THE new Snow White film retells the timeless fairytale – young maiden, evil queen, poisoned apple.
But this time it’s not just a magic mirror causing drama but the cursed words “press tour”.
Rachel Zegler attends a premiere for the film “Snow White”[/caption]
Gal Gadot, pictured, and co-star Zegler are locked in a feud[/caption]
Actress Rachel Zegler and co-star Gal Gadot seem locked in a feud so petty it sounds like Real Housewives Of Disney.
But here’s the thing: women don’t always have to get on.
Not every pairing is destined for friendship, and that’s OK.
But in the spotlight, every little prick of a rivalry becomes headline-worthy.
Maybe the real lesson here is – avoid poisoned PR.
The bubble has burst for soaps
IT’S with mixed emotions, and a fair bit of nostalgia, that we bid farewell to River City.
After 23 years of life, death, love, betrayal, and far too many people storming out of pub doors in dramatic slow motion, Glasgow’s beloved soap will be gently laid to rest by the BBC next year.
The announcement was a shock to many and, although we all know the TV industry moves faster than a love triangle storyline, it’s still hard not to feel a bit empty.
For loyal viewers, for the cast and crew who poured their hearts into it, River City wasn’t just a show; it was part of the fabric of Glasgow, something you could always rely on — like an evil-twin plot twist.
But it’s not just River City that’s in trouble. Soap audiences are tuning out — the latest stats show a 42 per cent drop in soap viewership across the UK.
So, it shouldn’t be so shocking that River City has been given the chop.
In a world addicted to high-budget dramas and prestige TV, the days of soaps are numbered.
Goodbye, everyday life and hello to murder mysteries with production budgets big enough to make River City look like a school play.
While the decline of soaps is inevitable, Scotland’s TV scene faces its own unique struggle.
We have the talent, the stories, the locations — but much of Scotland’s TV is still being produced by people who think Scots spend their days dancing around the heather, wearing tweeds and eating deep-fried Mars bars.
The Traitors was set in Scotland — shot in the Highlands, no less — but if you watched it and thought, “Ah, a great showcase of Scottish talent,” think again.
The team behind the scenes? Mostly London-based. The talent? From all over the UK.
What about Justin, Wes?
OH good, another politician weighing in on mental health with all the precision of a cat on a keyboard.
This time it’s Westminster Health Secretary Wes Streeting, who has decided that perhaps, just perhaps, too many people are diagnosed with mental illness.
If only we could all just stop being so dramatic.
One small question: where is the evidence?
Presumably, it’s in a classified dossier provided by Nessie hunters, because no credible data suggests that overdiagnosis is sweeping the nation.
And yet, here we are, with Streeting confidently floating the idea, unbothered by such trifles as proof.
Meanwhile, Justin Bieber, top, who has sold 150million records, but still wakes up feeling like a fraud – recently shared his struggles with impostor syndrome and self-doubt.
That’s the thing about mental health trouble – it won’t check your bank balance before deciding to ruin your day.
And yet, instead of asking why so many people are struggling, Streeting and his ilk would rather muse on whether too many of them think they are.
But maybe this is just the world we live in now. Where we scroll through reels, passively absorbing half-baked takes from influencers who did their own research, and let algorithms dictate our opinions.
You’d think ministers would be a little more cautious than to pluck ideas out of obscurity and serve as policy.
The crisis here isn’t overdiagnosis. It’s the rise of unfounded opinions, confidently stated, and swallowed.
When I started out in TV, I was working in a low-budget, minimally resourced environment. We patched together shows with sticky tape and shoestring, learning to do every job in the newsroom. I became a presenter on STV’s local channels and we won an RTS Scotland award for best daytime show only for the entire channel to be axed a week later.
There one minute, gone the next. Welcome to Scottish TV — where even success has an expiration date.
I couldn’t secure any other role in TV in Scotland — it was like I had been written out of the script.
So, I moved to London, and within a week I was a producer at ITV’s This Morning. It wasn’t about leaving Scotland behind, but about moving where the work was — and with a behemoth like that on my credits, doors flew open.
Was it the right decision? Absolutely.
So, what’s the message for TV professionals in Scotland now?
Even seasoned producers say the industry was so depressingly barren, even before the show was axed, that they’re stacking shelves, delivering parcels or switching careers entirely.
River City wasn’t just a platform for actors, it was a proving ground for Scottish writers, directors, producers, sound engineers and editors.
It launched talents like Sam Heughan, top, before he went full Outlander and nurtured countless creatives who cut their teeth in Shieldinch before making it big elsewhere.
Saying goodbye to River City isn’t just the end of a show, it’s the closing of a chapter for Scottish TV.
In my own plot twist, I’ve moved back to Scotland and resurrected my TV career. But just to be clear — despite my hair occasionally looking like an ill-fitting wig, it’s real. No soap opera-style evil twin required.
