A man, whose five o’clock shadow (after several drinks) is seemingly approaching midnight, kills another at last call in a drunken fit; evading chasing parties, he slips through an unlocked window and gazes upon a beautiful sleeping woman – a singular moment that will forever change and intertwine their lives. . . this is the mysteriously alluring introduction to the film noir Kiss the Blood Off My Hands (1948), directed by Norman Foster.
The man is Bill Saunders (Burt Lancaster) – an American concentration camp survivor who is grifting in and around London; the woman is Jane Wharton (Joan Fontaine) – a highly educated yet lonely nurse who lost her sweetheart during the war, together they are quite the unlikely pair.
Spurned at first. . . after all, you tend to dislike unwanted fugitives who break into your bedroom and ruin your restful sleep, Bill is not so easily deterred – when you’re on the run for murder and don’t have a job, tracking a beautiful woman who didn’t turn chirp seems like a pretty good use of time.
Quick to anger, it really doesn’t take too long for the violent thug to get caught (but not for the murder) – who knew a first offense for punching two people (including a cop) would land you eighteen lashes from a cat o`nine tails and nine months of hard labour – they didn’t mess around in post-war England (fun fact – Lancaster wanted actor Harold Goodwyn to “really lay it on him” for authentic effect. . . so much so that the leather belt left welts so painful he could not wear a shirt the next day). Another tidbit – Judicial corporal punishment was mostly eliminated the very year this film was released. . . though it was only officially abolished in England in 1967.
Yet, doing his time softens the young woman’s resolve. She finds him a job as a driver at her work while also spending more time with the chiseled in looks and less so in behaviour gent. Soon, he starts courting her (in what could be deemed a more dramatic turn in the narrative). . . but wait, fast-talking Limey Harry Carter (Robert Newton) was a witness to the murder and has his own crooked plans for the tough guy. Will Bill be able to escape his past and marry the less than dangerous dame? Might Harry dispel their love affair by bringing him into another criminal enterprise? Or could poor Jane get sucked into this noxious transgression and sully her own good name?
What starts out like a top shelf film noir takes an interesting turn, transforming midway into something more akin to a melodrama. Opening with mesmeric shadowy cinematography from Russell Metty (a special treat finds Lancaster sneakily lighting a cigarette in the woman’s dark room – a small portion of his face coming alive for a brief moment), the story soon spins off to the daytime sun (with a walk on a hilly meadow a perfect example). . . only to return once more to the chiaroscuro essence of noir. It is also worth noting that unlike your prototypical film noir, there really isn’t a true femme fatale, though there is a fascinating long take where the camera goes from Dutch angle on one side to the other several times as Jane starts to doubt herself towards the very end.
A story very much of its time, it is not only about the cracks and damage found in the post-war London landscape (though Bill does use this to his advantage as he escapes), but more so the fractured psyche of the mind. Yet, even when love starts to do the trick, those wounds felt by others in and around can continue to hinder one’s recovery. It is a cold, unyielding and seemingly fixed game, and one not easy to escape from.
A unique noir-infused dramatic thriller, Kiss the Blood Off My Hands features strong performances from its two stars (while Newton is fascinating as the somehow fragile yet utterly dangerous user), a genre flip flop (and flip again) that mostly works, and a surprising conclusion that is not as nihilistic as one might expect. So, see the noir based off of the novel Gerard Butler wrote (obviously not the same guy), it’s a cut above.