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Paul Dano has had a remarkable career in Hollywood, taking on a wide range of roles in films like Little Miss Sunshine, Love & Mercy, and Swiss Army Man. In a recent interview, Dano shared his experiences working with Brian Wilson in Love & Mercy, and how he spent time with the legendary musician before filming.Dano discussed the challenges of playing a character who doesn't speak in Little Miss Sunshine, and how it felt to break his vow of silence in the second half of the film. He also talked about his experience working on the BBC's War and Peace adaptation, and how he read the book before filming to prepare for his role.When asked about his role as the leader of the Animal Liberation Front in Okja, Dano admitted that it changed his relationship to food, but only for a short time. He also discussed his experience working with the Daniels and Daniel Radcliffe on Swiss Army Man, calling it a fun and creative experience.Dano emphasized the importance of staying kind and grounded in the intense film industry, and how it helps him approach difficult characters with empathy. He also shared that he would most like to hang out with his characters Dwayne from Little Miss Sunshine and Brian Wilson from Love & Mercy.Looking ahead, Dano discussed his role in The Wizard of the Kremlin, a film about modern politics and power. He was drawn to the project because of its compelling and intelligent storytelling, and its relevance to current events.

On 23 June 2016, the United Kingdom’s electorate shifted from party‑centric voting to a binary choice between staying in or leaving the European Union. A decade later, about 60 % of the population still define themselves by the side they chose in that single referendum, turning a one‑off political decision into a lasting personal identity.While analysts often focus on the policy fallout—economic turbulence, party infighting, and shifting trade relations—the real impact runs deeper. The referendum ignited a civil‑war‑like split that continues to shape elections, media narratives, and everyday conversations across the country.Before the global upheavals of the George Floyd protests and the Covid‑19 vaccine rollout, Brexit was Britain’s most potent form of identity politics. It spawned new media outlets, such as GB News, and programmes like The Rest Is Politics, while also marginalising older cultural tropes like the “centrist dad” or “gammon” heckler on Question Time. Figures such as Nigel Farage and Zack Polanski now occupy the political fringe rather than the mainstream.The analysis draws on the new book Tribal Politics: How Brexit Divided Britain by political scientists Sara Hobolt and James Tilley. Their longitudinal surveys reveal a simple yet striking pattern: the referendum transformed a previously lukewarm public attitude toward the EU into a powerful, identity‑based habit.Prior to 2016, most Britons held only a mild Euroscepticism and gave the EU little thought. Even former Prime Minister David Cameron tried to silence the issue in 2006, believing it failed to engage voters. The sudden elevation of a niche concern to a national obsession forced ordinary citizens to pick a side, discuss it in pubs, and embed it into their self‑image—a process James Clear describes as building “identity‑based habits”.Data from Hobolt and Tilley show that emotional attachment to the Brexit identity was modest before the vote, rose sharply as the referendum approached, and surged dramatically after the result was announced. The post‑vote period saw a flood of EU‑themed merchandise, street rallies, and even flag‑clashes at cultural events such as the 2017 Last Night of the Proms.Crucially, the tribal divide has not faded. By 2025, only around 40 % of “Leavers” feel comfortable discussing politics with “Remainers”, and the sentiment is reciprocated. This goes beyond mere disagreement; it reflects a level of social discrimination where individuals on opposite sides would hesitate to share a home or marry into each other’s families.The authors note that the split now extends to perceptions of reality itself. Even in 2024, Remainers and Leavers disagreed on basic economic indicators, illustrating how the referendum reshaped not just policy preferences but fundamental worldviews.Class‑based voting, which dominated the 20th‑century British political landscape, has been largely supplanted by this new cultural cleavage. A previous study co‑authored by Tilley showed that the Labour Party’s turn toward the political centre in the 1990s eroded traditional working‑class loyalty. Today, leader Keir Starmer’s working‑class credentials appear largely symbolic, offering little substantive change.With class politics receded, culture wars have taken centre stage. The Brexit campaign’s vague promises about trade left the nation with a protracted, messy adjustment period. Immigration, famously dubbed the “baseball bat” issue by Dominic Cummings, remains the most polarising policy divide, followed by foreign aid and even the death penalty.Hobolt and Tilley’s most striking chart shows that while Remainers and Leavers clash over immigration, they share little disagreement on economic equality, workers’ rights, or public ownership—issues that directly affect household incomes. This suggests that the political battle is driven more by symbolic identity than by material concerns, benefitting those already financially secure.In sum, the United Kingdom’s post‑Brexit reality is one of entrenched tribalism, where a single referendum has reshaped social bonds, political discourse, and perceptions of truth itself. The nation continues to grapple with the legacy of a vote that turned a policy decision into a lasting cultural fault line.

