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.

Shawn Levy‘s The Internship sounds mildly appealing enough and certainly not hateful, but with a 34% Rotten Tomatoes score and expected weekend earnings of $16 or $17 million the Vince Vaughn-Owen Wilson Google comedy is looking like a shortfaller all around. “Too Google-friendly” seems to be the reigning complaint. “So powerful and cruel is Google, it used its suction-cupped, sea-monster tentacles to strangle a pair of formidable funny-men — Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson — and made them dance like sickly puppets to create a Google commercial marionette variety hour,” writes Phil Villarreal.

Upon reading about the passing of Esther Williams I thought only of two things — Jeff Chandler wearing a dress and high heels (I don’t believe Williams would fabricate such a story if it wasn’t true) and Williams having been inspired by Cary Grant to drop LSD. Which I respect and admire.

From EW’s Wiki page: “In September 1959, Grant confessed to Look magazine that he had taken LSD under a doctor’s supervision, and it had changed his life. He said acid helped him find ‘a tough inner core of strength.’ Shortly after reading the Look article, she contacted Grant. He called his doctor and made an appointment for her. Williams said LSD seemed like instant psychoanalysis.”

Ethan Hawke is such a good actor he can almost elevate mediocre films along with this performances, but Getaway (Warner Bros., 8.30) is clearly a cheeseball thing. The voice of the guy on the phone sounds like Eli Samaha, but it’s actually Jon Voight. Capsule synopsis: Brent (Hawke) with the help of a ruffian bad girl (Selena Gomez) must get behind the wheel and follow the orders of a mysterious man (Voight) in order to save his kidnapped wife…lah, lah.

God forbid someone might record some of my private conversations and then transcribe them and publish an excerpt in which an ex-girlfriend alleges that I’m a ‘Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Ma’am”-er in the sack…Jesus. So I feel mostly sorry for poor Rock Hudson having been outed by The Hollywood Reporter‘s Stephen Galloway (by way of tapes and transcripts belonging to the late private gumshoe Fred Otash, which were recently made available to Galloway by Otash’s daughter Colleen) as a guy who didn’t last long in the saddle. Some things are better left unsaid. Dead men should be afforded a certain measure of dignity.

(l. to r.) Phyllis Gates, Giant director George Stevens, Rock Hudson at Giant premiere in 1956.

Ironic genre-wallowing, devolution, paychecks all around, everybody’s happy except guys like me. Okay, some of the original 20110 Machete wasn’t half-bad. It was ironically “awful” but funny at the same time, and so it kinda worked. I half-snickered at some of it. I just don’t get concept of paying any more than my monthly Netflix fee to see films like this.