Shannen Doherty was difficult.
If you were alive and sentient in the 1990s — whether you, like me, were a devoted fan of “Beverly Hills, 90210” and E! or you were just the most casual reader of People magazine — you knew this to be true. The sky is blue. The earth is round. Shannen Doherty, the star of multiple hit movies and television shows, is difficult. She was, per the tabloids, a volatile, unmanageable diva, and that reputation was only reinforced by the pouty, prima donna roles in which she was so often and so brilliantly cast.
Ms. Doherty died on Saturday, at the age of 53, of the cancer with which she was diagnosed in 2015. Since the news broke, the tenor of the conversation around her has changed. Instead of being an eye-roll-inducing wild child, Ms. Doherty is now being praised for the sensitivity and candor with which she discussed her cancer diagnosis and her time in the spotlight. And those ’90s tabloid stories? They’re hitting differently. The glee with which they were once consumed no longer feels appropriate. Ms. Doherty made her fair share of mistakes, but Gen X’s quintessential bad girl no longer looks all that bad.
If this reassessment feels familiar, it’s because in death, Ms. Doherty has joined the growing ranks of female celebrities whose scandals and legacies are being reconsidered by a newly sensitive culture.
In 2002, when Britney Spears’s high-profile relationship with Justin Timberlake ended, she was a train wreck, a bad joke, a problem. Eventually, her career and her money were placed under her father’s control. In 2008, Katherine Heigl went from queen of the rom-com to Hollywood purgatory for the sins of taking herself out of Emmy contention and having the temerity to say that “Knocked Up” was “a little sexist.” In 2009, Megan Fox got slammed — and fired — for calling out Michael Bay, her director on “Transformers,” for a desire “to create this insane, infamous madman reputation.” (OK, maybe she did also compare him to Hitler, which never ends well.)
Today, so many of the former tabloid mainstays look like not punchlines or cautionary tales, but regular young women enjoying the pleasures of fame. Some even look like role models. Britney emerged as a hero, not a villain, and it’s her ex who’s the target of comedians’ jabs. Post #MeToo, Ms. Heigl and Ms. Fox look like truth-tellers, not ingrates. Ms. Doherty, sadly, did not live long enough to enjoy her restored reputation.
A former child actress, Ms. Doherty was only 19 when she landed a starring role in “Beverly Hills, 90210.” She played Brenda Walsh, half of a set of fish-out-of-water Midwestern twins navigating the halls of West Beverly High. She left the show after four seasons, reportedly after feuding with co-stars, including Jennie Garth and the boss’s daughter, Tori Spelling. When Aaron Spelling hired her again, giving her a three-season run on “Charmed,” tensions with a co-star reportedly led to her being fired a second time. She was separated from the other actors as though she were an irrational toddler rather than a skilled, valued employee.
Those high-profile roles, along with her talent and her beauty, made her a star. But the conversation about her often made it seem as if her real job was to be fodder for the tabloids and a target for late-night comedians.
To be sure, Ms. Doherty gave them plenty to work with. There were the feuds and bar fights, a pair of quickie marriages and a D.U.I. arrest. Producers complained that she showed up late to the set, hogged the spotlight, bailed on the Emmys. A former fiancé filed an order of protection.
Ms. Doherty was eviscerated for this behavior in a way that indecorous male actors were not, at least at that time. A People magazine cover labeled her a “hard-partying, check-bouncing bad girl.” A zine called Ben Is Dead published an “I Hate Brenda” newsletter, complete with the “Shannen Snitch Line,” where informants could call in reports of unaired bad behavior.
In a 1992 cover story, People asked “TV’s brashest 21-year-old” why she, “alone among 90210 co-stars and teen idols,” got stuck with the “difficult” label. Is she “one of those women who rhyme with rich? Is she, as the tabloids have gleefully reported, impossible on the set? Is she a prima donna? Also: After hours, does she party too much?”
Years later, Ms. Doherty copped to some of her misdeeds. “I have a rep,” she told Parade in 2010. “Did I earn it? Yeah, I did. But, after awhile you sort of try to shed that rep because you’re kind of a different person.”
So what drove the scandal? Blame it on youth. “90210” begat a whole generation of shows with ensemble casts of teenagers. Ms. Doherty was not the only one who needed time to grow into her outsize prominence. “We were locked in this sound stage for 14 to 16 hours every day,” Ms. Garth, who was also just a teenager, said years later. “There were times when we loved each other and there were times when we wanted to claw each other’s eyes out.”
Blame it on a desire to typecast female celebrities as heroes and villains, sweethearts and shrews, and the time-honored tradition of setting women against each other.
Or blame it, if you like, on plain old sexism. Ms. Doherty said the first time she was called a bitch was when she called out a male cast member on the set of “Heathers” for taking advantage of an extra. “I’m a strong woman,” Ms. Doherty told People. “There are still some people out there who can’t deal with that.”
Today, maybe more people are equipped to deal, more likely to look askance at misbehaving men instead of the women who call them out. Instead of the coy, “is she a rhymes-with-rich?” of early ’90s People, a Rolling Stone tribute is headlined “Nobody Could Break Shannen Doherty, and Everybody Tried.” “Shannen Doherty was irresistible, underrated and permanently shackled to misogynistic speculation,” wrote Adam White in The Independent. The headline on an opinion piece in Vogue read, simply, “Team Brenda Forever.”
The reassessment is more than just a desire (sincere or otherwise) not to speak ill of the dead. It’s a result of a few tough decades that have taught us what real bad behavior in Hollywood looks like: not impolite ingénues but Harvey Weinstein. Or Bill Cosby. Or Danny Masterson.
Maybe Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton and Tara Reid were not hot messes, but just girls being girls, the same way we’ve always allowed boys to be boys. And at least their misdeeds were largely victimless, unlike the missteps of so many male counterparts or superiors.
Maybe showing up late to the set, while not ideal, is not completely unexpected from a teenager adjusting to sudden, unimaginable wealth and fame. Maybe the bitches and the bad girls were giving voice to inconvenient truths about men with power and the sexist scripts they greenlighted, the abusive film sets they ran and the bad behavior they indulged in or ignored. Maybe the difficult women like Ms. Doherty are the ones we should have been listening to all along.
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