Megan Ryland – Bitch Flicks

What a Witch: Girlhood, Agency, and Community in ‘Kiki’s Delivery Service’ and ‘The Little Mermaid’

Kiki’s Delivery Service carefully constructs a world where a girl’s agency is expected, accepted and supported, while Disney movies typically present a girl’s agency as unusual, forbidden, and denied. The difference between these two messages is that Kiki’s world anticipates and encourages her independence, while the women of Disney are typically punished for this.

For example, in The Little Mermaid Ariel wants to “live out of these waters,” but her father forbids her exploration of the human world and punishes this dream. Sea witch Ursula exploits Ariel’s desire to discover another world beyond her own as well. This is hardly an isolated incident.

This guest post by Megan Ryland appears as part of our theme week on Child and Teenage Girl Protagonists.

If you haven’t met Kiki, you really should. She’s a 13-year-old girl who is about to start an adventure in Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989). As a witch, she must spend a year in an unfamiliar city, making her way in the world on her own and developing her skill or special talent. In the film, we meet her on the day she begins her journey and we follow her through her first steps in a new city, the development of her own flying delivery service, making new friends, and a crisis that only Kiki can solve. It’s a lovely story, but there’s something bigger at stake.

My interest is in what this story says about girls and agency as they step into the world. To highlight what’s special about Kiki’s adventure, I’ll be measuring it against The Little Mermaid (1989), released in the same year and also featuring a magical girl leaving home for the first time. Many things about Kiki’s Delivery Service set it apart from the standard fare, but I’m going to focus on the depiction of agency, the role of supportive women characters, and the protagonist’s motivation.

On My Own: Girls Leaving Home

Kiki’s Delivery Service carefully constructs a world where a girl’s agency is expected, accepted and supported, while Disney movies typically present a girl’s agency as unusual, forbidden, and denied. The difference between these two messages is that Kiki’s world anticipates and encourages her independence, while the women of Disney are typically punished for this.

For example, in The Little Mermaid Ariel wants to “live out of these waters,” but her father forbids her exploration of the human world and punishes this dream. Sea witch Ursula exploits Ariel’s desire to discover another world beyond her own as well. This is hardly an isolated incident. In Beauty and the Beast, Belle spends much of the movie trapped in a castle and any travel beyond of the control of the men in her life is punished by wolves, the Beast, Gaston, or townsfolk, depending on the transgression. In Aladdin, Jasmine wants to escape the palace that confines her world, but she is quickly returned – and then spends a not insignificant amount of the story imprisoned. Cinderella‘s world appears to be limited to her household, except for her secret, forbidden trip for a few hours of dancing, for which her stepmother punishes her. I am sensing a trend here.

Kiki begins her adventure with the blessing and support of her family, friends and community. Imagine that. In stark contrast to Disney movies, Kiki’s community gathers together to say goodbye and wish her well. They are excited and worried and happy for her, and this combination of support and concern is important. Kiki doesn’t live in a world of rainbows and sunshine where nothing could go wrong, but that doesn’t mean her parents (neither of whom are mysteriously absent) keep her locked up in a tower or hidden in the woods.

In fact, a neighbour who has come to see Kiki off asks her parents, “Aren’t you worried about Kiki living in a big city all alone?” and this type of concern is familiar to girls, who are often made aware that they are especially vulnerable. However, in this film, another townsperson immediately replies to this worry with an authoritative, “Of course they are, but Kiki will be just fine.” This matters. In this tiny moment, the film sets the rules of Kiki’s world from the start. It’s a world where independent 13-year-old girls can and do exist without punishment. They are not trespassing when they leave home. This is a girl’s world too.

Compare the father-daughter moments in the films for a little more insight into how a girl’s agency is viewed by her family. Kiki’s Delivery Service immediately establishes a bond between father and daughter, in part by showing their sentimental parting. When he hugs her, he wonders at how fast Kiki has grown up and gives her a squeeze, but he also gives his blessing and encouragement. He believes in her. The story begins with a hug and a father supporting his daughter’s wishes.

On the other hand, The Little Mermaid ends the movie with a father-daughter embrace, but this one arguably has a whole different set of meanings attached. Although it does indicate giving his blessing, King Triton is giving his daughter away at her wedding, which leaves a rather different impression. Ariel’s father spends most of story trying to force Ariel into the role and place he feels comfortable with, but eventually comes around to the idea of Ariel leaving the sea–to marry Eric. Safe in the arms of her husband, he can finally let Ariel go.

