Woman of the Hour

Woman of the Hour begins with violence and ends in exhaustion. In between, it smartly skewers how we've commercialized misogony and built a wall of silence around it. Eloquent and incisive, it's so much more than your average thriller.

Anna Kendrick directs and stars, though you'd be hard-pressed to imagine this was her first feature as director. Few filmmakers come out this conscise and with such purity of vision. Kendrick has a lot to say, and she uses her time wisely. In the process, she fixes her on eye on the parasocial nature of true crime, the commodification of women, and how our society rewards predatory behavior.

This is also an unnerving and deeply unsettling experience. One that only a woman could direct, because it knowingly refuses to wring perverse enjoyment out of violence towards the victims. Lesser films will try to have it both ways. They'll revel in the crime and its gory details, only to admonish the viewer for taking part. Not so here. Even at its bleakest, Kendrick allows the victims their last dignity. Something the world didn't grant them. In the aftermath, there is a gaping hollow of the person that is now gone. A deafening silence that Woman of the Hour amplifies with every new victim.

The backdrop and events are real, though Kendrick wisely allows herself freedom to play with expectations. Luckily, reality doesn't need much embellishment. The truth is wild on its own. In the 1970s, a serial killer targeting young women across America took part in a dating show. His target, a young prospective actress, got away, and soon his trail of misery and destruction led the authorities on his trail.

Naturally, nothing is that simple or clear cut. We learn that this wasn't the first time the killer was under suspicion. Even after his first arrest, he was let out on bail, and went on to murder more women. It's that systemic failure that proves even more terrifying. A killer can be caught and put away. It's much harder to change a broken society.

Much of the film takes place during the taping of the dating show, and Kendrick plays to her strengths as a smart, no-bullshit type pitted against confidently incorrect men. As ever, she's terrific in not just the verbal sparring, but also in the quiet moments. Those where we meaningful glances speak far greater truths.

Woman of the Hour would probably be a good film in the hands of a seasoned male director. In Kendrick's hands, it turns into something more. I don't want to say it's because of her gender, because that risks overlooking her considerable talents in a reductive way. But it's hard to imagine a traditional picture, one usually directed by men, that could have such empathy to balance its visceral brutality. Take, for example, the scene of a horrific home invasion. Kendrick keeps the camera far from the act. We only see legs, arms, and overturned furniture. We know what happens, and it wouldn't serve anyone to see more of it.

Kendrick understands the point where salaciousness turns to complicity, and she allows us to grow as viewer by including us in that conversation. It makes Woman of the Hour a rarity among thrillers. It is a film that is both entertaining and profound; a masterclass in subversion that toys with both genre and audience expectations. In a great year for both horror and societal criticism, Woman of the Hour stands as one of the finest films of the year.