What Happened, Brittany Murphy?: Ethics in Postmortem Celebrity Reporting
In a society that spoon feeds us anything celebrity related, we’re bound to thirst for the ins and outs of celebrity lives, and inevitably, their deaths. Given the influx of late-90s and early-2000s nostalgia as of late, it was only a matter of time before actress Brittany Murphy’s life and unexpected death became front and center. Following the likes of Framing Britney Spears, This Is Paris, and even Jessica Simpson’s recent tell-all Open Book, What Happened, Brittany Murphy? attempts to shed light on the actress’ often misunderstood and complex life.
What the documentary focuses on most, however, is Murphy’s tragic death, and in the same exploitative manner as the tabloids she was terrorized by throughout her life. The filmmakers turned Murphy’s story into a clickbait-style true crime documentary. Is it worth exploiting the actress (who cannot be consulted, nor can she consent) by using her untimely death for salacious entertainment and making HBO money? On a broader scale, how can we report on celebrity deaths in a more responsible way, that doesn’t harken back to the tabloids of the early aughts?
Tabloids of that era were relentless in their coverage of famous young women. From scrutinizing their bodies, obsessively chronicling their sex lives, and critiquing their every move, these women were up against an untameable machine. Of the early aughts, Jessica M. Goldstein for the Washington Post reported, “It was the last moment when the celebrities needed magazines even more than magazines needed celebrities, which meant the power dynamic was tilted away from the (mostly young, often female) fame-seekers toward the men atop the mastheads.” The obsession with youth was tantamount, and when a celebrity died young? The obsession grew. Anna Nicole Smith, Heath Ledger, Amy Winehouse, Aaliyah, and of course, Brittany Murphy.
The tabloids were designed to hook readers in the same way What Happened, Brittany Murphy? feels designed to hook viewers. There’s a tension between gawking at something meticulously created for your entertainment, salacious or not, and recognizing the exploitative, harmful nature of it. It takes patience, nuance, and diligence to tell this story appropriately - that’s not what these filmmakers seemed interested in. They sacrificed nuance and complexity for the sake of something flashy and attention-grabbing.
Brittany Murphy died in late 2009 at the age of 32 from pneumonia, influenced by severe anemia and multiple drug intoxication. There is speculation around the cause of her death, particularly because the last few years of her life she became extremely isolated, after her marriage to confirmed con artist Simon Monjack in 2007. The documentary spends time on this speculation while uncovering Monjack’s concerning past.
Documentary filmmaker David Schisgall questioned, “It’s important to tell the story of Murphy under his control, but is that enough to justify the exploitative nature of the film?” Despite the film’s problems, it does feel important to share the disturbing truth of Monjack’s treatment of Murphy. Not only does the public have a right to know about his isolating and emotionally abusive tactics, they should know, as a lesson for how to spot manipulation of this form.
Of documentaries like What Happened, Brittany Murphy? Schisgall said “Dead celebrities have a number, a value, that’s applied to them within the marketplace. As long as there are buyers and sellers who are equally motivated, you’re going to have this.” There certainly are buyers and sellers. In its flashy, often violent editing, the documentary itself feels like clickbait, as do many of the articles that came out about it since, (Rolling Stone’s “‘What Happened, Brittany Murphy?’ 8 Bombshells From the New Documentary” and Us Weekly’s “‘What Happened, Brittany Murphy?’ Documentary: Simon Monjack Secretly Fathered 2 Children and More Reveals”).
Miles Macclure, MFA student at the University of Chicago said, “Her story was reconstructed, retold in a way where nothing in that movie was about Brittany Murphy at the core, it was about having a narrative you want to tell with the materials that you have.” He argued that with thousands of hours of archival footage, documentary makers have a lot of power. “This sleight of hand is really about a feeling that the producers want to conjure, more than about a particular person.”
Donald Morrison, writer of “Who Killed Mac Dre?” published by Passion Weiss, described the film’s exploitative tactics as “the documentary version of shit-posting online.” Morrison felt that the editing of the documentary makes it feel less substantive and made for shock value.
What Happened, Brittany Murphy?, directed by Cynthia Hill, starts with audio from the 911 call Brittany Murphy’s mother, Sharon Murphy, made upon finding her deceased daughter. Using the terror in Sharon’s voice to get viewers hooked on the film within the first few minutes comes off disturbing and cheap. Throughout the film there are shoddy reenactments, horror movie-esque music and melodramatic title screens. This doesn’t come as a surprise, considering that Jason Blum, (owner of Blumhouse Productions, responsible for Paranormal Activity, The Purge, and other horror films) produced the film.
As seen in recent true crime media like Netflix’s Crime Scene: The Vanishing at the Cecil Hotel, the Murphy documentary uses clips from YouTube users who have done some amateur sleuthing in the hopes of uncovering information that professional investigators may have missed. Using this footage allows the filmmakers to bend the narrative of the story to fit the sensationalized and mysterious tone they’re striving for.
The director used footage from Murphy’s body of work to tell the story and easily push the narrative forward. At the start of the documentary this is sort of charming - using clips from lighthearted movies like Clueless and Uptown Girls to explain Murphy’s rising arc and happier years. As the film goes on, the director uses clips from much darker films, Girl, Interrupted and Spun to portray Murphy’s descent into depression. Morrison said he felt this editorial choice twisted her words. There is something haunting and unsettling seeing the characters Murphy played suddenly play her, without her consent.
Documentary film editor Inés Vogelfang expressed concern that subjects who have passed away “can’t talk for themselves, or advocate for themselves, and I think that’s dangerous.” This isn’t to say we can never chronicle the life of someone who is no longer with us, but it’s a delicate balance to ensure those who knew the deceased are respected.
There are some documentaries that have covered this era of pop culture and the various tragedies that ensued amidst the misogyny, racism and general cruelty of the tabloids in a more informed and empathetic way. David Schisgall mentioned Surviving R. Kelly. He felt that “the victims in it had unity in their higher purpose.” They were a group of people with the same goal, sharing the trauma they went through for the greater good.
Schisgall said he is a “great believer in transparency.” Being honest about your relationship to the subject matter and where profits from the piece will go are other ways to make this style of documentary more responsibly.
Inés Vogelfang cited the James Baldwin documentary I Am Not Your Negro as a powerful piece of art that, in her eyes, respects what the deceased likely would have wanted. The filmmakers consulted with Baldwin’s estate and the piece was far more sensitive than many of the exposée style documentaries we’ve seen. Of course, the Baldwin documentary has a vastly different tone as it follows the life of the writer and activist. Meanwhile, a pop culture-centered documentary about an early-2000s actress, (as talented as she was) will inevitably take a different tone.
Donny Morrison questioned whether we needed What Happened, Brittany Murphy? at all. “The case is fairly interesting but by the end it's like - why was this made? It’s just a sad story.” Did we need a documentary like this? Existing almost exclusively for entertainment’s sake, addicting like candy or reality television, the piece feels disposable and reliant on cheap shock value, when Murphy’s story could have been told with grace, empathy and complexity. The filmmakers bill the documentary as revelatory - as if they introduce information that overturns what the public thought about Murphy’s death. Ultimately, she was abused by the media and isolated by Monjack, though no revelations about her death arise. The subject matter of media abuse and interpersonal violence is in the public’s interest. Could the same story have been told without exploiting Murphy? I believe it could have.