Other characters follow the same approach to agency as the father in each movie; in Kiki’s Delivery Service, characters explicitly encourage Kiki’s independence, while Ariel’s community is generally (loudly) opposed to her exploration of the human world. These differing perspectives on the acceptability and safety of exploration offer two very different visions of the risks girls face when they leave the nest (or the sea). Kiki’s world falls squarely in the pro-exploration and self-discovery camp. Ariel’s? Not so much.

Women as Friends, Mentors, Advisors, and More

Kiki’s world is also populated with a very different crowd than the average Disney movie. By different, I mean there are women in this movie who all vary in their physicality, personality and treatment of Kiki, making the world it presents surprisingly familiar. There are friends and mothers and business owners and artists and spoiled granddaughters and spunky old women and designers and city girls and scientists and snobs. Kiki interacts with all of these women, alongside a cast of men of many ages, statures and temperaments as well.

In The Little Mermaid, women play a much smaller part. Ariel has a chorus of sisters and encounters a series of women servants, but these women are all largely indistinguishable from one another and exchange few words with Ariel. Ariel is surrounded by men–her father, her chaperone Sebastian, her friends Flounder and Skuttle, her love interest Prince Eric, palace staff like Grimsby and Chef Louis, et al–but Ursula is the only woman Ariel has any meaningful exchanges with.

Ursula is actually a particularly interesting example to pull out of each movie, as there is a character of this name in both. In The Little Mermaid, Ursula is the evil sea witch who lives alone, aside from her eels and the “poor unfortunate souls” she’s tricked. She lures Ariel into a poor deal by dangling her freedom in exchange for her voice as a part of a scheme to steal King Triton’s power. She is considered evil, ugly and cruel, so her eventual death is a cause for celebration.

In Kiki’s Delivery Service, Ursula is a painter and recluse, living alone in her cabin in the woods except for the crows. She also makes a deal to help Kiki, but here she merely fixes a toy in exchange for Kiki completing chores. They become friends and when Kiki is later filled with self-doubt–so much so that she loses touch with her magic–Ursula offers her support and a place to stay. Ursula also explains how she has personally dealt with self-doubt about her paintings and encourages Kiki to stop putting so much pressure on herself and to believe in her abilities. In essence, she acts as a friend, mentor and role model to the younger girl.

Kiki lives in a generally supportive community, yes, but it is important to note that this is a community where she receives friendship, guidance and support from the women around her–like many girls do in real life. Kiki’s role models are the women who provide supportive guidance but always allow her to make her own decisions, unlike the advisors for Ariel (King Triton, Sebastian, and Ursula) who try to force her hand. It isn’t even that the movie is paying special attention to the bonds of “Sisterhood” and Kiki certainly doesn’t get along with all of the girls she meets. We just rarely see women talking to women about something other than men in film, so it stands out as important.

Your Heart’s Desire

A final vital aspect I would like to highlight is the difference in goals between Kiki and Ariel. Kiki is looking to discover her own skills and train as a witch, so she begins her own small business and works hard to earn a living by helping people. Kiki’s desires are personal and internal, and so are her obstacles. The main difficulty Kiki faces is her own self-doubt, lack of confidence and depression, with some hijinks thrown in. Watching Kiki’s tale, we see a girl determining her own fate and discovering her strengths, with the help of friends. She saves the day by overcoming her lack of confidence and recalling her power to fly in time to save her friend Tombo from a surely fatal fall.

In The Little Mermaid, Ariel’s wish for freedom to see the human world very quickly becomes a quest for a kiss and we don’t get to see a return to her curiosity about the world during the rest of the tale. Ariel’s goal just becomes about winning Eric, particularly from Ursula’s tentacles.

Unlike The Little Mermaid, romance is entirely optional and secondary in Kiki’s adventure, and not always desirable. Jiji, Kiki’s cat companion, actually falls in love, but his romance leads to his abandoning Kiki when she most needs him. Kiki’s own potential romantic subplot could be interpreted as an entirely platonic interaction, as Tombo is a persistent fan of the young witch, but Kiki’s feelings toward him are less clear. Kiki isn’t sure how to go about making friends in this new town, including a relatable uncertainty about how to approach Tombo. This growing relationship is slow moving and clearly secondary to Kiki’s obligations to her delivery service business. This makes her priorities seem practically opposite to Ariel’s concerns, as the mermaid gives up her fins and her community for a boy she’s known for three days.

