In the 1994 hit “Reality Bites,” Vickie (Janeane Garofalo) is sitting across from her best friend, Lelaina (Winona Ryder), in a diner, lamenting that she is “maybe, probably,” dying of AIDS. She thinks about it every day, all day, she says, but it’s as if it weren’t even happening to her. It’s as if she were a character “on some crappy show like ‘Melrose Place.’”
“And then I die,” she says, “and there’s everybody at my funeral wearing halter tops and chokers.”
Lelaina pours out sympathy for her friend and vows to stand by her side. With that unwavering support established, however, Lelaina makes one other essential point:
“‘Melrose Place’ is a really good show.”
That, I think, is the line we always tend to walk with shows like “Melrose Place.” A spinoff of “Beverly Hills, 90210,” it chronicled the ups, downs, seductions, threats and attempted murders that occurred between tenants at a faux apartment complex in West Hollywood. Much like today’s “Real Housewives” or “Riverdale,” or any other well-crafted but frivolous show, “Melrose Place” always felt easy to poke fun at. But it felt more honest to admit that you loved it.
Put in its rightful context, it’s hard to argue that “Melrose Place” wasn’t one of the last Goliaths of prime-time soap operas. While not entirely dead, this genre largely has been sacrificed to the “Golden Age of Television,” with its deeper story lines and richer (and thankfully more diverse) characters. But the main nail in the prime-time soap coffin is simply that we’re very serious about our dramas now. Nuance is in. Sensationalism is out.
Which is precisely why revisiting “Melrose Place” today feels almost rebellious. (All seven seasons of its original run, which lasted from 1992 to 1999, are available on Hulu, not including the short-lived reboot from 2009-10.) Give me the overly dramatic door slams, the piercing dirty looks, the wedding fiascos, the over-the-top death scenes — all that good stuff. “Melrose Place” is brimming with it, and as I rewatch it, I remember why I always sided with Lelaina.
Here’s what’s roping me back in 25-ish years later (spoilers ahead if you’ve never watched):
The endless game of blackmail hot potato
In any given episode, one of Michael Mancini’s ex-wives is probably blackmailing him. Or he’s blackmailing one of them, or plotting their death. Or they’re teaming up to frame him for attempted murder, or extorting him for extra cash.
See, Michael (Thomas Calabro) married Jane Mancini (Josie Bissett), Kimberly Shaw (Marcia Cross) and Sydney Andrews (Laura Leighton) in pretty rapid succession. It doesn’t help that Michael cheated on Jane with Kimberly and cheated on Kimberly with Sydney and that Sydney is actually Jane’s sister. Things are messy, and the character you root for keeps changing.
You feel for Michael when he crashes his car and accidentally kills Kimberly, but you waver when he fudges his blood alcohol test results to evade a manslaughter charge. You get a soft spot for Sydney when Michael threatens to reveal that she’s a prostitute, but when Sydney finds out about Michael’s test-tampering and uses it to force him into marrying her, you remember how twisted she has been from the start. Even Jane goes from victim to villain and back again (and back again), and it becomes clear you just can’t trust anyone.
Also, Kimberly is still alive! More manipulations ensue like a game of blackmail hot potato, culminating when Kimberly blows up the entire apartment complex and maims a whole bunch of hot people.
You can, in fact, make this stuff up, and I’m so glad someone did.
The mad women of D&D Advertising
Alison Parker (Courtney Thorne-Smith) is a Peggy Olson of sorts. She starts out at D&D Advertising as a receptionist, then moves up to working on some major accounts until eventually, the board names her president of the company. It’s a title she nabs from Amanda Woodward (Heather Locklear) after months of power struggle between the two. As soon as Amanda loses her place of prominence, she sets out to sabotage Alison in order to win it back.
Where are the Don Draper types? They are mostly put in their place. Even Alison and Amanda’s shared boy toy, Billy Campbell (Andrew Shue), is told in no uncertain terms that he’s a “subordinate.” At D&D, the women rule.
But don’t mistake this show for being more ahead of its time in the feminism department than it actually was. In an early episode, Alison (temporarily) quits before she can be fired for not sleeping with a superior. Later, she and Amanda conspire to hide Amanda’s pregnancy so that Amanda can land a promotion — a shrewd move they’re commended for. There’s also a now-cringey episode in which a dude at D&D steals a campaign idea from Alison, and when he is put on the spot to come up with more, Alison lobs him another one to save him from his own mediocrity. She is commended for this, as well.
Workplace sexism wasn’t born in the ’90s and it didn’t die there. But at least “Melrose Place” reminds us we’ve made a modicum of progress in that we’re no longer congratulating female characters for tolerating it.
Bad girl Kristin Davis
Kristin Davis is best known for playing the uptight Charlotte York on “Sex and the City,” but on “Melrose Place,” she played the exact opposite. Her character, Brooke Armstrong, is a disturbed, back-stabbing, sexpot trickster.
Although Brooke enters the series as a bride-to-be, she dumps her fiancé in a blink so she can sleep with the office hotboy, Billy. Brooke proceeds to team up with Amanda in order to sabotage Alison’s career, get Alison shipped off to Hong Kong, steal Billy from Alison, marry him, turn on Amanda to get a promotion, lie about a pregnancy, lie about a miscarriage, generally spiral and eventually perish in a dramatic accident that leaves her floating face-down in the Melrose Place pool.
What, exactly, is so “crappy” about all of this?
Sure, TV’s “golden children” are considered really good for a reason, but they don’t hold a monopoly on that designation. Taking a break from all the Very Important TV with something like “Melrose Place” feels, well, sensational.
