Welcome to the new Independent website. We hope you enjoy it and we value your feedback. Please contact us here.

Ridley Scott

Mayan apocalypse: What now for Bugarach - the French village that will

“I am making an appeal to the world – do not come to Bugarach.” Not the kind of pro-tourism message you’d expect from a mayor. But pity poor Jean-Pierre Delord of Bugarach in France, who is putting off visitors who believe his town’s Pic de Bugarach mountain is due to open up and spit out human-saving aliens during today’s Mayan-predicted apocalypse.

Tom Sutcliffe: Wes Anderson is so animating

I finally "got" Wes Anderson the other day. Which is not to say that I hadn't "got" him before – in the sense of liking his work and always being willing to substitute his vision of the world for mine for an hour or two. Though I'm not very fond of fey art-house whimsy (see references to Miranda July passim), there has always been something about.

Real Seals on the silver screen

They're the stealthy elite squad who killed Bin Laden, but now a team of real US Navy Seals have stepped out of the shadows to star in a movie

More headlines

Idris Elba: 'I'm so hot right now'

The Wire made him everyone’s favourite baddie, Luther, everyone’s favourite cop. Tim Walker meets the master of modern crime drama

Sam Rockwell: A wild card's world of pain

Sam Rockwell has a reputation as a live wire, an American firecracker. The 42-year-old actor has played a handful of major leads – most notoriously, the possibly delusional game-show host Chuck Barris in George Clooney's wildly eccentric Confessions of a Dangerous Mind. And in 2009 he scored a personal best, playing opposite himself as an existentially troubled spaceman in Duncan Jones's acclaimed Moon. But Rockwell is still often found as a second stringer – amid the support casts of The Assassination of Jesse James...and Frost/Nixon, or playing a brattish villain in Iron Man 2, even upstaging Robert Downey Jr with sheer showboat obnoxiousness.

Fiona Banner: The Naked Ear, Frith Street Gallery, London

Fiona Banner's current installation in the Duveen Galleries at Tate Britain, Harrier and Jaguar (2010), sees two fighter planes dominating one of the grand spaces of the museum. It's an uncomfortable triple sublime: force x power x impressive aesthetics, but oddly underwhelming as art. Elsewhere in London, at Frith Street Gallery, is a literal echo of that installation. An enormous bell greets you at the gallery, hung low from supports in the ceiling. The sculpture is ominously named Tornado (2010) has been cast from the melted-down fuselage of a Tornado jet fighter – a deadly efficient machine of war. For whom does this bell toll? The idea of a deep, sonorous bell ring rings with signification: the passing of time, births, deaths and marriages. A large single bell like this, however, given its name and its history, is more likely to bring to mind mourning, warning and doom. The death-knell. How many times did this particular plane bring about death and destruction? Nearby is a stack of every copy of Jane's All the World's Aircraft, from 1909-2010. A heap of language that describes only destructive capability and armature, freed from the bloodshed, the conflict and the history of the wars for which such impressive machines are made.