During Donald Trump’s January 2025 inauguration, Giorgia Meloni was the only European leader invited, underscoring a brief period of close personal and diplomatic ties between Italy’s right‑wing government and the new U.S. administration. A month earlier she had been photographed sharing a private conversation with Trump at the Élysée Palace while President Emmanuel Macron celebrated the reopening of Notre‑Dame. From the outset of Trump’s second term, the Italian premier was hailed by the U.S. president as a “real live wire” and the European ally who could help “straighten out the world.” Meloni embraced the role, describing Trump as a “brilliant man” and promising to "make the West great again" together. That camaraderie has now eroded. In the wake of the US‑Israeli military action against Iran, Meloni told reporters during a Gulf‑region visit that "when we don’t agree, we must say it", explicitly rejecting the war. Her stance was reinforced a week earlier when Italy denied U.S. bombers permission to refuel at a southern base. Political analysts note that Meloni’s shift marks a decisive break from Trump’s agenda. Roberto D’Alimonte, a political‑science professor at Luiss University, warned that her earlier attempt to act as a bridge between Trump and European allies has become a “liability” she now seeks to repair. Public opinion reflects the change. Recent polls show a solid majority of Italians oppose the Iran war, and support for Trump in Italy has plunged from 35 % to just 19 %. The backlash also manifested in a recent referendum on judicial reform, where 61 % of voters aged 18‑34 rejected Meloni’s proposal—a defeat analysts link more to dissatisfaction with her foreign‑policy alignment than to the reform itself. Beyond politics, the conflict threatens Italy’s economy. As the EU’s second‑largest natural‑gas consumer—accounting for roughly 40 % of its energy mix—Italy is feeling the impact of soaring energy prices caused by the near‑total shutdown of traffic through the Strait of Hormuz. The Bank of Italy now projects only a 0.5 % growth rate for 2026‑27, down from earlier forecasts, while the national statistics office reported that Italy’s fiscal deficit has breached the EU’s 3 % ceiling, limiting fiscal flexibility ahead of next year’s elections. Despite these pressures, Meloni has not completely abandoned the United States. In March she declined Trump’s request to dispatch Italian warships to the Strait of Hormuz, aligning with other European nations, yet she stopped short of condemning the US‑led operation outright. Experts argue that Meloni’s approach is deliberately cautious. “She is pragmatic and politically skilled,” D’Alimonte said. “She will continue to balance criticism of Trump’s aggressive foreign policy with the need to preserve strategic ties, moving step‑by‑step toward a stronger European alignment without burning bridges.”

In a revealing glimpse of the club’s ironclad exclusivity, a 2019 iMessage exchange shows Jeffrey Epstein pleading with Steve Bannon to secure a membership for Paul, Weiss partner Brad Karp. Bannon dismissed the request, describing Augusta’s governing families as "crackers" from the Old South who distrust lawyers and bankers, underscoring the club’s cultural gatekeeping. That anecdote illustrates a broader truth: money alone cannot buy entry to the Masters. Even former President Donald Trump has never been able to force his way onto the Augusta grounds, a rarity among high‑profile U.S. sporting events. Traditionally, most tickets are allocated to lifelong local patrons, a practice that has been frozen since the 1970s. The only official avenue for the public is an annual lottery, where the odds are so slim they make Tiger Woods’ chances of a sixth Green Jacket look generous. In practice, however, a lucrative secondary market emerged, with scalpers selling tickets for up to 50 times face value and operating just outside the 2,700‑foot anti‑scalping boundary mandated by Georgia law. Last year’s Masters turned into a "bloodbath" for the resale industry. An executive from a local hospitality firm reported that around 200 ticket holders were denied entry after the club began rigorously enforcing its anti‑scalping policy. Patrons were sometimes escorted to a room, asked for identification, and interrogated about how they obtained their tickets – a process likened to a police stop. According to insiders, the club’s four‑day tickets now contain RFID chips that allow staff to track each badge’s location nightly. The embedded barcodes allegedly store the buyer’s address, enabling staff to pinpoint resale activity. Some reports claim the club is even purchasing resale tickets en masse to uncover the identities of sellers, then sending a politely worded letter that permanently bans the recipient from the grounds. Ticket platforms have felt the impact. StubHub has introduced a new contract that makes sellers fully liable for any fees or charges if a buyer is turned away, while SeatGeek has ceased offering Masters tickets altogether. This decisive move by Augusta National signals a broader shift in how elite sports events manage secondary markets. Ultimately, the crackdown serves a dual purpose: protecting the club’s brand integrity and reinforcing its reputation as an institution that remains untouched by even the most powerful political figures. As the Masters approaches, the message is clear – the only way onto Augusta’s hallowed fairways is through its own tightly‑controlled channels, not through the influence of money, politics, or the resale trade.

