Illustration by Michael DiMilo
A Man’s World: Film Review of Woman of the Hour
★★★☆☆
By Geoff Carter
The film Woman of the Year is based on the premise of a serial killer competing on “The Dating Game”. The premise seems preposterous, but it is based on the true story of serial killer Rodney Alcala’s appearance on a 1978 episode of the game show, a fact which makes the narrative, especially on this particularly sexist and goofy TV show, darkly surreal.
For those who have never seen The Dating Game, a bachelorette contestant would come on to choose one of three bachelors for a dream date. She was supposed to playfully question and interact with the hidden bachelors—who she could hear but not see—before choosing a winner. During the show, the bachelorette was to ask a series of cutesy scripted question like, “If you were a dessert, what would you be?”
In 1978, an aspiring actress named Sheryl Bradshaw appeared on the show. One of the bachelor contestants happened to be Rodney Alcala, who was subsequently convicted of rape, murder, and assault and was eventually convicted of committing eight murders and suspected of being responsible for as many as one hundred and thirty killings. The fact that Sheryl chose Rodney to be her date speaks not only to his devious charm and likability, but to the arrogance of a predator who would dare put his image in millions of living rooms.
The film Woman of the Hour tells the story of Alcala, also known as The Dating Game killer, Bradshaw, and his career as one of the most successful killers in history. In the opening sequence—photo stamped with the date 1977, Alcala (Daniel Zovatto) is seen doing a photo shoot with a young woman who eventually opens up to him, telling him of her recent break-up. He eventually chokes her to unconsciousness, revives her, and continues to torture her until he finally strangles her.
The story moves forward to 1978 where Sheryl Bradshaw (Anna Kendrick) is auditioning for a film role. Frustrated with the arrogance and rudeness of the casting team, she goes home where overly friendly and needy neighbor Terry (Pete Holmes) who provides a shoulder for her to cry on. They go out for drinks and when Tony tries to get cuddly and is gently rebuffed by Cheryl, he sulks—and the next shot is the two waking in the same bed, implying that Cheryl went to bed with Ed to soothe his hurt feelings, one of many instances of misogynistic behavior.
Subtly embedded in Ian MacDonald’s screenplay, these small and seemingly ordinary instances of discrimination against, condescension toward, objectification of, and snide belittlement of women combine to make a disturbing portrait of a sexualized patriarchal culture—a culture where a monster like Alcala could thrive for years. From Alcala showing his scrapbooks full of snapshots (victims?) to a group of sniggering male co-workers to Ed, the smarmy game host, To Terry’s pouting, to the tiny acts of feminine resistance to cultural norms—like Cheryl making up her own Dating Game questions—it becomes evident that the patriarchy is omniscient and omnipotent.
The narrative is structured with flashbacks—and one forward—from Rodney’s past and future crimes to the 1977 game show appearance. After arriving at the studio, Sheryl is brought onto the game show set, made up and coiffed by two matrons who advise her to have fun and be herself. The host Ed appears and (not unexpectedly) tells them to find something more “attractive” for Sheryl to wear.
The film then cuts forward to 1979 where Rodney meets Amy, a teenage runaway, and persuades her to go out into the desert for a photo shoot, flirting with her all the while. The action cuts back to the game. Sheryl goes onstage and is introduced by the sleazy Ed as “a girl who did foot massages and who is working her way up”. The bachelors, a somewhat thick medical student, a smugly provocative furniture designer, and the snakily charming Alcala. Every question and answer is (as the show’s audience expects) sexually titillating.
Then, suddenly, we are back in 1971 in New York City where Rodney encounters—and kills—stewardess Charlie (Kathryn Gallagher). The film then flashes forward to 1978 and Sheryl’s appearance on the game show and back again to Rodney and Amy’s photoshoot in the desert, culminating in a rape and assault.
Back in 1978, Sheryl veers off the script, making up her own questions infused with references to Immanuel Kant and other more ephemeral concepts. This swerving from the expected discourse of a young woman takes Ed and the crew by surprise, along with the bachelors. Rodney is the only one who is able to handle her audacity. She picks him as her bachelor.
Both narrative threads come to their respective conclusions. Of course, knowing that Woman of the Hour is based on a true story, the audience is aware what will happen. Even so, the climatic sequences where Sheryl and Rodney go out for drinks after the show—a meeting that ends badly, and the attack in the desert—another meeting that doesn’t go well, ratchet up the suspense to an edge-of-your-seat level.
First-time director Anna Kendrick puts together an entertaining and subtly intense suspense movie, but in some respects Woman of the Year somehow falls short. The subject matter and just plain weirdness of the gameshow encounter should make for a compelling movie, and parts of it are gripping. The assault sequences—especially the first one—are harrowing, and Rodney and Sheryl’s “date” escalates from amiable to creepy to scary. The audience knows who Rodney is at this point, and while Sheryl’s antenna are up with this guy, we’re scared for her (even though we know the real-life outcome).
The gameshow sequence is funny with its tongue-in-cheek takes on show business and seventies culture. The juvenile innuendoes and smarmy sexuality of the game itself are wincingly funny—like somebody do a face plant on a blooper video—and the fashions (especially the hairstyles) are—like a car accident—hard to look away from. But even with these attributes, the film seems to be as superficial as the game show it portrays.
Part of this is due to the shallowness of its main characters. All we really know about Sheryl is that she is a somewhat desperate and frustrated actress, she’s smart, and that she is a victim, of systemic misogyny of the seventies culture. She seems nice, shows some spunk, and maybe likable, but there’s not a whole lot else there—but perhaps because in this culture, that’s all she’s allowed to be. Kendrick’s portrayal of her is dead on. While politely compliant to her male “superiors”, she conveys her frustration and annoyance with the barest change in tone or expression. Her delight in veering off the script during the game is hilarious.
Surprisingly, there is little psychological complexity to Rodney. Like Ted Bundy, he is glib, charming, and seductive—and then brutally vicious, but the audience gets no clue as to why. Not that the viewer would need a detailed psychoanalysis, but even a glimpse into the depths of his rage would have been enlightening, but then again, if the point of the film is to emphasize the subjugation of women, then Rodney is only a symptom of ubiquitous misogyny. In other words, maybe he could be any guy.
Woman of the Hour is good entertainment, and it leaves the viewer with a new insight—that resonates in today’s society—into everyday sexism every woman must deal with. It’s a good suspense film with pastel trimmings of seventies culture shock, funny, insightful, and entertaining.