Norman Foster, a busy character actor and even busier movie and television director for over 60 years, made this 1948, London-set film noir starring Burt Lancaster as Bill, an American veteran and former prisoner of war who jumps ship and immediately gets in trouble while at a pub. Throwing a punch, he kills the establishment's proprietor and goes on the run, slinking into the apartment of a sleeping woman, Jane (Joan Fontaine), he does not know. Scaring her at first, he backs off on his threats and Jane's pity for him (she lost a sweetheart during World War II) keeps her from calling the cops. But then Bill, a lost soul for whom life is one big street fight for survival, attaches himself to her, and she finally yields, helping him get a respectable job transporting antibiotics and becoming his lover. But fate has other ideas: a slimy blackmailer (delicious work by Robert Newton) who was there at the pub puts pressure on Bill to do a smuggling job, a situation that goes awry and puts Jane in the crosshairs of the law, too. Kiss the Blood Off My Hands is pretty textbook as film noir goes, with deep shadows, disorienting camera angles, an air of paranoia, and a protagonist who feels the weight of a merciless world and uncaring universe. There is some miscalibration, particularly a scene in a London zoo, in which beasts of the jungle get each other noisily riled up, a moment unnecessarily underscoring Bill's destiny as a caged animal. Despite that, the film is a must for genre buffs. Strongly recommended. (T. Keogh)