Anna Kendrick’s Directorial Debut, Woman of the Hour, Is Self-Assured and Familiar Serial Killer Drama
It’s difficult to conjure up an image creepier than that of a male photographer, so when Woman of the Hour opens on a male photographer taking photos of a woman in the middle of nowhere as she tearfully opens up about the personal details of her life, the tension is immediately high. Maybe in the late 1970s, male photographers weren’t suspect off the bat, but we live in an age when we know better, precisely because of stories like the one told in Anna Kendrick’s self-assured directorial debut.
The male photographer in question is Rodney Alcala (Daniel Zovatto in a terrible wig), who went on to be sentenced to death in California for five murders committed between 1977 and 1979, although it is speculated by investigators that the true number of the notorious serial killer’s victims could be as high as 130. He died in prison in 2021. Alcala traveled across the United States, photographing women and girls in a disturbingly violent, pornographic manner, and murdering them. Alcala managed to evade arrest for years, despite being placed on the FBI’s Most Wanted list in 1971.
Alcala holds a particularly fascinating place in the true-crime canon not only because of his disgustingly long rap sheet, but also because of his appearance on the popular program The Dating Game in the middle of his killing spree in 1978. Alcala didn’t just appear on the show, he actually won a date with the lucky bachelorette, an aspiring actress named Cheryl Bradshaw (Anna Kendrick), which is where Kendrick picks up the story.
By the time Alcala made his on-screen debut, he had already been arrested for child molestation and assault, served jail time twice for those crimes and been released on parole in both cases; this is not to mention the unspeakable crimes he had previously committed and gotten away with, for one reason or another. Which leads Kendrick and screenwriter Ian MacAllister-McDonald to cheekily beg the question, “Do Hollywood producers not care about the safety of women?” Sure, it was a lot more difficult to keep track of dangerous perverts back then without the modern technology, but considering Alcala had done time twice in California, and did not use a fake name on the show, his sketchy past was certainly available to anyone even casually looking for it, especially someone with money and power, like a producer.
Kendrick’s direction is less concerned with utilizing the grisly details of Alcala’s murders for shock value, and more focused on the patriarchal conditions in an environment like a Los Angeles sound stage that would allow for a twisted killer of women to not just hide in plain sight, but to brazenly appear on television. This makes for a true-crime drama that doesn’t cruelly rely on victims’ suffering, which is somewhat refreshing, but it also makes for a declawed thriller. Instead of looking directly at Alcala’s reign of terror, Kendrick and MacAllister-McDonald have invented their own details, some of which work better than others.
The strongest points of invention by the filmmakers are the total personality facelift they give to Kendrick’s character, Cheryl, and the male feminist façade they give to Alcala, which are used to update the film for our 21st century understanding of gender politics. By the time Cheryl goes on The Dating Game, she’s already been jaded against the misogyny women too often face in the entertainment industry, and in everyday life. Out of insecurity or boredom, she’s recently (regrettably) slept with her “nice guy” neighbor (finally, the perfect casting for Pete Holmes). One too many male producers has dismissed her without a second glance because she doesn’t fit their mold of what a “woman” should look like. Therefore, she is ready to give up on her acting dreams, right when her agent gets her a spot on The Dating Game—she’s willing to give it a shot, if only for the exposure.