Trump has argued the U.S. needs to control Greenland to ensure the security of the NATO territory in the face of rising threats from China and Russia in the Arctic.

‘We are deeply sorry. We had no indication that the checks had not been done as requested,’ Crans-Montana Mayor Nicolas Feraud told reporters

Spain is working to identify and contain its first outbreak of the deadly virus in thirty years

The alliance has no provision for the previously unthinkable: one of its members turning on another

• Europe live – latest updates

The idea that one Nato country could attack another – a US invasion of Greenland – is so alien that the most famous article in Nato’s founding treaty does not distinguish clearly what would happen if two of its members were at war.

Article 5, the cornerstone of mutual protection, dictates that “an armed attack against one or more” in Europe or North America shall be considered “an attack against them all”. Simple enough if the military threat comes from Russia, but more complicated when it comes from easily the alliance’s most powerful member.

The Hungarian director’s films moved slowly like vast gothic aircraft carrier-sized ships across dark seas, giving audiences a feeling of drunkenness and hangover at the same time

• Béla Tarr, Hungarian director of Sátántangó and Werckmeister Harmonies, dies aged 70

The semi-official genre of “slow cinema” has been around for decades: glacial pacing, unhurried and unbroken takes, static shooting positions, characters who appear to be looking – often wordlessly and unsmilingly – at people or things off camera or into the lens itself, mimicking the camera’s own calmly relentless gaze, the immobile silence accumulating into a transcendental simplicity. Robert Bresson, Theo Angelopoulos, Joe Weerasethakul, Lav Diaz, Lisandro Alonso; these are all great slow cinema practitioners. But surely no film-maker ever got the speedometer needle further back to the left than the tragicomic master Béla Tarr; his pace was less than zero, a kind of intense and monolithic slowness, an uber-slowness, in films that moved, often almost infinitesimally, like vast gothic aircraft-carrier-sized ships across dark seas.

Audience reactions were often a kind of delirium or incredulity at just how punishing the anti-pace was, but – given sufficient investment of attention – you found yourself responding with awe, but also laughing along to the macabre dark comedy, the parable and the satire. A Béla Tarr movie gave you drunkenness and hangover at the same time. And people were often to be found getting despairingly drunk in his films.

In The Wizard of the Kremlin, Jude Law plays Russia’s president as a cool, reluctant leader, a strategist who got the job because he was young, athletic and a spy. This is a creation far removed from the man himself

Last year, speaking at the Venice film festival premiere of The Wizard of the Kremlin, based on a book about the rise of Vladimir Putin, actor Jude Law said he “didn’t fear any repercussions” over his portrayal of the Russian president. Law may be right, but not for the reason he thinks he is. The film aligns so closely with the mythologised version promoted by the Russian media that, domestically, it reads as a compliment rather than an affront.

The Kremlin and Russia’s pop-culture machine have long collaborated to craft a made-to-measure version of Putin that is far removed from the man himself: a political superhero without age or mistakes, a perfectly calculated strategist, a former spy reframed as a Russian James Bond who always knows more than he reveals.

The tanker painted a Russian flag on its side after fleeing US blockade in the Caribbean Sea

The leaders issued a statement reaffirming that the strategic, mineral-rich Arctic island ’belongs to its people’