Actress Shannen Doherty dies at 53, after a nearly decade-long battle with breast cancer

Shannen Doherty could narrow her eyes and set her jaw with the best of the legendary divas. She could end a confrontation scene with the line, "I hate you both! Never talk to me again!" and storm off, and it made you want to throw your hands in the air and yell, "YEAH! GET 'EM!" She could also cry over a broken heart, nervously flirt, or defiantly pop off on adults who just didn't understand.

Man, she was so much fun.

Doherty, who died at 53, almost ten years after she was first diagnosed with breast cancer, was a child actor, most notably on Little House on the Prairie. She was in Heathers in 1988, which is a bright spot on any résumé. But she became an icon as Brenda Walsh on Beverly Hills, 90210, one of the biggest hits of the early '90s and the spark for many teen soaps that came later.*

The show debuted in 1990 when Shannen Doherty was 19. Its premise was that Brenda and her twin brother Brandon (Jason Priestley) moved out to Beverly Hills from Minnesota (apparently the most not-California state the writers could think of) to attend high school with the wealthy and beautiful. Brenda was our heroine and did all the heroine things: falling in love with "bad boy" Dylan McKay (Luke Perry), learning to fit in with rich blonde friends Kelly (Jennie Garth) and Donna (Tori Spelling), surviving a robbery, losing her virginity, being scared she was pregnant. The usual.

The show ran for ten seasons, but Brenda only stayed for four. As Doherty and 90210 both became popular, stories circulated about her being difficult on set, and Brenda's own sometimes obnoxious behavior (the creation of writers!) began to curdle. The line between Brenda and Shannen blurred, and a noisy population of people decided to hate them both. In fact, they began to treat the two as one person. By the time Doherty was 22, there was an entire article in the L.A. Times about the anti-fan club for people who hated Doherty/Brenda, and their newsletter, and the telephone tip line they set up to collect any nasty gossip about her that anybody cared to dump out. (Sad that the phrase "touch grass" was not invented early enough for people who set up telephone tip lines about celebrities they disliked.) She had reported feuds on set, the stories escalated, and she left.

The show, while sometimes fun, was never as good without her. Never. Love you, Val, but no.

A few years later, she was cast in the sister-witches show Charmed, also from Aaron Spelling, the megaproducer behind 90210. (Apparently, whatever people may not have liked about her, they were okay with her helping them make money.) The cycle repeated: she was popular, then there were reports of difficulties on set, then she left. Doherty kept working, but she was never the big deal she had been during those years in the early '90s.

She announced her breast cancer diagnosis in 2015. And in November of last year, almost four years after she announced that her cancer had reached stage 4, she started a podcast called Let's Be Clear with Shannen Doherty. She talked about cancer. Jason Priestley came on. Tori Spelling came on. Holly Marie Combs from Charmed came on. Kevin Smith -- who directed her in Mallrats -- came on. Less than a month ago, she ran a conversation with Katherine Heigl, who is another famous supposedly "difficult on set" actress, and perhaps one of only a few people who could understand the existence of an "I hate you" club. Doherty just did not quit, did not go away, did not become quiet.

It's hard to talk about her impact because the kind of TV star Shannen Doherty was really doesn't exist anymore. To capitalize on 90210's popularity, Fox ran 22 episodes in the first season, then 28 in the second, 30 in the third, and 32 in the fourth. There was just so much work in those years. Brenda wanted to become an actress. She went to Mexico with Dylan against her parents' wishes. She moved back to Minnesota and then back to Beverly Hills. She got involved in animal rights activism -- which was Doherty's passion as well. She almost got married in Vegas! She won the lead in the college production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof! She pretended to be French! She pretended to be a Brooklyn diner waitress! This is part of how actors become admired and indelible: from the sheer volume of exposure. Imagine a live-action prime-time hour-long drama series in 2024 that has a new episode for more than 60 percent of the weeks in a given year. (They stayed on that 32-episode pace for several seasons after she left.) It was just a different universe.

The line between a firecracker and an arsonist can be razor-thin in the public imagination. Between "outspoken" and "difficult," between "feisty" and other words that haunt practically every woman who's ever said no to anybody about anything in a situation where it really mattered. I don't know what it was like to work with her -- or any of her colleagues, for that matter. Was it worse than lots of other college-aged kids would have been with hundreds of people relying on them week after week after week? I don't know. I just know what it was like to watch her work, and it was very, very good.

There is a very plausible argument that without Shannen Doherty, I would not be in this job. She made 90210 work, 90210 and its recap culture begat Dawson's Creek and its recap culture, and that begat Television Without Pity, where I first wrote for money.