User Reviews

With such a lurid, evocative title, I entered into 'Kiss the Blood Off My Hands (1948)' with inflated expectations of a film steeped in decadence and depravity. I've often considered the classic film noir mood to be the primal juxtaposition of sex and violence, and this is exactly the stuff promised by Norman Foster's film: one envisions a man's bloodied hands, tinged from murder, and a femme fatale's gentle touch, not only embracing but encouraging her man's brutality. Alas, the true meaning of the title is less literal, and certainly less salacious, and concerns the notion of redemption through love. Burt Lancaster's traumatised war veteran, a man with stunted emotions and a short fuse, leaves behind a shady past of misdeeds he'd rather forget. His salvation comes in the form of Joan Fontaine's lonely, war-grieving nurse, who offers understanding and the hope of a better life. An admittedly conventional storyline is elevated by Foster's keen visual style, with the image of an advancing, goggle-eyed Robert Newton recalling the flamboyant eccentricity of an Orson Welles picture.

Foster's film opens in a pub, as the drunken patrons are shuffled into the street at closing time. There sits Bill Saunders (Lancaster) at the bar, lonely and brooding, so utterly distanced from society that he refuses to follow his fellow drinkers out the door. When the publican becomes forceful, Bill suddenly jerks into action, striking out with a heavy fist that leaves his aggressor dead on the floor. "Chum, you've been and gone and done it," remarks one stunned onlooker (Newton) gravely; "he's dead. You've killed him." This is what film noir is all about: that fundamental moment when there's no turning back. After a thrilling chase through the London streets (though I notice that the characters still drive left-handed vehicles), Bill finds refuge in the apartment of Jane Wharton (Fontaine), whose unexpected compassion leads him to seek a relationship with her. At this point, the film quickly and inexplicably forgets that Bill is a fugitive wanted for murder. Or, perhaps more accurately, it waits for us to forget.

Only after Bill Saunders has reestablished his place in society does his past rear its ugly head, in the form of Robert Newton's grotesquely cavalier black-market fraudster. This isn't the first time in Lancaster's career that his character's past had inescapably returned to haunt him: in Siodmak's 'The Killers (1946),' Swede Andersen accepts his fate with a kind of subdued defeatism. However, 'Kiss the Blood Off My Hands' is less fatalistic towards its protagonist, opting instead for an open-ended conclusion that wavers between hope and resignation. That Bill is ultimately offered a second-chance at redemption is quite appropriate, given that he is a victim, not necessarily of his own sense of greed or immorality, but of the War. His unbalanced personality, unwittingly corrupted by the twisted ethics of combat, is a testament to the psychological scars of warfare, previously explored in Wyler's 'The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)' and more peripherally in George Marshall's film noir 'The Blue Dahlia (1946).'

In a rare beefcake film Burt shows off in this rare British-based film noir. There were skillful in-jokes about Burt's circus skills within the film in at least two scenes. At one point in the film he gets whipped with his shirt off. The old guideline of you can show someone getting whipped, but you can't hear it hitting. Or you can hear the hitting, but not show the whip hitting the skin remains true within this movie. The illuminating Joan as a blonde shows her range as an actress as well as her slight British accent. Again Burt was good as a man trying to overcome his moments of instant rage. The quality of the new 35mm print was incredible.

Probably one of the first cinematic attempts to deal with PTSD and the psychological after-effects of war on its survivors, "Kiss The Blood Of My Hands" (one of the best titles ever) is also a terrific little film noir, with exemplary use of light, shadow, smoke & rain. The three main (and in fact only important) actors offer strong characterizations. Joan Fontaine (an actress of both inner and outer beauty) is lovely, and Burt Lancaster bares his impressive upper torso for an unexpected whipping scene! Robert Newton is perfectly sleazy as the blackmailer. The only thing missing from the movie is a proper ending - though some viewers may even like the open-endedness of the conclusion. *** out of 4.

I agree with another reviewer on this film; it could have been a classic if the ending were handled differently. Unfortunately the writers, Hecht and Lancaster went for the safe Hollywood ending that generally followed the Hayes Code that killers always had to be shown as punished or die in a film, or it could not be approved by the code. I almost never give a spoiler to my reivews, but this film cries for one. There are four possible endings for this movie. A boat is sailing at midnight and if Burt and Fontaine are on it, they can escape their unfortunate and undeserved circumstances. That would one ending. The second is that the captain of the ship would only allow one of them to board for the money he was paid; that would lead to a choice of either Burt or Fontaine. Burt would want Fontaine to board, and vice-versa. So those would be three possible endings. And then, there is the ending where neither of them board, and they both go back to face the music; that is the most unrealistic and unsatisfying ending of all.

If Burt boards, and Fontaine stays behind, she can beat the rap of self-defense rather easily, I would calculate. However, if Fontaine boards and leaves Burt behind to face the music, the women in the audience would think her an unbelievable hypocrite. So, the ending for Fontaine to board and Burt to walk into the night might have been better that the eventual chosen ending, but not as good as Burt boarding and Fontaine going back to face to lesser charge of self-defense. Of course, if they were both able to board, you would have a really stock Hollywood ending that would not work well, either. A potential classic is ruined by taking the easy way out and having both protagonists go back to face the music. Give me a break. Would not happen in a million years. No, better to have one or the other stay behind and to sacrafice themselves for love; much more dramatic and romantic than the chosen ending. I realize some people will disagree with me on this one; but like an umpire, I have to call them like I see them.

Former POW Bill Saunders (Lancaster) barely survived the war and is a man on the edge. This blows up when he kills a man in a bar fight and hides in the home of nurse Jane Wharton (Fontaine), telling her its all an accident. They fall in love and after some jail time for attacking a cop, he gets a straight job. That gets ruined when a gangster who saw the bar fight starts blackmailing him.

Fontaine and Lancaster would recreate their roles for the Lux Radio Theatre broadcast on February 21, 1949 under the title The Unafraid, which was much less offensive of a title. Indeed, there was a fight where this movie was almost called Blood On My Hands and Blood On the Moon. Lancaster was a producer, so he really struggled to keep the original title, seeing as how it was based on a book by Gerald Butler.

Norman Foster mostly directed Charlie Chan and Mr. Moto films, so this is one of his few chances to strike out and make something unique, which he does. Also, the scene where Lancaster is whipped with a cat o'nine tails 18 times was voted #43 in the book Lash! The Hundred Great Scenes of Men Being Whipped in the Movies.