Ariel’s goals are relational and external, and her obstacles are set to match. In The Little Mermaid, the day is saved with little to no action by Ariel, who is a bystander to many of the events. Her friends drag her to the wedding and delay the ceremony, while Prince Eric is the one to defeat Ursula. However, you don’t necessarily miss her participation in the action, because Ariel does get what she wants: Eric. Her kiss. Kiki’s story could not be similarly resolved. We require personal growth and discovery to solve her problem and achieve her heart’s desire.

The divergence in the motivation of the protagonists highlights that the goals of each story are radically different. I’ll admit that I’m comparing apples and oranges. This could be a silly exercise, except that I grew up in an apple orchard, so of course that’s my reference point. Disney is the reference point for many children, especially girls. Although new stories have certainly been introduced since I was a little girl watching The Little Mermaid, I can’t say that Disney has loosened its hold over girls. My point here is to show how poorly served girls are when they don’t have access to tales like Kiki’s, which is constructed so differently from the Disney classics. Released in the same year, these two films present almost oppositional messages about girl entering the big bad world. What I wouldn’t give to hear more about Kiki’s narrative than Ariel’s.

Kiki’s Delivery Service is a coming-of-age story about finding your identity, stepping out on your own, falling and getting back up again. Kiki moves through this critical process with the help of the friends and family–particularly women–around her. In telling this story, it is a movie that supports the agency and power of girls, and doing it without making our protagonist into an Exception. Kiki is no rebellious wild child, no infallible hero, and no chosen one. She’s a 13-year-old girl who gets nervous, gets things wrong, and doesn’t always know what she’s doing. In making Kiki relatable, the film normalizes forging your own identity as something that every witch–or girl–must do.

What does it mean to build and depict a world where girls are supported in their growth and independence, instead of stymied? Among other things, it means that viewers (especially girls) get a chance to imagine a world that doesn’t eat you alive. Not a world without obstacles, but one where those who love you offer guidance and encouragement. It is a hopeful story about the challenges of girlhood and independence, and we need more of them. Kiki is doing what we all have to do: leave home, grow up, and find our place in the world. It’s scary thing, but it’s exciting too. It’s a story we are going to live and story we should be told.

Megan Ryland is a writer, feminist and nerd currently living Vancouver, BC. She recently completed her BA in Gender, Race, Sexuality and Social Justice & Political Science at the University of British Columbia. You can hear more from her at her blog Beauty vs Beast and as part of the team posting at The Body is Not an Apology.

Motherhood in Film & Television: Three Generations of Mothering on ‘The Gilmore Girls’

Lorelai Gilmore (Lauren Graham)

This is a guest post from Megan Ryland.

For me, no television mother springs to mind faster than Lorelai Gilmore of the long running show The Gilmore Girls. In fact, what is arguably so special about the show is that it offers a popular mainstream venue to focus on mothering, and especially the challenges of mother/daughter relationships. Of course mothers are a constant feature in the media (how else would mothers know how to behave!?) but teenagers are rarely depicted as having a positive relationship with their mother. Rory and Lorelai have a tight bond that remains the central focus of the show despite relationship drama for both mother and daughter. They also bring in the dual roles of mother and daughter when Lorelai interacts with her own mother, Emily.

Rory Gilmore (Alexis Bledel)

Lauren Graham plays Lorelai, an over-caffeinated, high energy manager of a successful inn. As her daughter Rory, Alexis Bledel is a teenager striving more for a Harvard acceptance letter than a date, who has inside jokes with her mother, and clearly thrives in this single mother household. Lorelai’s status as a single mother is important because we are reminded time and time again that Lorelai has created a life that she (and her daughter, and the rest of the townsfolk) finds satisfying and valuable. This is a very different portrayal of the consequences of teenage motherhood.

