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The ’70s: bell-bottoms, disco, and a serial killer brazen enough to join a televised dating game. Anna Kendrick’s directorial debut “Woman of the Hour” covers the sordid, yet simultaneously bizarre real-life story of the “Dating Game Killer.” Her film is able to successfully incorporate a harsh examination of misogyny and the dangers that face women everyday.

A contestant on “The Dating Game” show, Sheryl Bradshaw (Kendrick) ends up selecting one of America’s most notorious serial killers to be her winning bachelor. Convicted of murdering seven women and girls — although some authorities believe the actual number to be as high as 130 murders — Rodney Alcala (Daniel Zovatto) managed to avoid capture for years due in part to what "Woman of the Hour" chillingly demonstrates: society’s tendency to dismiss women's reports, even to this day.

One of the clearest examples of this intransigent misogyny is delivered through the focus on Laura (Nicolette Robinson), a woman who recognizes Alcala on the show, but instead faces near constant adversity — from the police to even her own boyfriend — as she attempts to warn society of the dangers of the seemingly charismatic man on their screens. Through misogyny, gaslighting, and a total disregard for her distress, Laura’s story also comes to a realistic end as door after door is slammed in her face and she is ultimately prevented from contributing to Alcala’s arrest.

The first-time director’s commentary on sexism is in no way limited to this strong secondary plot line. Selecting a serial killer to accompany her on a romantic getaway turns out to be only one of many challenges that Sheryl faces throughout the film. From her unsuccessful search for employment to her intrusive neighbor, almost every aspect of the aspiring actress’s life is impacted by harsh gender discrimination.

“Woman of the Hour” avoids getting lost in the strong uptick in true crime retellings, through its constant spotlight on both the struggles of women in the ’70s and the almost persistent sense of danger many women experience. As a director, Kendrick distances herself from monetizing on the real-life suffering of victims by deciding to donate the entirety of her earning from the film to anti-sexual violence charities.

Kendrick’s unique approach to suspense goes on to prove that “Woman of the Hour” should be separated from other true crime thrillers, as it chooses to pay close attention to subtle moments rather than emphasizing gore and blood. This includes the devastating realization for both the audience and the film’s first victim, Sarah (Christine Thornton), that she is in the presence of someone meaning to do her harm and almost nothing can be done to prevent it. With a prolonged close-up on Thornton’s face, the viewer sees the drastic shift from a sense of safety to terror through only a slight shift in her expression.

These unsettling scenes are driven home without the aid of any bells and whistles — unrealistic visual effects or eerie music — and arguably build up tension better than if they were substituted for more violent, prolonged murder scenes. Beyond paying respect to the victims by not depicting their deaths for entertainment value alone, the film’s lack of frill allows viewers to forget the barrier between reality and fiction and become immersed in the raw scene. They can only respond to the threats faced by the victims and the fear as if they themselves are experiencing it.

Compact story-telling and dialogue allows “Woman of the Hour” to have a runtime of one hour and 35 minutes — a miracle in this era of excessively long films. However, this brevity may come at a cost. Although Sheryl’s portion of the film is easily the most recognizable — as Alcala’s moniker reflects — it was ultimately the emotional intelligence and bravery of a teenage runaway, represented in the film as Amy (Autumn Best), that Alcala was arrested. Yet, for having such a crucial part of this story in real life and in “Woman of the Hour,” Amy has little to no background and character development in the film relative to the weight she carries.

In the film, Alcala is arrested at the end. However, this was not the end of the real story. The “Dating Show Killer” was later released on bail and tragically killed two more women during his time outside of bars. Amy’s real-life counterpart, Monique Hoyt, returned to court for Alcala’s final opportunity for acquittal to put — as the prosecutor described it — “the nail in Rodney’s coffin.” Sequestering this information to text in the closing minutes of the film allows Sheryl’s storyline to remain the most prominent throughout the film, but does Hoyt’s contributions and bravery a disservice.

One of Kendrick’s strengths is her use of seamless transitions which fall in line with the contrast ever-present throughout the film: past to present, seemingly normal to outright sociopathic, safe to on the verge of death. With Alcala’s charismatic exterior able to convince millions — including Sheryl — to buy into his act, it is these stark transitions and the haunting performance from Zovatto that characterize how even the most deranged of killers can hide their dark underbelly.

Refusing to glamorize Alcala or dramatize any moments for entertainment value, Kendrick’s refreshing interpretation of this ’70s true crime case — with a focus on the victims rather than the killer — is able to do the story justice. Her first director’s credit with “Woman of the Hour” is well-deserved, hopefully opening the door for further projects down the line.