This week on The Spectator Film Podcast… Detour (1945) 11.22.19 Featuring: Austin, Maxx Commentary track begins at 16:35 — Notes — We watched the Criterion Collection release of Detour for our show this week. It’s a wonderful version of the film, and it’s got lots of fun bonus supplemental features as usual. As of the posting of this episode (11.26.19), Detour is also available on The Criterion Channel. “Some Detours to Detour” by Robert Polito from The Current “Ulmer, Edgar G.” by Erik Ulman from Senses of Cinema Detour by Noah Isenberg — The BFI Film Classics book on Detour is as insightful and useful as you’d expect. Isenberg manages to pack in a lot of information and lead introduce lots of additional criticism on the film. “Perennial Detour: The Cinema of Edgar G. Ulmer and the Experience of Exile” by Noah Isenberg from Cinema Journal — Here’s the link a PDF file of this essay. Isenberg discusses Ulmer’s entire career and his life as an Austrian-born émigré in the US, highlighting the ways in which Ulmer’s work can be seen as exploring concepts of exile. It’s a wonderful read. Britton on Film: The Complete Film Criticism of Andrew Britton by Andrew Britton, Ed. Barry Keith Grant — Here’s the link to a published collection of Andrew Britton’s film criticism. This was the first time we’ve relied on Britton’s writing in our preparation for the show, and the precision of his insights are genuinely remarkable. Britton avoids over-reliance on structuralist language, and the clarity of his arguments make his writing very enjoyable. We’ll include some of the relevant passages from his essay ‘Detour’ below: “The whole meaning of Detour depends on the fact that Al is incapable of providing the impartial account of the action which convention leads us to expect in first-person narratives… O’Hara and Marlowe [other male noir narrators] are to be thought of simply as speaking the truth, both about themselves and about the narrative world in general. They may be mistaken, but they never equivocate, and their impersonality is never questioned for a moment. Al’s commentary, however, though it is not hypocritical – he plainly believes every word of it – is profoundly self-deceived and systematically unreliable… In fact, Al’s memory of the past is in itself a means of blotting it out, and his commentary, far from serving as the clue which leads us infallibly to the meaning of the narrative action, is like a palimpsest beneath which we may glimpse the traces of the history he has felt comepelled to rewrite” (195). “[Al] has simply concluded this is the way life must be, and the willed (if unconscious) defeatism implicit in his attitude to his blighted career is the first sign of his habitual tendency to attribute his own choices, and their disastrous consequences, to forces external to himself… Ulmer uses these brief, and extraordinarily elliptical, expository sequences to define his hero as a man who lacks all sense of aim and purpose, who is essentially indifferent to everything but what he takes, at a given moment, to be his own interests, and who, above all, instinctively rationalizes his convenience on all occasions, either by absolving himself of responsibility for his actions completely or by providing himself with a spurious but flattering account of his motives” (195-96). “[Vera] clearly sets out to ‘rook’ Al in exactly the way he rooked Haskell, who was in turn preparing to rook his own father, but her spontaneous rapaciousness is actually quite different in kind from that of her male antagonists. The most obvious indication of this difference is the hectoring aggressiveness of her manner. Vera is not a trickster like Al and Haskell, and she does not try to deceive, disarm, or win the con