Although coming from money and privilege, Lorelai left behind the trust fund life when she had Rory at 16. She rejected her parent’s assistance, refused to marry Rory’s dad, and struck out on her own. This further soured Lorelai’s already poor relationship with her own mother, Emily Gilmore, but has not led to Lorelai being a “Bad Mother.” There are many factors that allow for this, including racial, geographic, cultural, class, etc. For example, as a young white woman with the cultural capital of high class status, Lorelai is able to dodge stereotypes and the accompanying discrimination that a young woman of colour and/or low socioeconomic standing might face. This is an unspoken advantage that may allow viewers to accept Lorelai as a successful single mother. However, I still believe that the representation of Lorelai as a mother who has done a great job raising a child without the aid of huge financial resources or a masculine figure is a major plus for the show. And of course her position as a single mother remains difficult. In fact, the impetus of the show is that the lack of financial resources for Rory’s schooling brings all three generations of Gilmores back together, because Lorelai asks her parents to help pay for Rory’s elite education and in exchange her parents re-enter her life.

Movie night with the Gilmore Girls

Rory and Lorelai have a very complex relationship. Rory is occasionally mothering Lorelai, but it is never a permanent role. Superior experience is always on Lorelai’s side and she is able to act as mentor to Rory as she grows up. Lorelai doesn’t always advise her in the most conventional ways, but I would argue that she rarely verges into juvenile territory while parenting. Her temperament is youthful, while Rory’s is much more mature for her age, but they remain a mother/daughter team, and a best friendship. Again, this sort of bond is rare. I think that it’s valuable for a show on a network aimed at young people (WB and then CW) to contain positive relationships between parent and child.

In the first season, they deal with questions of how Lorelai can date as a mother, and how she can share the space that she has carved out for herself and Rory with a romantic partner. This is an important question, and one that is realistically complicated (of course, it’s also made unreasonably complicated by the necessary hijinks of television). Lorelai and Rory are given scenes where they discuss their needs, desires and challenges. Furthermore, Lorelai is accepted as a sexual being who can also be a good mother. I would call that a win.

What is arguably more common on television is the relationship between Lorelai and her mother, Emily Gilmore. Many rants and screaming matches are conducted between them, as their relationship appears based in constant misunderstandings. However, despite estrangement and resentment, the relationship between Emily and Lorelai is arguably never unsalvageable. No one can really write off this bond, because Emily and/or Lorelai occasionally show that they do indeed care for and value one another.

Emily Gilmore (Kelly Bishop)

Emily is first seen as a stereotypical suffocating, judgmental, harpy of an older mother, except when she becomes vulnerable and shows that she works hard to keep up appearances. She is bedridden when Lorelai runs away, she attends her granddaughter’s 16th birthday despite hurt feelings, and most of all, she is concerned that she might lose her family. She is far more complex than the typical older woman caricature and Kelly Bishop does a fantastic job with the role. Viewers can potentially sympathize with Emily’s ideals (often a product of her time and upbringing) and her feelings of exclusion from her daughter and granddaughter’s lives, even if they can’t identify with her strategies for keeping them close. At the same time, fans can also understand why Lorelai ran from the privileged life that she had grown up with, as well as the difficulties that accompanied that choice.

Arguably Emily was a type of lone parent, as Lorelai’s father was a typical career man who barely had time to put down the paper or end the conference call for meals. Although Emily was privileged to have a number of servants and nannies at her disposal, the fathering provided by Mr. Gilmore appears to have been very limited. As the most involved parent by far, Emily’s mothering has not fostered an obvious bond, showing that this connection is not inevitable. What Rory and Lorelai have takes work and is very special. It’s not a natural given.

The show allows for an exploration of motherhood from a variety of angles. An important aspect is the interplay between the daughter and mother roles. Throughout its many seasons, all three Gilmore women are placed in daughter and mothering roles. For example, in one scene in the first season, Rory is missing after a dance and Emily accuses Lorelai of raising a child as wild and irresponsible as herself. Lorelai defends Rory and says that she trusts her daughter, acting as a daughter herself in a situation with her mother. However, when Emily leaves and a contrite Rory appears, Lorelai acts as the mother terrified for her missing child and admonishes Rory. The transition between daughter and mother happens in a few minutes and it’s not only beautifully acted, but also representative of the dual(+) roles that many mothers play. You are never just a mother. You are also a daughter, whether or not your mother is always present. You parent with a history as a child. It’s a fantastic scene and shows part of the complexity of a mother’s role.

