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In a now viral moment on The Graham Norton Show that, to Saoirse Ronan, came as a complete surprise, the actress casually “quips” (while being totally serious) that a woman is always thinking about what she might be able to wield as a weapon for impromptu self-defense purposes. The remark came during a “har-har-har” discussion among actors Denzel Washington, Paul Mescal (these two on the promotional circuit together thanks to Gladiator II) and Eddie Redmayne, with Washington confirming his combat training by Navy SEALs during the filming of The Equalizer. Norton then questioned, “[So] you can kill something with anything?” Washington responded with an emphatic affirmation, with Redmayne then weighing in, “I find some of the techniques though that you learn, like some of the things Paul taught us, is how you can use, um, how you can use your phone if someone’s attacking you—the butt of your phone.” And it’s here that he pantomimes the gesture, about to continue to say more until Mescal foolishly interrupts, “Who’s actually gonna think about that though? If someone attacked me, I’m not gonna go, ‘Phone.’”
Amid the yuk-yuks between the men, Ronan tries to interject, but the laughter is still too raucous, settling down long enough for Redmayne to agree, “That’s a very good point.” Well done, chap, for saying something totally ignorant. Ronan then takes the chance, before the conversation shifts again, to say, “That’s what girls have to think about all the time.” A nervous hush falls over the men, with Mescal and Redmayne quickly agreeing, as though suddenly realizing that this whole exchange could be a PR nightmare (and it kind of is). Ronan then delivers the coup de grâce by asking the audience, “Am I right, ladies?” The audience returns a loud cheer of approval. Norton is then very quick to change the topic, not even addressing what Ronan said, lest the episode become “too political.”
Of course, everything is always political, and that’s a reality that has become even harder to ignore in these increasingly divided times. That Ronan made this comment on the heels of the release of Anna Kendrick’s directorial debut, Woman of the Hour (a movie loosely based on “The Dating Game killer”), says that fear of men is very much on women’s minds. More than ever, perhaps. Or at least more than ever in the twenty-first century. That Woman of the Hour looks to a story from the twentieth, specifically 1978 (and jumping around in time to other years in the seventies), is extremely telling of how not so far we’ve come with regard to the way women are treated by men. To be blunt, like objects designed solely for men’s pleasure and mind games—whether women want to participate in that or not. One such victim in the fictionalized account of Rodney Alcala’s serial killing spree throughout the seventies is Sheryl Bradshaw (played by Anna Kendrick and based on Cheryl Bradshaw—not sure what the point of one letter change was to “Sheryl” for the character, but anyway…).
To set the stage for the rampant and systemic misogyny that Sheryl faces as an aspiring actress (which is ratcheted up from “ordinary” misogyny against “civilian” women), Woman of the Hour opens with Alcala (Daniel Zovatto) and one of his victims, Sarah (Kelley Jakle, who also appeared in the Pitch Perfect movies with Kendrick), in Wyoming, 1977. Giving viewers a snapshot of his modus operandi in terms of killing style, Alcala has lured Sarah to a remote, isolated location by insisting this is the best place (presumably for setting and lighting) to take photographs of her. As he tells her to talk about herself so she can loosen up, she tells a familiar tale of abandonment by a boyfriend, his shitty behavior best exemplified by the fact that he left her despite Sarah being pregnant with his child. As she lets the tears fall while Alcala continues snapping photos like the creep he is, she admits, “I knew he was risky, but fuck it, everyone’s risky.” The statement adds an eerie layer to the fact that she’s come to this isolated hilltop with a man she doesn’t know. A man who prides himself on “always getting the girl” via his aura of “sensitivity” (hence, wielding the artist/photographer card all the time) and saying cornball shit like, “You’re beautiful.” And then, all at once, showcasing his “Mr. Hyde” personality by going for the jugular—literally.
The way he murders Sarah is also meant to show viewers another frequent tactic of Alcala’s, which was to strangle his victims just enough for them to lose consciousness, but not kill them entirely. Once they revived, he would continue toying with them again, providing a slow, cruel and psychologically taxing death. As he does to Sarah. This harrowing scene then leads into one of a completely different kind: Sheryl auditioning for a role in front of two male casting directors who talk to each other as though she’s not even there. When they finally remember her presence because she asks if they want her to read again, one of the casting directors (Geoff Gustafson) gets around to asking her, “What year did you graduate?” (from her Columbia acting program). It’s almost as “subtle” as just coming right out and saying, “How old are you?” A shade-throwing query on the casting man’s part, as it’s meant to indicate he thinks she looks too old. Not just for the part she’s auditioning for, but in general. This treatment of her as though she’s a piece of meat is not only in keeping with the cattle call vibes of any audition (open or closed), but the way women are regarded overall. As though to really drive home that point, the other casting director (Matty Finochio) concludes with, “And you’re okay with nudity, right?” Sheryl replies, “No, it’s just not for me.” The casting agent who asked the question then takes the opportunity to eyeball her chest and assure, “Oh, I’m sure they’re fine.”