Copenhagen returns to the London stage under Michael Longhurst’s direction at Hampstead Theatre, a timing the reviewer calls “terrifyingly timely.” The three‑hander dramatizes the 1941 encounter between Danish physicist Niels Bohr (played by Richard Schiff) and German scientist Werner Heisenberg (Damien Molony), set against the looming threat of Hitler’s nuclear ambitions. The production draws unsettling parallels to contemporary politics, invoking Donald Trump’s recent threats toward Iran as a modern echo of the era’s extremist rhetoric. This resonance, the reviewer notes, amplifies the play’s relevance alongside the theatre’s downstairs offering, ROI (Return on Investment), which also interrogates the morality of scientific discovery. Visually, Joanna Scotcher’s set is a striking, non‑realist circle surrounded by water—a subtle nod to the “heavy water” used in Nazi nuclear research and a poignant reminder of the personal tragedy that befell one of Bohr’s sons. The second half’s dense scientific dialogue is rendered accessible, though the reviewer argues it sometimes falls short of fully unpacking the deeper metaphors embedded in the science. Performance-wise, the age gap between Bohr and Heisenberg (Bohr being sixteen years senior) hampers the on‑stage chemistry. Schiff’s portrayal of the seasoned Bohr occasionally stumbles over lines, while Molony’s Heisenberg comes across as a brooding, almost adolescent figure. In contrast, Alex Kingston’s turn as Bohr’s wife and editor, Margrethe, provides the emotional core, shouldering much of the play’s affective weight. Thematically, the drama wrestles with the question of whether scientists bear a moral duty beyond their research. Heisenberg’s famed uncertainty principle is employed as a metaphor for the psychological ambiguity surrounding their historic meeting. Yet the script conspicuously omits any direct reference to the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, focusing instead on the fear of a Nazi atomic weapon and sidestepping the United States’ own nuclear legacy. While the production boasts compelling aesthetics and a thought‑provoking premise, the reviewer finds moments of sluggish pacing and a missed opportunity to confront the irony of overlooking the U.S. bombings, especially as contemporary concerns about American military assertiveness rise. The show runs at Hampstead Theatre, London until 2 May.

A cartoon by Rebecca Hendin has been published in The Guardian, focusing on Artemis II and Donald Trump. The cartoon is part of the Guardian Opinion series.The artwork is available on The Guardian's website, created by Rebecca Hendin, and explores themes related to space exploration and politics.

The Al Jazeera report titled Djibouti and the Horn of Africa: new front in the war on Iran was released on 7 April 2026. No additional article text was provided.

