Hey there,

There’s a new documentary about Matthew Perry coming out, promising never-before-seen footage, new details, and an in-depth look at his final days. And, okay, I have to ask—Is this honoring him, or are we just running the Hollywood tragedy playbook all over again?

Look, I get it. Perry meant a lot to people. He was more than just Chandler Bing—he was the guy who made sarcastic humor an art form, who proved that romantic comedies could still be sharp, and who spent his later years trying to help others struggling with addiction. His story is important.

But here’s the thing: Hollywood loves a tragedy, and we, the media (yes, including me, writing this article right now), have to ask ourselves—are we talking about Perry because his story deserves to be told, or because his name still sells?

Let’s not pretend we haven’t seen this before. Every time a beloved star passes away under tragic circumstances, cue the documentaries, the exposés, the endless news cycles dissecting their final moments.

And sure, sometimes they shine a light on important issues. But more often than not, they’re just another way to keep a name trending for profit.

It’s a pattern as predictable as it is unsettling. We saw it with Amy Winehouse. We saw it with Robin Williams. We saw it with Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, and countless others.

The second they’re gone, the same industry that often ignored or even profited from their struggles suddenly turns their lives into a spectacle.

Books, docuseries, “never-before-heard” recordings, dramatic reenactments—everything is fair game. Their pain, their battles, their personal demons all become marketable content, polished, repackaged, and sold back to the same audience that once adored them.

And yeah, I’ll admit it—I’ve watched some of it, just like everyone else.

But the more I think about it, the more it feels like an endless cycle of exploitation.

We celebrate them in death in a way we rarely did in life. Instead of appreciating their talent when they were here, we dissect their downfalls after they’re gone. And for what? More streaming numbers, more book sales, more think pieces that try to “uncover the truth” about what led to their demise.

It’s exhausting. It’s disheartening. And frankly, I don’t want to keep feeding into it. Honestly, I’d rather spend my time enjoying the things that made me love entertainment in the first place.

Give me Fools Rush In with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry. Give me The Whole Nine Yards with Bruce Willis. Heck, throw in The Whole Ten Yards while you’re at it.

Or better yet, let me lose myself in any episode from ten seasons of Friends. Because at the end of the day, I’d rather revisit the joy they gave us than another “shocking” deep dive into their darkest moments.

So where’s the line? When does honoring a legacy turn into exploiting it?

Maybe the answer is intent. If this documentary exists to hold people accountable—if it exposes the flaws in the system that failed Perry—then maybe it does serve a purpose. Maybe it does matter.

But if it’s just another polished tragedy reel, a way for networks to profit off of someone else’s pain without doing anything to change the cycle, then yeah… it’s just business as usual.

And that brings us to an uncomfortable truth: Is even this article guilty of the same thing?

Because let’s be real—writing about Perry’s life, his struggles, his legacy, it’s all part of the same media ecosystem. The difference, I hope, is that I’m not here to sensationalize his death. I’m here to ask: What do we do with this story?

If we stop talking about it entirely, do we let the people responsible walk away without consequences? But if we keep talking about it without demanding change, are we just keeping the cycle going?

There’s no easy answer. But maybe that’s the point—maybe we need to start questioning why we consume tragedy the way we do.

Because until we figure that out, Hollywood will keep churning out these posthumous exposés, the headlines will keep rolling, and the next beloved celebrity who dies too soon will get the same treatment.

And honestly? I think Matthew Perry deserved better.

– Pop Culture Polly

Perry had a rare ability to make us laugh while also showing vulnerability, whether in front of a sitcom audience or on the big screen in movies like Fools Rush In and The Whole Nine Yards.

Through these films, we saw a different side of Perry—a talent that could seamlessly blend comedy with heart, giving us characters we rooted for and loved.

In Fools Rush In, Perry’s portrayal of Alex Whitman, a tightly wound New Yorker who falls in love with Salma Hayek’s free-spirited Isabel, was nothing short of brilliant.

His character’s awkwardness and charm made the movie stand out as more than just a romantic comedy.

He made audiences believe in love that defies expectations and in the beauty of life’s unexpected turns. The chemistry between Perry and Hayek was electric, and it was Perry’s comedic yet sincere performance that left a lasting impact.

Then there was The Whole Nine Yards. As Nicholas “Oz” Oseransky, a mild-mannered dentist suddenly caught up in a world of mobsters and hitmen, Perry delivered one of his most memorable performances.

Paired with Bruce Willis, he brought a frantic, neurotic energy to the role that was both hilarious and endearing. His mastery of physical comedy, mixed with his impeccable timing, made Oz an everyman character that audiences couldn’t help but love.

Once again, Perry showed us that his talent went far beyond sitcoms—he was a movie star in his own right.

But beyond the characters, Perry gave us something more: comfort. In a world that can often be overwhelming, Perry’s performances offered an escape, a place to laugh, to feel, and to be reminded of the joy that comedy can bring.

Yet behind the laughter was a man struggling, like so many others, with his own battles. And tragically, it was these struggles that ultimately led to his untimely death.

Five people, including a California doctor, have been charged in connection with Perry’s accidental overdose, and their actions reflect a larger problem—one that has claimed far too many lives.

It started with Oxycontin, then fentanyl, and now ketamine. These drugs, which should be part of responsible medical treatment, have become tools of exploitation in a system where profit often comes before people.

In Perry’s case, text messages between Dr. Mark Chavez and another physician showed a shocking disregard for his life. “I wonder how much this moron will pay,” they wrote.

They saw him not as a human being needing help, but as a payday. For all his success and talent, Matthew Perry was let down by a system that failed him, just as it has failed so many others.

What makes this all the more tragic is that Perry himself tried to turn his pain into something positive.

In the later years of his life, he opened his Malibu home to those struggling with addiction, transforming it into a sober living facility.

He wanted to help others find the peace that he so often sought. It was a testament to his character and his desire to give back, to provide a refuge for others where they might escape the same traps that ensnared him.

Matthew Perry deserved so much better. He gave us years of joy, laughter, and unforgettable moments, yet in his most vulnerable time, he was surrounded by people more interested in their bank accounts than his well-being.

And let’s be honest—considering how self-serving these so-called doctors and so-called friends were, it’s a relief they don’t have TV shows or podcasts. Imagine the influence they’d wield.

But let us not forget the legacy Matthew Perry leaves behind. Let’s remember the laughter, the warmth, and the characters he brought to life with such grace and humor. Matthew Perry may be gone, but the joy he gave us will remain forever.