Kiss the Blood Off My Hands (1948) Review
A Forgotten Film Noir Masterpiece
Directed by actor-turned-director Norman Foster, Kiss the Blood Off My Hands (1948) is not only one of the coldest titles in film history, but it may be one of the most overlooked film noirs I’ve ever come across. Based on the novel by Gerald Butler, this film’s unique perspective, especially for the time, alongside startling cinematography, outstanding acting, impressive sets, and a transfixing ending makes this film unique, bold, and simply wonderful experience which it seems that few are talking about. Witnessing these characters change throughout the story as their situation worsens, though there are brief moments of happiness throughout, leads the audience down their mental and physical spiral.
Burt Lancaster plays Bill Saunders, a Canadian-born war veteran living in London. While drinking at the local pub, his PTSD is triggered by the bartender’s rude words causing him to accidentally kill him with a swift punch and an hard fall. This is witnessed by the piano player, Harry (Robert Newton). As Bill escapes the police, he comes across an asleep woman, Jane (Joan Fontaine), and forces her to let him stay the night at her apartment. The next day, he leaves and takes the lighter of her late husband, who died during the war. He uses this as an excuse to meet her again and she slowly falls in love with him, even through his mistakes and problems regarding his mental health. Harry, the piano player, then returns to blackmail Bill into choosing a life of crime over marrying Jane. Bill refuses and through repeated encounters, Harry tries to break Bill down into entering the criminal underworld. As the film states at the opening: “The cities can be rebuilt, but the wounds of men, whether of the mental or of the body, heal slowly.”
Burt Lancaster looks his best when he’s dirty and unshaven, and fortunately he looks exactly like that throughout the film. His performance as Bill may be one of his most overlooked in his career. He shows the internal struggle with his mental health beautifully. His restrained rage while listening to Harry’s snide, borderline evil, remarks about how easy it would be to throw Bill to the lions and destroy his life is perfect and give his character a wonderful sense of sympathy. Joan Fontaine’s character, Jane, is amazingly loyal despite everything which happens around her. In one part of the film, Bill snaps and attacks a man and a police officer. He’s then sent to prison on a multi-week sentence and given 18 lashes by the cat o’ nine tales. However, she never thinks about leaving him and maintains her loyalty throughout all which transpires, including being told of Bill’s accidental murder. It’s only after she is attacked by Harry and defends herself, does her strength begin to waver and mirror that of Bill’s own mental state. Robert Newton’s Harry almost feels mythological. He appears whenever it’s most inconvenient for Bill. He reminded me of how Satan tempted Jesus while he was fasting in the desert. His distinct way of speaking and his generally taunting nature make him creepy and memorable.
I stated it briefly at the beginning of this review that the cinematography is great and that cannot be understated. The film maintains a grounded view of its actors that, while standard, helps in this case by helping the audience understand that the story has serious repercussions for its characters and they could have their lives completely upended should Bill’s secret be revealed. There is only one moment where this changes, when Jane believes that she has killed Harry in self-defense. The camera then slowly rolls left and right as Jane’s mental health breaks down; this is also achieved through her looking herself through a warped mirror (mirroring her now warped sense of reality). This is exceptionally effective as the rational world, and therefore the rational camerawork, begins to break down and enter a more surreal perspective. Black and white suits Kiss the Blood Off my Hands perfectly and the use of shadows and silhouettes rivals that of Carol Reed, Fritz Lang, and Orson Welles, who Norman Foster directed in Journey into Fear (1943). The enormous London set is outstanding and unfortunately underutilized which is disappointing. Its sprawling exterior allow for a well crafted chase scene at the beginning of the film and a moodiness throughout.
Kiss the Blood Off My Hands is an example of why audiences should try and find new films that they may have never heard of before. Little gems like this are fun to find and I’m very happy I watched it. Watching these amazing performances by two incredible actors, especially in a film with not often talked about in association with their careers, is really amazing and even more amazing given how much effort they put into their performances. While it may not be well known or recognized, Kiss the Blood Off My Hands is a joy to watch and I implore you, dear reader, to search for the films that are so often overlooked by general audiences and give them a try. You might find something unexpected.
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