The film "Woman of the Hour" weaves a tapestry of chilling narratives set against the picturesque, yet sinister landscapes of late 1970s America. First, we journey to 1977 Wyoming, where the eerie serenity of the plains becomes the backdrop for a heinous act. Serial killer Rodney Alcala, a man with a penchant for photography that belies his twisted intentions, ensnares a woman emotionally before mercilessly strangling her. The sequence underscores Alcala’s manipulative prowess, as his victims’ vulnerabilities become pathways to their doom. Alcala's psychological torment, as he revives the woman only to end her life once more, reveals the terrifying duality of his nature—a predator feeding off emotional confessions, rendering his crimes both intimate and monstrous.

Fast forward to 1979, in the urban sprawl of San Gabriel, another thread intertwines with Alcala’s malevolent tapestry. We encounter Amy, a young runaway navigating the harsh realities of the streets, occasionally resorting to small thefts for survival. Her plight is a stark commentary on societal neglect, painting a vivid picture of desperation that Alcala exploits. Spotting her outside a motel, Alcala dangles the prospect of a modeling career—dreams rampant among lost youth—luring her to the desolate embrace of the desert. Here, in the glow of a deceptive sunset, he captures her image before his primal instincts resurface with lethal intent, casting a grim shadow over her naïve aspirations.

The narrative then flashes back to 1971, New York City, a metropolis teeming with life and opportunity, yet hiding dark secrets within its bustling avenues. It is here we meet Charlie, a flight attendant embarking on a new chapter in her life. Amid the routine of moving into a new apartment, she sights Alcala, a seemingly harmless photographer, whose assistance she enlists with innocent trust. However, her interaction with Alcala follows a tragic trajectory as he betrays her trust, fatally culminating in an act of violence—a reflection of urban vulnerability, where the facade of civility masks impending danger.

The tension escalates in 1978 Los Angeles, with Sheryl Bradshaw's storyline, an aspiring actress teetering on the precipice of potential breakthrough under the insistent guidance of her agent, Helen. The film cleverly juxtaposes her professional aspirations with her personal disdain for The Dating Game show, perceived as a frivolous venture. Yet Sheryl's participation becomes a poignant critique of the entertainment industry's superficiality. Her interaction with Alcala, veiled as Bachelor #3, is a testament to Alcala's cunning charm, as he maneuvers through her probing questions with calculated wit. This moment of levity and courtship turns ominous, exposing the unsettling veneer of televised matchmaking.

Amidst the audience, a subplot unfurls with Laura, whose keen recognition of Alcala triggers a silent alarm of dread. Her attempts to alert the authorities are mired in disbelief and redirecting incompetence, portraying the perennial struggle against societal apathy and bureaucratic hurdles. Laura embodies the watchful citizen, whose instincts are unfortunately dismissed by those around her, creating a narrative tension rooted in the failure of justice at crucial moments.

The climactic episode unfolds as Rodney's mask cracks. After winning the "date" with Sheryl, his fractured personality pierces through the facade of charm. This narrative arc poignantly dissects themes of predator and prey in social interactions, where Sheryl's intuitions lead her to fabricate personal details, sensing danger lurking beneath Rodney's charisma. The deserted parking lot scene is a masterclass in suspense, where anticipation builds as an ordinary moment teeters on the brink of violence, yet fortuitous intervention provides Sheryl a narrow escape from a grim fate.

The resolution of Rodney’s storyline comes not through conventional means but by the resilience of Amy, the runaway, whose clever manipulation allows her to escape the literal and metaphorical bindings of her predator. By feigning vulnerability, she gains Rodney’s trust, a cunning exchange reflective of a deeper critique of power dynamics. Her ultimate flight to freedom from a gas station, coinciding with Rodney’s arrest, is a victory of spirit over oppression and a narrative innovation that flips the usual damsel-in-distress trope.

However, the postscript offers a somber reflection on systemic failures, revealing that despite defenses against Alcala, justice was initially evasive. His release on bail, subsequent murders, and re-arrest serve as an indictment of legal oversights and the tragic, often delayed, reconciliation with justice. The film's narrative triumph lies in the adult Amy's testimony, decades later, which finally tips the scales, an assertion of truth and vindication after long-held silence.

In a broader social context, Sheryl’s life post-Dating Game underscores the unpredictability of personal trajectories. Her retreat into privacy and family life serves as a poignant counterpoint to her near brush with notoriety, encapsulating a narrative of survival and reticence shared by many affected by unspeakable proximity to infamy. Rodney Alcala’s demise in incarceration is a muted, inevitable closure, yet the unresolved enormity of his potential victim count leaves a chilling legacy for reflection.