I’m not an Angelina fan. I think beneath that glossy fat-lipped sheen she probably pupates and eats her young. But – in the same vein as, say, dinky nutter Tom Cruise or that shameless old hack, the devil’s own Nicky Cage – she has a perplexing level of success that brings her the kinds of film projects I’m loathesomely keen to watch.

In Salt, she plays an agent accused of being a Russian spy, leading to all kind of skop-skip-en-donder. It would have been so-so-yawn as yet another Tom Cruise film: the role was written for him. But whilst Angelina remains as likely a case for a Munchausen’s-By-Proxy diagnosis as I’ve ever seen, she will probably raise this above the norm.