What can you say about a 69-minute grade-Z production from 1945 starring a catatonic unknown (Tom Neal) and the most metaphysically distressing actress ever to grace an American film (Ann Savage) that takes place mainly in front of a rear projection screen and a progression of minimally rendered motel rooms and roadside diners—except that it’s one of the most daring and thoroughly perverse works of art ever to come out of Hollywood? The director was Edgar G. Ulmer, a master of cinematic stylization too long underappreciated.