Dancing with the Shannen

I have written extensively (and, some might say, way too much) about my love for Shannen Doherty. For the uninitiated, this is not a fleeting love. I loved her as the replacement half-pint on “Little House.” I loved her as Wilford Brimley’s granddaughter on “Our House.” I loved her in “Mallrats.” I have watched her in those shlocky Lifetime made-for-TV movies. I watched her try to scare me on Sci-Fi and break up with me on that other network for chicks. I endured her spoiled Beverly Hills demeanor (twice) and was charmed by her witchy ways. I watched as she tried to save the North Shore. And I even watched her flirt with Alf (I still have that on VHS somewhere — she looked dynamite in that red dress, trying to seduce a puppet).

And now she is dancing!

Shannen dancing with her partner -- I don't like the way he's lookin' at her

The exclamation point used above was for me, not for you. I’m trying to get pumped up for this. For while my love of Shannen knows no bounds, I’m not a huge fan of stars dancing. PBS used to televise star-less ballroom dancing competitions featuring professional (or at least expert) dancers, and even though I have never been a fan of dancing, they were fun to watch. To see someone who is great at something actively doing that something is awesome to me. Others want the backstory. Think of the Olympics and all the video packages featuring Olympians overcoming adversity or bouncing back from a tragedy. Those stories fill the televised games, and other people really enjoy them. Not me. Just show me people skiing down a mountain faster than anyone who has ever lived.

“Dancing with the Stars” is a show that takes non-dancers with an interesting backstory and makes them dance. It is presently the nature of TV shows featuring any form of competition — to prove that incredible feats can be accomplished by amateurs. It is supposed to make us all feel better as Americans, as humans, and as bipeds. As for me, I am left to wonder which experts are unemployed while amateurs do their jobs.

And now Shannen Doherty, whom I would gladly walk over flaming hot coals to meet, is on a show that, frankly, I don’t enjoy. So I watch to see her dance. And she has a backstory: her fear of live audiences and her father’s recovery from a stroke. But I want to see her dance. And she is good, really good. The judges give her sixes across the board, which I think is way too low, but I didn’t watch any of the other dancers because I don’t have any interest in the other dancers. Perhaps, in comparison to the others, Shannen wasn’t as good, or maybe judges (or audiences) are supposed to take her backstory into account when judging. Or maybe not. I don’t know. All I know I that I enjoyed watching her slide across the dance floor.

Strictly comely Doherty

Shannen did more than slide, and even the low-scoring judges had to concede she had chosen a tough dance. Through the performance, I saw in her a confidence that she had been carefully hiding in pre-show interviews. I closely examined her (to the extent that I was able) and saw no trace of hives. Shannen just danced her dance as, for those who savor the backstory, her father eagerly watched on.

Shannen Doherty epitomizes my generation in Hollywood more so than the Brat Pack. She has endured, while the faces of Anthony Michael Hall and Ally Sheedy can currently be seen on the sides of milk cartons. She has attitude and speaks her mind, which some confuse with being a bitch (not me). She managed to get the tabloids to stay away from her in recent years, mostly by being a real person doing real things, and nothing bores the paparazzi more than reality. And she has done it all while being drop-dead gorgeous.

I will continue to watch “Dancing with the Stars” until she either wins or is voted off. And I will root for her, on and off the show. Because where Shannen is concerned, I can do nothing less. And where the show is concerned, I can do nothing more.