“No matter what you do, no matter where you turn, fate sticks out its foot to trip you,” gripes Detour’s Al Roberts (Tom Neal), a master of deadpan anxiety, who, it must be said, does his part to invite that intrusive boot at every turn. Nothing tempts fate like the guilt of an innocent man. Has anyone in films since Peter Lorre had worse luck, or worse judgment? But that’s the fun of Detour, a bitter, brittle noir that emerges out of the fog of German Expressionism to thumb a ride across the map of the United States.