When she gets to her apartment building, there’s no respite from sleazy male behavior to be had there either, for she must contend with the presence of her neighbor, Terry (Pete Holmes), who she clearly dreads running into. Even so, he seems to be a constant in her life as a fellow actor that often runs lines with her. But that doesn’t mean that Sheryl wants him to be lingering all the time, which he constantly is, refusing to take the hint as he follows her into the apartment while her phone is ringing. Answering it to find that it’s her agent, Sheryl tries to motion for Terry to leave so she can talk in private, but he refuses to take the hint. Just as he refuses to see that Sheryl could simply want a friendship from him, and not anything romantic. Alas, after finding out that the only gig she’s “landed” (requiring no audition, of course) is as a contestant on The Dating Game, she goes out for a drink with Terry to drown her sorrows. Taking advantage of her vulnerable emotional state, Terry tries to make a move. Obviously, her knee-jerk reaction is to recoil, at which time Terry is the one who has the audacity to be offended and start acting weird and distant.
Rather than make him feel worse—as though it’s Sheryl’s responsibility to make him feel any way at all—she placates by insisting she wants to stay for another drink. And then placates further still by waking up in bed next to him the following morning. While some might “blame” Sheryl for this result, any woman who has ever been put in such an awkward position knows that it can become both more awkward and even dangerous if the rejection isn’t “corrected.” What’s more, at that time in society, ensuring men’s egos were as stroked as their dicks was still a significant part of being a woman. Even post-women’s “liberation.”
To interweave Sheryl’s existence with those of Alcala’s victims is a potent storytelling device on screenwriter Ian McDonald’s part. Not just because it helps show the depth of Alcala’s crimes (and the extent to which various cries for help to stop future harm went unnoticed or unheard), but because it gives viewers a glimpse into not only Sheryl’s quiet life of exploitation and demeanment, but also her own near brush with potential death. This feeling of her having a “sliding doors” moment in terms of whether she actually concedes to going on a “date” (a.k.a. weekend getaway in Carmel, the prize from The Dating Game) with Alcala.
Beyond the stage where sexist “banter,” encouraged by the host, Ed (Tony Hale), an audience member, Laura (Nicolette Robinson), recognizes Alcala as the man who approached her friend on the beach, the man she was last seen with before being found dead. Starting to have a panic attack not only over seeing him again, but seeing him in this context, she flees the studio in an anxiety-ridden rush. Her boyfriend, Ken (Max Lloyd-Jones), eventually follows her out to the car see what’s wrong. When she explains that she’s very sure the man on the stage is the same man who killed her friend, all Ken does is try to assure her that it’s not. That the Establishment would never have allowed him on a stage so “legitimate.” This brushing away of her very real information and feelings is representative on a larger scale of the way that women’s so-called overreactive behavior is handled by “the men in charge.” Though, as Woman of the Hour makes apparent, the only thing they appear to be in charge of is ensuring that the patriarchy continues to hold, ergo women keep getting harmed and abused.
The macabre sentence that reads, “A serial killer wins a dating game show” is a grim reminder that the most nefarious of men can be the most charming (see also: Ted Bundy). Wearing their mask for the public and then ripping it off behind closed doors. Even some of the more overtly chauvinistic predators (e.g., Donald Trump, Harvey Weinstein and Jeffrey Epstein), for as grotesque as they are out in the open, tend to be even more so in private. As McDonald noted of coming up with the script at the time when Trump’s “grab ‘em by the pussy” audio leaked,
“…in order for bad men to flourish, a lot of good people, quote unquote, have to look the other way in order for this behavior to sort of perpetuate itself. And that was the thing that I found really interesting about him, because on a lot of true crime websites, you will hear people sort of compare Rodney Alcala to like Ted Bundy, because they’re both well-educated. And kind of handsome, but that’s kind of the extent of it, because beyond that, they’re actually really different people. Ted Bundy was a chameleon, and he was really good at making himself look like something he wasn’t. And Rodney Alcala sort of never pretended to be anything but what he was. And so, it was everybody around him that sort of accommodated that. And that was the thing that I found really interesting about him.”
In fact, it seemed as though the more overt (like appearing on national television) and risk-taking he was, the more he got away with. The ways in which Alcala was allowed to flourish in his crimes as a direct result of the Establishment/law enforcement ignoring not just women’s pleas, but not caring at all about the threat to women’s lives, is exactly why Ronan would, in 2024, still be able to make such a chilling comment about women needing to think about protecting themselves pretty much all the time. Because the same skeptical, do-nothing attitude persists at the top of the power food chain. To boot, there is an ironic element to the fact that The Graham Norton Show set has a 70s-esque color palette and aesthetic as Ronan sat there among the three “bachelors,” so to speak, momentarily trying to stave off some of their inherent misguidedness about what women contend with on the regular.
So while Ronan made a “small” comment and Kendrick a “small” film, both recent moments in “the culture” are extremely germane to the lack of physical and emotional safety women still feel with regard to men. As for the length of Woman of the Hour, the somewhat clipped runtime (especially considering the subject matter) is due to a taut pace designed to create a constant sense of unease within the viewer. Particularly women who already recognize the feeling so well. Women who, like Ronan, are aware that you always need to be on your toes when you’re out in public, but most especially at night…in those dark parking lots and on the sidewalks—anywhere on the street, really.
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Genna Rivieccio
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