Outside the more established film studios of the time, a small group of resource-strapped studios (Republic, Monogram, Producers Releasing Corporation, and others), collectively nicknamed Poverty Row, produced a steady stream of short-duration genre films with lesser known (or unknown) casts, noticeably bare-bones production values, and minimal marketing. As the paragon of Poverty Row noir, Edgar Ulmer’s Detour holds a special place in the noir canon: economic constraints forced Ulmer to use his wild imagination to craft one of the most tautly effective, perfectly paced thrillers of the cycle, a sort of low-key, 68-minute symphony about two hitchhikers tangling with fate. Goldsmith’s script is replete with bitterly hard-boiled voice-over narration from hitchhiking pianist Al Roberts (Tom Neal, who resembles Brando at certain angles) and icy zingers from Vera (Ann Savage), the conniving, witch-like hitchhiker he picks up after “inheriting” a Lincoln Continental from another driver whom he accidentally killed. Aware of his crime, Vera agrees not to turn in Roberts to the police as long as he follows her orders, which lead to no good (“There ought to be a law against dames with claws”). With a shooting schedule lasting a mere six days (some dispute this), Ulmer created a perfect microcosm of the noir universe: suspicion and world weariness layered on thick, a list of now-standard noir settings (highway, roadside diner, hotel room, nightclub), and budget-driven shortcuts adding visual inventiveness (using spotlights to simplify production design, an over-sized coffee cup to simulate perspective, etc.). Notably, Ulmer’s brisk and economical pacing is maintained by frequent, rapid transitions, especially wipes, and the steady voice-over and flashback narration.
By Michael Bayer
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Below is an abridged excerpt from My book Film Noir Fate Vs The Working Stiff, available in hardback, paperback, and eBook.
My favorite noir is Detour, directed by Edgar G. Ulmer. It starred unknowns Tom Neal and Ann Savage.
It is not a better noir than The Maltese Falcon 1941 or Double Indemnity 1944 or Laura 1944 or Fallen Angel 1945 or The Big Sleep 1946 or The Strange Love of Martha Ivers 1946 or Nightmare Alley 1947 or Out of the Past 1947 or D.O.A. 1949 or The Third Man 1949 or Stray Dog 1949.
But made in the Poverty Row studio of Producers Releasing Corporation for a pittance with unknown actors and a graylisted director, Detour showed how far a good suspenseful story, taut dialogue, and clever but cheap photography, could carry a B film noir.
Detour is not just a film for the noir zealots. It grossed $1m, making it among the top one hundred or so films of a good year for cinema, 1945. Wikipedia has its production budget within a rubbery range of $20-100,000. On the mid-point of $60,000, the multiples of gross to budget approach twenty, which is the top ratio of 1945.
Detour is a lean mean, craftily paced movie that clocks out after 1hr 07min. It begins in a cheap diner with unkempt Al Roberts (Tom Neal) hunched over a cup of coffee until a jukebox jazz song sends him crazy.
The song also sparks Al’s voiceover and the flashback. All is wrong in the world of noir! The acting from the unknowns in the diner and the little-known lead, Neal, is good so we feel the B-picture ahead of us might be rewarding. It is.
Al Roberts narrates the story, and he warns us early on that a lot of people including the police (and the viewers?) might think he is making stuff up. We are warned that what we are watching may not have been what happened.
But it is not like in Rashomon (1950, directed by Akira Kurosawa) where we get to see alternative “truths”. Here we are stuck with Al’s truth, even while we are urged to doubt it. Clever and disturbing!
In Al’s truth, Fate unjustly assaults him. The voiceover says, “Whichever way you turn, Fate sticks out a foot and trips you.” This is just one of the catchy lines in the voiceover which works so well because you can concentrate on the attractive photographic scenes rather than a talking head.
Vera No-last-name (ANN SAVAGE) is one of the best femmes fatales in all of noir. Tough as nails, and certainly “fatale”, she exudes vulnerability with memory of a harsh past and this endears her to an audience. When we first meet Vera, we see her silently deciding whether to ride with Al. Savage’s slow walk to the car is surprisingly gripping.
Once she is in the car, the voiceover says, “She looked as if she’d just been thrown off the crummiest freight train in the world.” Narrator Al continues that Vera has “Not the beauty of a movie actress. . . (but) a beauty that’s almost homely because it’s so real.”
In 1985, Savage told the Los Angeles Times why she quit Hollywood. “No “No one seemed to want to give me a crack at better roles,” she said.
“I was actually hurt by it.”
Every time I watch or think about Detour, I share Savage’s pain.
Very nearly a twilight zone. A brilliant essential. Ann Savage is nearly a monster, pretty in a shadow then crazily evil. All the better and fitting to its story-line in having been low budget.
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