Three generations of Gilmore Girls

The interactions between Emily, Lorelai and Rory Gilmore make the show Gilmore Girls a unique offering. Rarely do popular shows for young people focus on the relationships between generations of women, or the role (and challenges) of contemporary mothering. Race and class issues abound in the show, which should be unpacked, but as a forum for understanding some aspects of mothering and honouring mother/daughter bonds, Gilmore Girls is fantastic.

Megan Ryland is currently completing her BA, focusing on politics, women and gender. She writes about feminism, body image, and media analysis on her blog, http://beautyvsbeast.wordpress.com. She also releases the weekly show Hello City! Culture Cast, a Vancouver-based podcast that reviews movies, theatre, concerts and more.

Indie Spirit Best Feature Nominee: Beginners

Beginners (2010)

This is a guest post from Megan Ryland.

(Does contain minor, vague spoilers)

Beginners introduces us to Oliver (Ewan McGregor), who is struggling to cope with the life and death of his father, while also attempting to fall in love. Told in memories that collide with the present day, the narrative moves forward and backward in time to reveal who and what has shaped Oliver’s life.

After Oliver’s mother dies, his 75-year-old father Hal (Christopher Plummer) reveals that he is gay and proceeds to embrace an identity that he has been forced to conceal. Unfortunately, four years later Hal is diagnosed with terminal cancer. Oliver cares for his father until Hal’s death, after which Oliver can only mourn and care for his father’s dog, Arthur, who shares his grief. Three months after the funeral, Oliver meets Anna (Mélanie Laurent), a beautiful French actress. Despite their shared tendency to push others away, they enter a complicated relationship and try to determine if either one of them knows how to make it work.

The movie is written and directed by Mike Mills, who reportedly based the movie on his experiences with his own father. While dealing with heavy topics, the overall tone and trajectory of the movie is arguably optimistic. The narrative is at times whimsical or quirky, but it maintains a strong connection to real emotion that I found compelling. Ewan McGregor is fantastic as the centerpiece of this intelligent romantic comedy, but the entire cast sells the story. Mélanie Laurent, Christopher Plummer and Mary Page Keller create a rich world as supporting characters with their own stories.

From where I stand, Beginners is yet another movie about men and their lives, but I have a hard time faulting it for that. If it were not another drop in the enormous bucket of Stories About Men, I could find little to complain about. I would actually like to go over what I felt Beginners got right about its characterization of women and men.

First, I appreciated the fact that men took on caretaking as a main feature in the film. Oliver spends months trying to care for his father, and then months trying to grieve his passing, and that emotional journey is not often documented in popular media. We also see men gathered around a sick friend’s bed and men as hospice workers, all without special comment or congratulations. In the movie, nurturing and care are not determined to be the domain of women. In fact, women appeared in a wide variety of positions that aren’t necessarily limited by stereotypical expectations. There are women clients, artists, upper management, friends, doctors, and nurses. Essentially, women are a normal presence within the world created by the film and they display a variety of characteristics. That’s refreshing to see in a movie focused on a man’s story.

Mélanie Laurent as Anna

For example, Beginners could have put Anna (Mélanie Laurent) in the role of the girlfriend-as-therapist, but her position in the story is not dependent on her ability to be the caretaker for Oliver. In my opinion, Anna’s sympathy and understanding does not transform her into a tool to cope with Oliver’s grief over his father. She escapes being the empty vessel for Oliver’s emotions to pour into, thank goodness! She has her own issues to sort out and their interactions move far beyond simply dealing with Hal’s death. In fact, in coping with her own issues, Anna is not morally required by the narrative to be a caretaker for her depressed father either. She’s arguably not forced to lean on men to define her character’s role or trajectory, despite playing the romantic lead.

The relationship between Anna and Oliver was of great interest to me. Anna is rather unique in the depiction of her sexuality and sensuality. Although both Oliver and Anna pursue the relationship at different moments, Anna is initially often the sexual ‘aggressor’ with no feigned coy expressions. She is not ashamed when she invites a stranger to her hotel room, or when they do introductions the following morning. Importantly, this behaviour is not set up by the film to be seen as deviant or ‘troubled.’ The audience isn’t expected to see anything wrong with her establishing a relationship in this manner. Although the lack of judgment or slut shaming could be attributed to the relatively mature age of both Anna and Oliver, I still appreciate the normalization of Anna taking the lead in her own sexual and emotional satisfaction.

