Helen Archer | On 05, Nov 2024

Director: Anna Kendrick
Cast: Anna Kendrick, Daniel Zozatto, Tony Hale
Certificate: 15

In 1978, at the height of his activity, serial killer Rodney Alcala made the surprising decision to appear on The Dating Game. One of three bachelors vying for the attention of aspiring actress Sheryl Bradshaw, he came across as a charming and thoughtful contestant – so much so, that he ‘beat’ his two rivals, and Bradshaw chose him to accompany her on a romantic getaway. Anna Kendrick’s suffocatingly tense directorial debut, written by Ian McDonald, cuts between the recording of the dating show and some of Alcala’s heinous crimes. In doing so, it paints a picture of the spectrum of misogyny women had – and have – to navigate in order to attempt to survive in the world.

The chilling atmosphere grabs the viewer by the throat from the first scene. In Wyoming, 1977, a young woman (Kelley Jakle) stands in deserted prairie land, modelling for Alcala (Daniel Zozatto). As she tells him a little about her circumstances – pregnant yet recently single, and away from her family – she begins to get emotional. Alcala lowers his camera, his expression changing. Abruptly, she realises the danger she is in. The violence that erupts is sudden and brutal, and indicative of Alcala’s sadistic modus operandi. But under Kendrick’s direction, it is Jakle’s face which is the focus – it is her story which is being told, her full life cut short unexpectedly thanks to a chance encounter with the wrong man.

Most of the film is taken up with the filming of The Dating Show, spliced with Alcala’s previous – and future – attacks. Bradshaw’s back story is told with economy, as she takes part in an unsuccessful audition, the male casting directors talking about her as though she is not there, only addressing her directly to ask if she has a problem with nudity. When her agent talks her into appearing on the dating show, she is treated in much the same way by the host, Ed (Tony Hale). It’s indicative of the way in which a casual misogyny pervades all the forthcoming proceedings, because this film is not only about the most extreme version of Alcala’s hatred, but the way in which women and girls are seen as props, disposable. It is only in other women that solidarity – or protection – can be found. The hair and make up artists who flutter over Bradshaw offer her sage advice; later on, the waitress at the bar she finds herself in, notices her discomfort and refuses to serve Alcala more alcohol.

In real life, Alcala was known to the authorities and had been reported to police many times over the years, the warnings disregarded or overlooked allowing him to continue unabated. The character of Laura (Nicolette Robinson) – part of the studio audience watching as the programme is recorded – symbolises those unheeded warnings. She immediately recognises Alcala as the man she last saw her friend with, before her body was found, raped and murdered. She confides in her boyfriend, who automatically discounts her, and her attempts to alert producers is thwarted by a security guard who only pretends to take her seriously. Going directly to the police proves to be equally fruitless.

It is only by sheer luck – or a gut-wrenching instinct – kicking in that would-be victims manage to remove themselves from dangerous situations. This is no more apparent than in the last act of the film, as Bradshaw second-guesses her choice, and Amy (an incredible performance by newcomer Autumn Best) finds herself alone in Joshua Tree with Alcala. The sense of danger is all-pervasive, as subtle changes of mood turn on a dime – a feeling heightened by a soundtrack that is slowly silenced. Again, the female gaze is prioritised, as the characters are forced to negotiate men in order to reduce their risk of harm.

It is a film which is uncomfortable to watch – taut, almost rigid at times, with a real sense of horror. But it is also something of a relief, because after decades of serial killer films which automatically, almost unthinkingly, prioritise the psyche of the killer over the victim, or the mythical detectives determined to obtain justice, Woman of the Hour quietly but decidedly switches the focus. It is an accomplished and thoughtful debut by Kendrick, promising much for what is to come.

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