U.S. Vice President JD Vance touched down in Budapest on Tuesday for a two‑day series of bilateral meetings, a move the White House billed as a show of support for Prime Minister Viktor Orban ahead of Hungary’s April 12 parliamentary election. Orban’s Fidesz Party faces its toughest test in more than a decade, with recent polls indicating the opposition enjoys an 8‑12 percentage‑point advantage, and some surveys showing a lead as high as 20 points. Princeton sociologist Kim Lane Scheppele warned that Vance’s visit, while symbolically important, is unlikely to significantly alter the electoral math. “One visit by a relatively low‑profile American vice president is not going to change that,” she said. Nevertheless, the trip underscores the close ties between the Trump administration and Orban. Former President Donald Trump endorsed Orban in February, and Secretary of State Marco Rubio visited Hungary that same month, signaling U.S. backing for the right‑wing leader. Orban’s 16‑year rule has been marked by the erosion of judicial independence and media freedom, reforms that critics argue tilt the electoral system in Fidesz’s favour. Yet the opposition, led by 45‑year‑old former Fidesz insider Peter Magyar of the Tisza Party, is rallying around anti‑corruption and economic grievances. Magyar’s campaign promises a more constructive relationship with the European Union, hoping to restore billions of euros in funding suspended in 2022 over democratic backsliding. He positions himself as centre‑right, sharing many of Orban’s policy stances but rejecting the incumbent’s alleged corruption. “Magyar is centre‑right; he’s basically a believer in much of what Orban has done, minus the corruption,” Scheppele noted, adding that his eurosceptic leanings could still facilitate the return of EU money. The Hungarian‑U.S. connection extends beyond politics to financial incentives. Scheppele highlighted that Trump has hinted—though not formally promised—a fiscal safety net for Orban if he wins, reminiscent of U.S. aid pledges made to right‑wing allies in Argentina’s 2025 elections. “If Vance makes that kind of announcement, it could be a real game‑changer,” she warned, suggesting that a concrete U.S. financial commitment could bolster Orban’s standing in the final days of the campaign. Orban’s appeal to the U.S. far right has been evident since Hungary hosted the Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) in 2024, where Trump lauded him as a defender of “Western civilisation.” The personal rapport between Orban’s political director and Vance—evident in a 2024 photo captioned ‘A Trump‑Vance administration sounds just right’—further cements this transatlantic alliance. As the election approaches, the key question remains whether symbolic diplomatic support or a tangible financial pledge will prove decisive in a race where domestic issues—corruption, social services, and economic stagnation— dominate voter concerns.

The Artemis II crew, fresh from a record‑breaking lunar flyby, received an unexpected call from former President Donald Trump on Monday night. Facilitated by NASA administrator and Trump ally Jared Isaacman, the 12‑minute conversation was punctuated by long silences, anecdotes about Canadian hockey legend Wayne Gretzky, and the president’s claim that he had "saved NASA" from closure. Trump’s assertion sparked eyebrows among the astronauts, who had just set a new milestone as the farthest‑traveled humans from Earth. The president recounted a decision he allegedly faced in his first term: whether to revive or shut down the agency. "We’ve spent what we had to do," he said, implying the agency’s survival rested on his judgment. While Trump has publicly championed the Artemis program, his administration has repeatedly pursued deep cuts to NASA’s overall budget. In early 2025, the White House proposed a 24% reduction—bringing the budget down to $18.8 billion, the lowest level in a decade. Experts warned such cuts would constitute "extinction‑level" reductions to critical science programs. Congress, in a rare bipartisan move, rejected the proposed slashing and approved a near‑full budget of $24.4 billion in January. Yet, on 3 April 2026—just two days after Artemis II launched on the first crewed mission beyond low‑Earth orbit in over 50 years—Trump unveiled his FY 2027 budget request, again proposing a steep cut of 23% to NASA’s funding. Democratic leaders denounced the proposal as "morally bankrupt," while Isaacman issued a statement supporting the president’s fiscal stance, urging NASA staff to "leave the politics for the politicians and remain focused on the mission." During the call, Trump praised the crew’s "incredible journey into the stars" and claimed their mission had "inspired the entire world." He reiterated America’s ambition to lead space exploration, promising a permanent lunar base and eventual crewed missions to Mars. The conversation also featured a brief exchange with Canadian astronaut Jeremy Hansen, who highlighted the United States’ "intentional decision" to lead by example and collaborate with allies like Canada. Trump responded by recalling conversations with Gretzky, Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney, and other Canadian friends, emphasizing national pride. After a minute of awkward silence, Isaacman returned for a "comm‑check," and Trump reiterated his stories about Canadian contacts. The Artemis II commander, Reid Wiseman, acknowledged the president’s remarks with a polite, "Yes, Mr. President, we heard that." Trump concluded by extending an invitation to the four astronauts for an Oval Office reception following their scheduled splashdown in the Pacific on Friday. "I’ll ask Jared to bring you over, and I’ll ask for your autograph, because you deserve that," he said, adding he would "find the time" to salute the crew on behalf of the American people. Pilot Victor Glover responded enthusiastically, "When you want us, we will be there," and thanked the president for what he called a "really special" call. He highlighted the mission’s significance, noting it was made possible by both the American and Canadian peoples.