Ann Savage gets my vote for the person I would least like to meet under any circumstances, much less as a hitchhiker at a desert gas station. Her character Vera in Edgar Ulmer's noir mind bender "Detour" sets a new standard for women of her disposition, those with a capital 'B'. The film builds intensity as it's protagonist Al Roberts (Tom Neal) finds himself in a nightmare world, if not of his own creation, then at least one in which he shares major complicity. His character's voice over narration reveals a tortured mind, feverishly painting himself into a corner from which there is no escape, until events spiral out of control and strand him in an emotional twilight zone.
It would have been interesting to see how any number of scenarios might have played out given some of the film's set-ups, such as the dying millionaire or the mysterious coughing fits suffered by Vera. Instead, her manic manipulation of the spineless Roberts suggests only one sure outcome, that at some point this powder keg must detonate. One might have expected a more direct confrontation, though Vera's demise is ultimately suited to her own unique propensity for evil. Sorry, wrong number.
"Detour" is a strangely disorienting movie, with a reputation that transcends it's modest origins. Even it's ending, which seems like the end of the road for Roberts, leaves enough left open to the imagination to suggest that perhaps he can work things out with just the right roll of the dice. But what about Haskell, what about his dying father, what about Vera's corpse at the rooming house, what about Sue? The movie leaves more loose ends than any other I've ever seen, and doesn't even seem to care. In that respect, it's a lot like Al Roberts at the end of his rope, with the viewer left to decide whether or not to kick out the chair.
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