An Unprecedented Perspective on Edgar G. Ulmer, by Michael H. Price
I had mentioned Edgar G. Ulmer, the Grey Eminence of Old Hollywood’s Poverty Row sector, in last week’s column, attempting to draw a thematic similarity between Ulmer’s most vivid example of low-budget film noir, 1945’s Detour, and a newly opening picture called Stuck, from the dramatist-turned-filmmaker Stuart Gordon. The cause-and-effect response here was an urge to take a fresh look at Detour. Right about that time, the mail brought a copy of Gary D. Rhodes’ new book, Edgar G. Ulmer: Detour on Poverty Row (Lexington Books; $85).
Gary Rhodes is a colleague of long standing, a filmmaker, educator and journalist whose work has intersected with mine on several fronts. Such Rhodes volumes as White Zombie: Anatomy of a Horror Film and Horror at the Drive-In relate strategically to the Forgotten Horrors books that George E. Turner and I originated during the 1970s, and Gary and I have long acknowledged a shared interest in Ulmer (1904-1972) as a talent essential to any understanding of maverick moviemaking.
With Edgar G. Ulmer: Detour on Poverty Row, Rhodes takes that interest to an unprecedented extent. Editor Rhodes and a well-chosen crew of contributing writers consider Ulmer in light of not only his breakthrough film, 1934’s The Black Cat at big-time Universal Pictures, or such finery-on-a-budget exercises as Bluebeard (1944) and Detour (1945), but also Ulmer’s tangled path through such arenas as sex-hygiene exploitation films (1933’s Damaged Lives), Yiddish-language pieces (1937’s Green Fields), well-financed symphonic soap opera (1947’s Carnegie Hall), and ostensible schlock for the drive-in theatres (1957’s Daughter of Dr. Jekyll).