The only problem with David Jones‘ brilliant screen adaptation of Harold Pinter‘s Betrayal (’83) is Patricia Hodge, who plays Ben Kingsley‘s unfaithful wife. She’s a fine actress but she’s just not hot enough to ignite desire in the mind of the viewer. And given that she inspired Kingsley’s best friend, played by Jeremy Irons, to lead her into an affair that lasts roughly seven years, she should. There’s no trouble believing that Irons is smitten (his declaration of unquenchable love at the finale is classic) but Hodge couldn’t be less arousing. She seems a bit brittle. Too sensible and practical to be good in bed. Not to mention that long pointy nose and those odd watery eyes.

I was hugely irritated at the get-go by Channing Tatum looking at his daughter for two or three second stretches while driving through downtown D.C. (No parent does that! No responsible driver does that!) But then the trailer (third in a series) kicked in, and I was re-persuaded that Roland Emmerich‘s White House Down (Sony, 6.28) is going to work. As Like Father Like Son (’87), 18 Again! (’88) and Vice Versa (’88) were to Big, Olympus Has Fallen is to White House Down. I can tell.

The above title is an actual quote from a 1974 Norman Mailer essay about Last Tango In Paris. A week or two ago a Rolling Stone interviewer was looking to correct this ignorance by asking the cast of This is The End how they unload, so to speak.

If I was an End costar and had been asked this question, I would have said “my response, which I could elaborate upon big-time, is too important to be trusted to someone like yourself, no offense. In fact, there are dozens of subjects that I won’t discuss with you. It’s not personal. It’s just a strategic decision I’ve made.”

Talk about your farts with your friends, family, co-workers, parents, next-door neighbors and your local police but never, ever with a journalist and certainly never during a press junket round-table.

Jonah Hill’s response — “I’m not answering that dumb question! I’m not that kind of person! Being in a funny movie doesn’t make me have to answer dumb questions. It has nothing to do with who I am” — isn’t as good as mine, but it’s pretty good. I agree with it 110%.

Two months ago I noted that Filth looks very much like “a Scottish Bad Lieutenant only a lot crazier, crossed with the sensibilities of Trainspotting‘s Irvine Welsh by way of direction and a script adaptation by Jon S. Baird and a lead performance by James McAvoy. Will the film include the dog scene in Welsh’s book?” Nothing whatsoever has changed except that a new trailer has popped up. Pic will be at Toronto, I’m guessing.

Listen to the tone of the questions Mike Wallace throws at Twilight Zone maestro Rod Serling in this 1959 interview. He all but accuses him of whoring out by making a commercial TV series, of not trying hard enough as a writer, of running away from conflict with nervous advertisers, of going for the dough. Over and over he says to Serling: “You made your bones as an award-calibre writer on live dramatic TV in the ’50s, and now you’re writing below your potential because there’s big money in a network series…how big is your swimming pool?” And Serling was on the brink of becoming a legend.

Scott Walker‘s The Frozen Ground (Lionsgate, 8.23) is based on the real-life hunt for serial killer Robert Hansen (John Cusack) during the ’80s. Nic Cage (is it possible for him to play “normal” any more?) plays real-life Alaskan detective Glenn Flothe (but called St. Jack Holcombe in the film) Hansen “murdered between 17 and 21 young women, kidnapping them and taking them out to the Alaskan wilderness where he shot and buried them,” it says here. Pic costars Vanessa Hudgens, Katherine LaNasa, Radha Mitchell and 50 Cent, who also produced.

Five and a half weeks between a theatrical release (7.12.13) and the DVD/Bluray street date (8.20)…hmmm. Plus the hand of director Mark Steven Johnson (Grumpy Old Men, Simon Birch, Daredevil, When in Rome, the two Ghost Rider pics)…yeah. Plus a title that SCREAMS American Film Market lowlifes hustlin’ ’round Santa Monica in their alligator shoes. Plus Robert DeNiro, the King of Paycheck Performers**, in the lead. I’ll see it nonetheless because it has John Travolta playing a hell-bent Bosnian madman. The more foam-in-the-mouth, the better.

When I last visited Oscar Wilde‘s gravesite at Pere Lachaise cemetery in ’08 or ’09, his tomb was covered with dozens (hundreds?) of lipstick kisses. They were perfect — a sloppy, organic, highly spirited demonstration of fan love. Except Wilde’s heirs and some stuffed-shirt Irish thought the kisses were disrespectful, and so they got together with the French and had the kisses washed off and then had a glass wall erected in front of Wilde’s tomb so no one could plant any more.

Wilde’s tomb in 2008 or 2009, or certainly before the scrubbing and the erection of the Wilde wall.

I’m on the best diet of my life these days — apples, tangelos, grapes, yogurt and a little protein from time to time (salmon, chicken, almonds). But I had one of these gingerbread things a few days ago and the program collapsed. Compromised, violated, polluted. I’m keeping it down to one or two a day but still.

Last night World War Z star-producer Brad Pitt dropped by LA Live to do the old “haaayeee!” to the fans, who had reason to expect his appearance. So far he’s attended screenings in Atlanta, Philadelphia, Chicago and Austin (where he did the old “yaw-haw!” with Harry Knowles).

Woody Allen‘s Blue Jasmine (Sony Classics, 7.28) is going to be a goodie — I can tell. Because it’s about the financial wallop from the ’08 recession and the emotional toll that it took — a social theme we’re all familiar with. And so it’s about rage and despair and fatalistic feelings, etc. And you can tell right off that Blanchett knocks it out of the park. Probably. And that it has a good supporting cast (Bobby Cannavale, Sally Hawkins, Andrew Dice Clay, etc.)

A new “Trailers From Hell” riff on the’62 Mutiny on the Bounty summons this 8.4.06 review of a then-new Bounty DVD: “Say what you will about the ’62 Bounty — historical inaccuracies and inventions, Marlon Brando’s affected performance as Fletcher Christian, the floundering final act. The fact remains that this viscerally enjoyable, critically-dissed costumer is one of the the most handsome, lavishly-produced and beautifully scored films made during Hollywood’s fabled 70mm era, which lasted from the mid ’50s to the late ’60s.