to be the challenging push-pull of Kendrick’s directorial debut: This is a story about the minimization and commodification of women, specifically by a killer whose inner life remains unexplored but also by a culture and an industry that slaveringly sexualize girls and women, rendering them as victims or villains, even within their own stories.
The exploration of that terrible cultural dynamic and the inestimable damage it has wrought should and will be the stuff of more and more art and criticism in years to come — provided, of course, that art and criticism still exist — and I applaud Woman of the Hour for its themes. But what I think the filmmakers might perceive as nuance or thoroughness can, in the final analysis, feel superficial and unfortunately dismissible as the males of the piece find the voices of their female counterparts.
That’s coming perilously close to condemning as it celebrates, and it should be said that the effort to contextualize the story’s themes, to place the viewer behind the eyes of its protagonist/victims, is truly admirable and ambitious. But the movie falters in attempting to tell too much story in a relatively abbreviated running time, bouncing between the scenes of Alcala’s numerous crimes, the decidedly backgrounded investigation thereof (overlapped and obscured by the crimes of the Hillside Stranglers) and Sheryl’s dwindling Hollywood dream.
Kendrick has, from the beginning of her career, built characters with a combination of innocence and flintiness, a lack of guile belied by an evident, if subliminal inner strength. For that, and the doubtless attempts of Hollywood to objectify it and render it as ingénue appeal, she seems ideally suited to this role. As Sheryl, she is undeniably in control of herself, her own person. But she is simultaneously aware of and beyond frustrated by the vast and vulgar machinery of an industry and a world that would rob her of that control.
Further, Kendrick as director is in constant possession of the movie as a combination of creative efforts: The other actors are directed to emotionally intelligent, often vulnerable performances; the production design, the cinematography and editing and sound of the piece are all executed with style and aplomb.
The only real problem, then, is that the movie pulls back from the horror and fear of both its themes and the events used to explore them, at critical moments. Alcala, while occasionally troubled or unnerved, remains an object of curiosity, his inner life hidden. To a certain extent, this is understandable, attempting to invert the usual killer-victim dynamic as the movie does. But because the victims remain as fundamentally unknown (or unknowable) as the killer, the challenge falls to the viewer to find a real entry point for emotional, or even academic, investment.
There is no shortage of truth and authenticity in Woman of the Hour, and on many levels it marks a truly impressive debut. But it suggests a deeper exploration, a more troubling set of truths, ideals and hypocrisies, that underpin this story and so many others. R. 95M. NETFLIX.
John J. Bennett (he/him) is a movie nerd who loves a good car chase.
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For showtimes call: Broadway Cinema (707) 443-3456; Mill Creek Cinema 839-3456; Minor Theatre (707) 822-3456.
This article appears in Why California Housing Costs are So High.