Arguably, Anna is also beautiful and sexy without being objectified by the camera. Shots linger on her face, not her bust, waist or behind. Maybe my standards are horribly low from watching mainstream television and movies, but this treatment impressed me. Even her brief, partial nudity is natural and the director avoids allowing the audience to leer at her as she changes clothes. For as much time as the couple spends in the bedroom, I am hard pressed to describe Anna’s figure in any detail. The relationship between Oliver and Anna is depicted as involving a great deal of sex, but her character is never simplified to her value in bed. In my opinion, her defining characteristics are her playfulness, her caring insight and her struggle with keeping people in her life – not her sexuality or hotness rating.

Although it could have easily been a Garden State for grown ups, Beginners refuses easy answers or simple characters. It also deftly avoids the pitfall of the Manic Pixy Dream Girl, as Anna is legitimately flawed, not just quirky (as seen in Elizabethtown and Garden State). Anna doesn’t know how to make the relationship work anymore than Oliver does. Their only saving grace is in trying at all. Unlike the typical Manic Pixy Dream Girl, Anna does not guide Oliver on an adventure where he finds himself; they are both in an adventure of a relationship, while Oliver is separately dealing with his grief. It’s not her responsibility to open his eyes to the beauty of life.

Mary Page Keller as Georgia

Oliver’s mother, Georgia, is the other woman in his life. Georgia is a striking figure who we see only in distant memories and who is played beautifully by Mary Page Keller. In a very limited number of scenes, Georgia leaves a lasting impression. For example, when Oliver remembers his father briefly kissing his mother before going to work, Georgia’s expression as Hal leaves her is profoundly moving. Oliver’s father is entirely absent in these memories, even when he kisses Georgia. The audience understands in that moment what their entire relationship was like, and what Oliver watched on a daily basis. Every time the kissing goodbye clip repeated, I was glued to Keller’s face. In barely a few minutes on screen, the nuance and complexity that we see from Georgia (Keller) is astounding. She married a gay man knowing he was gay, and yet hungers for the kind of emotion, connection and attention that she needs. He will never deliver it, but she never leaves him; they are together until her death. Even from her brief screen time, the audience understands Georgia as a complexly motivated character who adds depth to the story.

Fortunately, Georgia is not entirely defined by the roles of wife and mother, despite only being shown in the memories of her son. She is a woman who gave up a great deal and who existed outside the lives of her son and husband. For example, Georgia is described as having “handed in her Jewish badge” when Hal married her. While she is not as present as other characters, I believe that she is given dignity and complexity. She is not a Maternal Figure placeholder and she is not used as the scapegoat for Oliver’s intimacy issues, but she is not perfect either. Keller delivers an utterly human performance of a woman who wants to give happiness to her son, while barely maintaining the façade of happiness in her own life. This is a story that has been lived by many women in many ways.

Christopher Plummer as Hal

I would be remiss if I didn’t also discuss Hal. Christopher Plummer has been collecting Best Supporting Actor awards for the role (as of this writing, Wikipedia lists 5 received), and in my humble opinion, they are definitely earned. Plummer plays a loving and optimistic gay senior, which departs from typical depictions of young, promiscuous gay men in the media. Although not an entirely radical character, Hal is certainly a fresh representation of sexuality for two demographics, one often considered ‘non-sexual’ (seniors) and other considered ‘hyper sexual’ (gay men). Hal is often joyful, even while dying, and doesn’t express shame or regret for the compromises he has made. He does not simplify his life for his son or the audience, and he does not apologize for it. Both Oliver and the viewer are left to determine what it means to live and achieve happiness as Hal has. Again, Beginners provides complex characterization and depth of feeling.

What I really love about Beginners is that everyone is trying to find love and happiness, and everyone is having a hard go of it. Men, women, everyone is imperfect and trying so hard. The sincere efforts and genuine flaws make this a story about three-dimensional women and men who aren’t reduced to stereotypes or roles. No one attempts to save someone else (everyone is too busy with saving themselves) and the story doesn’t even become about Oliver using someone else to save himself. The only hope for finding happiness is trying to do it despite everything else.

Megan Ryland is currently completing her BA, focusing on politics, women and gender. She writes about feminism, body image, and media analysis on her blog, http://beautyvsbeast.wordpress.com. Starting in March 2012, she will also be helping to release the Hello City! Culture Cast, a Vancouver-based podcast that reviews movies, theatre, concerts and more.