Law & Order – “The Enemy of All Women” – Review: Surveilled and Erased

Jan 23, 2026 - 04:30

"I'm a creep. I'm a weirdo."

“The Enemy of All Women” is a solid, deeply creepy episode of Law & Order—the kind that doesn’t rely on gore or shock value because the real horror is already baked into everyday life.

“The Enemy of All Women” – LAW & ORDER, Pictured: (l-r) Reid Scott as Detective Vincent Riley, Scott Shilstone as Officer Jackson Brice, David Ajala as Det. Theo Walker. Photo by: Virginia Sherwood/NBC @ 2025 NBCUniversal Media, LLC. All Rights Reserved.

Detectives Vincent Riley (Reid Scott) and Theo Walker (David Ajala) take viewers on a brisk, unsettling tour through the worlds high performing women occupy when they dare to excel in male dominated spaces. And the takeaway is depressingly consistent: it doesn’t matter how accomplished, careful, or self-aware you are. Being a woman is enough to attract danger. The episode threads together two familiar predators: the incel poisoned corners of online gaming culture and the old school sexual harasser boss, Marius Cole (Ennis Esmer), who never needed a subreddit to justify his entitlement. Different generations, same misogyny. The show doesn’t sensationalize it; it just lays it out plainly, which somehow makes it even worse.

Surveillance Isn’t Safety — It’s a Trap

One of the most chilling elements of the episode is its quiet indictment of modern surveillance. We’ve been sold the idea that constant tracking equals protection. This episode flips that fantasy on its head.

A digital trail can be erased.

A woman can be erased with it.

As a female viewer who lives alone, this lands hard. The episode taps into that low grade fear you carry around without naming it—the knowledge that someone with enough access, enough obsession, or enough technical skill could make you disappear from your own life. Not metaphorically. Literally.

The erosion of privacy isn’t an abstract policy debate. It’s an erosion of safety.

And the episode makes that point without ever needing to say it out loud.

Samantha Maroun: Sharp Instincts, Soft Touch

On the “order” side, ADA Samantha Maroun’s (Odelya Halevi) instincts are on fire. She clocks early that the victim’s friend, Vanessa Barrett (Virginia Kull), isn’t just adjacent to the case—she’s another survivor of Cole’s abuse. Instead of dragging her through the system’s usual retraumatizing machinery, Samantha finds a way to protect Vanessa while still advancing the prosecution. It’s one of the few moments in the episode where a woman’s safety is treated as something worth preserving.

Executive ADA Nolan Price (Hugh Dancy) follows her lead, but not without hesitation. The strategy—calling Vanessa as a rebuttal witness after dangling a plea—was risky. When Samantha asks what he would’ve done if the defense attorney, Rita Calhoun (Elizabeth Marvel) hadn’t folded. Price declined to answer. That silence says everything. Even the “good guys” don’t always have a plan that doesn’t involve breaking a woman open to get what they need.

Women Are Always Negotiating Danger

That’s the heartbeat of the episode. Women are always calculating risk, even with the people who claim to be on their side. The predators change shape—incels, bosses, strangers, colleagues—but the threat remains constant.

“The Enemy of All Women” doesn’t reinvent the franchise. It doesn’t need to. It’s a clear-eyed reminder that misogyny adapts faster than the systems meant to contain it. Whether it’s a man behind a keyboard, a man behind a closed office door, or a justice system that still treats women’s trauma as evidentiary fuel, the danger is ambient. The episode doesn't offer comfort. It offers clarity. And for women watching alone at night, that clarity is its own kid of alarm.

A Tight Hour, Emotionally Sparse

The episode had a strong spine: creepy premise, sharp social commentary, and a clear sense of how unsafe the world is for women. But the emotional temperature was low. Everyone felt a little too clinical, too contained, too procedural. Even Vanessa's performance was restrained in ways that matched the episode's tone. Her limited emotional register added to the overall sparseness. While not a fatal flaw, it does keep the episode from hitting that “9 or 10” territory where character work deepens the impact.

How did the episode shift your understanding of the difference between being watched and being protected? Share your thoughts in the comments.

Overall rating: 8 out of 10