Directed by: Edgar G. Ulmer Made on a shoestring budget and shot in twenty eight days, this short little "B" film (67 minute running time) may out-Noir most Noirs with its despair ridden atmosphere. It's a darling of the critics, but has been eclipsed in the popular sphere due to a lack of publicity and availability. Al (Tom Neal), is a lousy, self deprecating piano player who decides to hitchhike across the country to meet up with his fiancé in Hollywood. He gets picked up by a young, irresponsible bookie, Charlie Haskell (Edmund MacDonald), who inconveniently dies in an accident later that night. But Al, who's fashioned a self defeatist attitude of thinking that the world is out to get him, thinks he'll be suspected of murder. So he steals Haskell's wallet and clothes, hides the body, and drives off in his car, deciding to pose as Haskell. Of course, this is where the femme fatale enters the picture: she's another hitchhiker, Vera (Ann Savage), who Al picks up the next day. Little does he know that Vera knew Haskell, and sees right through Al's deception. She blackmails him into posing as his wife, and forcing him to continue his deception: renting out a car and apartment in Haskell's name, further incriminating Al. And when they realize that Haskell was due to inherit a large amount of money, they can't stop now. But Vera isn't always in control, there's almost a budding romance between the two of them. It amounts to two naïve people who are in way over their heads - they're both scared of being caught, and Al wants out. Vera gets drunk one night and reaches for the telephone, threatening to turn Al in to the police. She grabs the telephone and locks herself in her room, leaving Al grabbing the telephone cord through the crack under the door and trying to pull it out of her hands. All you see is him pulling and yelling at her, until finally the telephone cord goes slack and there's silence from the next room. Al bursts through the door, only to find Vera laid out on the bed, the telephone cord wrapped around her neck as her eyes stare lifelessly at the ceiling. Death follows Al wherever he goes, and there's no escape for him this time. There is no escaping fate in Detour; the characters are doomed from the very beginning, and this chronicle of their last days crushes any hope there was for redemption.
