Jonathan Silverman opens this month in the movie “G.B.F.”

“It stands for Gay Best Friend,” he said. “Lovely comedy. Sweet teen story. I play the kid’s father.

“Except I wonder, how could I be his father? When I got my Screen Actors card I started out playing the leading boy in ‘Girls Just Want To Have Fun.’ Not so long ago — and now I’m playing the boy’s father.

“In this movie, the character playing my 17-year-old son has to tell us — my wife and me — he’s not straight. We already know. So we make it easy for him. The scene’s getting lots of attention because it’s full of laughs.”

And so who is Jonathan Silverman? What’s his background?

“My middle name’s Elihu. My father, 90, is a Conservative rabbi. My grandfather was also a well-known rabbi. I always considered my father sort of a performer. I watched him. He entertained. Made you think. Laugh. Doing comedy, I grew up learning to experience my dad’s existence.”

Is he himself steeped in Judaic customs?

“Oh, please. Last year my wife and I celebrated Christmas in Europe. This year we did it home in LA. I’m married to a shiksa goddess. A French Canadian Irish Catholic named Jennifer Finnigan.

“And in this life, what I really want to be is a director. I already directed one movie for the college frat set, a dirty one, ‘National Lampoon.’ Not exactly rabbinical material.

“Nor is New Orleans, where we own a second home and I filmed my dirty movie. We celebrated New Year’s Eve there.”

Cross-cultural/multireligious/bisexuality/juicy vulgarity obviously pays off for Silverman.

His movie — with Megan Mullally and Natasha Lyonne — opens the 17th.

Odds & ends

Orlando Bloom and wife pffft months ago, but fans and paps are still hopeful. A couple were spotted standing in front of their place in the 60s, still expecting him to come out . . . Margot Robbie, the “Wolf of Wall Street” blonde, did a GQ layout in designer Joanna Mastroianni’s size 2 white caviar beads. The dress already sold out on Bergdorf’s fourth floor.

Tidbits

New Year’s resolution: Eliminate stress. Avoid marriage.

Just find someone you hate and buy them a house. . .

Santa Claws: Newark Airport workers inform me the Saturday before Christmas, United lost 5,000 bags. And 3,000 the next day.

Commish sendoff

Ray Kelly’s 1,700th superprivate final farewell dinner was small, close, off- the-cuff in someone’s home. So quiet, safe and protected that Veronica and Ray’s son, Greg, made a moving speech about how fabulous his parents are. After applauding the job Ray’s done, it was tears for the emotions all 11 of us felt.

PAY attention: Metro North out of Grand Central. The Harlem Line heading to Bronxville. At the Fleetwood Station, it stopped. All doors opened. As one passenger put it: “There was no rhythm to the ride. This train did not line up to a safe exit. No warning. No announcement. It just stopped so far ahead of the scheduled stop that riders couldn’t get to the platform. Those needing to alight had to walk several cars forward.”

It was several minutes before those wide open doors — fronting nothing but a steep drop to the ground — were closed. Had anyone unthinkingly stepped out, they’d have fallen.

Overhead was heard an audible “Oops . . . sorry . . .”

This is the same line under investigation because of the recent Spuyten Duyvil crash. And if anyone doubts this story, I will furnish the exact time, date, name and particulars of one aboard who, horrified, related this experience to me.

Only in New York, kids, only in New York.