Anna Kendrick has long made her name as Hollywood's jester, starring in now-classic flicks like Pitch Perfect, A Simple Favour, and Twilight (though even she's forgotten about that one).

But in her directorial debut, Woman of the Hour, Kendrick convincingly shelves her comedic charm for something far darker – and it mostly pays off.

Based on a true story, Woman of the Hour tells the unsettling tale of how serial rapist and killer Rodney Alcala managed to appear on — and win — the popular 1970s game show, The Dating Game, in the middle of a killing spree. His tally? As many as 130 victims, mostly women.

But Kendrick's film isn't just about rehashing a notorious killer's crimes. Instead, it uses this shocking backdrop to interrogate the pervasive misogyny and sexism of the era – and sadly, how little has changed today.

Kendrick takes on the role of Sheryl Bradshaw (not to be confused with the real-life Cheryl Bradshaw), the leading lady who came face-to-face with Alcala on The Dating Game, even choosing him as her final date. Adopting a non-linear narrative format, we jump between the recreated dating show and Alcala's interactions with his victims, heralded by a charismatically creepy Daniel Zovatto.

From the opening scene, it's clear: Alcala is evil. But Kendrick isn't focused on just that. Woman of the Hour digs into the dangers of simply being a woman.

One line that will hit home for many women comes when a makeup artist on the set of The Dating Game gives Sheryl some blunt advice: "No matter what words they use, the question beneath the question remains the same… which one of you will hurt me?"

Visually, the film is soaked in warm 70s hues and cicada-laced soundscapes, but Kendrick is careful not to glamorise the violence. There's no gratuitous brutality. Instead, it's all about suggestion: a subtle shift in expression, a close-up of clothing, meticulous set design — all deliberate choices to respect the women at the heart of the story.

But at times, the film struggles to figure out which tonal path it wants to meander. One scene sees Kendrick inject some of her signature wit, throwing quick-witted jabs at her potential bachelors and querying them about theories of relativity. While entertaining, it feels out of sync, shifting from a tense feminist thriller to bubbly "girlboss"-esque dialogue that pulls you out of the moment, leaving the film confused about what it wants to be.

This is where Woman of the Hour doesn't quite land: at times prioritising clever one-liners over fully developed characters or a cohesive narrative. The non-linear structure doesn't help either, making the film feel scattered and fragmented. But when Kendrick leans into its darker material, it's a home run.

One stand-out scene takes place after the show, when Sheryl reluctantly agrees to go for a drink with Alcala. As the unease between them grows, Sheryl silently signals to the bartender not to bring another round, fakes her phone number and walks to her car in the dark, knowing Alcala is just behind her and watching her every move.

Kendrick's performance here is nothing short of masterful, with tension and fear seeping viscerally from the screen. It's this portrayal of the everyday dangers women face where the film truly excels: the anxiety of walking alone at night; the constant self-doubt over whether that feeling is paranoia or instinct; the quiet calculations of safety that women make without even realising.

While it occasionally fumbles in balancing feminist critique with traditional thriller tropes, Kendrick's message is clear: the threat to women isn't limited to dark alleys or serial killers — it's present in seemingly mundane interactions, woven into the way women move through the world, always on alert.

Even with its occasional missteps, Woman of the Hour is a bold and unafraid debut for Kendrick, proving she's capable of much more than comedy. Maybe it's time she left the funny bone behind entirely.

Woman of the Hour is streaming now on Netflix.