There’s something to be said about Marissa Cooper’s characterization in Season Three of The O.C., as it arguably provides two of the character’s best episodes (in terms of actual character growth and maturity), while also otherwise providing the nadir of the character’s existence. Those two episodes would be “The End of Innocence” (in which Marissa handles the possibility of moving healthily, finally sees and addresses her father for who he really is, and presents herself as a rock to her mother) and “The Graduates” (the season finale, which, surprisingly, is the most mature and at peace Marissa ever is).

I wrote the above in my first review for this season of The O.C., and having just rewatched “The Graduates”—and the rest of this very long season—I still stand by this argument. In fact, I find that the strange trick about the episode is that, while it perhaps provides the only true and natural ending for Marissa Cooper, it does so while also being the rare time in which Marissa Cooper exists as a character that could exist further and not have such a tragic ending. Somehow, I always find myself regretting how things end, despite also very much believing that it was the natural end for the character. Because the version of Marissa in “The Graduates” is a character I actually would’ve been interested in following all these seasons.

Essentially, on the one hand, it makes sense for Marissa to die young and in a situation where Ryan finally can’t save her; on the other hand, in providing an episode in which Marissa finally shows the growth and maturity that’s never been seen before, The O.C. gives us a glimpse of a version of the character that potentially could have worked. On the third hand that I’ve grown for just this discussion, based on everything involved in the creation and execution of the Marissa character (from the writing to Mischa Barton’s performance), all signs point to The O.C. being unequipped to sustain the version of Marissa that exists in “The Graduates” for any longer than just this episode.

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After the burnout that came with last week’s batch of The O.C. episodes, this week’s batch makes for a nice bit of respite as this season comes to a close. Part of that stems from the genuine fun of both “The College Try” and “The Party Favor.” (“The Man of the Year” is easily the weakest of the three as an episode that has to serve multiple purposes before the season finale.) At this point in the season, for an episode of The O.C. to simply be mostly enjoyable, that’s a win.

At the same time, you could also point to these exact episodes as evidence of The O.C. writers truly no longer having anything for Marissa outside of the tragedy of it all. As the character is explaining how her life became a mess (as the girl who was Social Chair, as she always mentions) for the umpteenth time in “The College Try” (again refusing to acknowledge how it was already such before it was revealed her father was a crook), it’s apparent that The O.C. really has nothing for the character o…

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To tell the truth, I’ve finally reached the point where I am severely burned out on writing about The O.C. Season Three.¹ You’d figure that would’ve happened sooner, most likely during one of the umpteenth Johnny or Johnny-related scenes. But at least during that part of the season—the majority of the season—there was a righteous rage that could serve as fuel for my critical fire. Instead, it’s in this batch of episodes that it’s clear just how close yet seemingly so far away the end of the season is. That’s where the concept of running on mental fumes really comes in, despite so much of what happens in these episodes being head and shoulders above a lot of what this season has had to offer.

A large part of that feeling does continue to stem from how repetitive this season has been. For example, before I rewatched “The Secrets and Lies,” I tried to tell myself that there was no way this season actually featured another goon beatdown, after doing so earlier with Jimmy Coo…

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After “The Heavy Lifting” originally aired, there was a month before a new episode of The O.C. In that month between “The Heavy Lifting” and “The Road Warrior,” in its timeslot, FOX aired Legally Blonde (which did around the same viewership numbers as The O.C. at that point) and then the final two episodes of Skating with Celebrities (which, even as a failed reality series, had higher viewership). “The Road Warrior” (like those final Skating with Celebrities episodes) did see a viewership bump from having American Idol as its lead-in. But after that, the rest of the season returned to its usual viewership at the time (still a little over 5 million viewers), with its lead-ins of That ‘70s Show (having similar numbers in its eighth and final season) and The Loop (a, surprisingly, two-season¹ series starring O.C. alum Bret Harrison, which premiered the week of “The Journey”).

That month-long gap between new episodes arguably explains the rare change to the previouslies styl…

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No matter how many times I read through the Season Three chapter of Alan Sepinwall’s oral history on The O.C., I still can’t quite comprehend just how certain things about this season came to be. I mentioned in last week’s review that I imagine Ryan Donowho was guaranteed a certain (albeit confusingly large) number of episodes this season; I also mentioned how that still wouldn’t excuse the execution of the Johnny character’s story or his looming presence in so much of the season (and effect on other characters’ stories). And now this week’s batch of episodes finally sees the end of the Johnny character, only for the season to somehow find a way to still revolve around him.

I imagine that anyone watching this series or season for the first time was waiting for something—anything—to happen to justify the amount of Johnny or the repetitive nature of his existence by the end of it. These episodes, in particular, really rely on that repetitive nature, in terms of Johnny’s f…

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There can be plenty of talk about casting playing a major role in why the Johnny of it all doesn’t work in The O.C.’s third season, but even with better or more appropriate casting (for Johnny’s original purpose, which was seemingly part of an actual love triangle), none of that would matter if the writing remained the same. As I’ve mentioned before, one thing I’ve never comprehended about Ryan Donowho’s casting is how his team was able to negotiate “Special Guest Star” for him. However, I do believe that whatever the negotiation was, it played a role in just how many episodes he would be in. (Donowho is in 11 out of this season’s 25.) So, in some ways, The O.C. writers must have had to keep writing for the character, even when they realized he didn’t work. In every other way, that still doesn’t excuse the centering of the character, the execution of his arc, and the fact that he somehow still remains an integral part of the story even after he’s actually gone.

Again, f…

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I’ve never officially done a scientific study on the phenomenon, but I am of the strong belief that when it comes to a show you deeply love—love enough to remember the titles of episodes, specifically—it’s a massive problem and a major red flag once you end up in a stretch of the show where you can’t even think of a single episode concept once you see the title. With the exception of “The Anger Management,” this particular batch of O.C. episodes is almost impossible to remember based on episode title alone. “The Disconnect” at least—upon more reflection—comes together as a title, as that entire episode culminates in Ryan and Marissa finally trying to re-connect (after a number of episodes of things being out of step for one simple reason)¹, only to end up having the same idea at the same time, and then having to do so over the phone. But for “The Game Plan,” presumably the titular game plan is either the Core Four’s (conflicting) plans for college or Johnny’s (and Chili…

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Doing retrospective coverage like these O.C. reviews is difficult for a number of reasons, all mainly personal. It’s no secret that I’ve been wanting to do this coverage for a long time—since my A.V. Club days—and the stars only just recently aligned me to do so. With my coverage, I obviously bring in a large amount of knowledge, not just of The O.C. itself but of teen dramas in general, along with my knowledge of the television landscape at the time the show ran and my own personal experiences of all of this as a teenager (the same age as these O.C. characters, even). I have my long-held opinions about just about all of the characters (as well as the actors and storylines) on the show, and naturally those will (and have) all come out at one point or another in this coverage. At the same time, my role as a critic means I have to step outside myself at times and work to process the material as objectively as possible. In that regard, going back to The O.C. has allowed m…

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Welcome back to LaToya Ferguson’s Episodic Classics coverage of The O.C., which now enters season three because you have to take the good with the bad. As always, this first review is free for all, but if you want to follow along on the diagnostic of what went wrong, become a paid subscriber.

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When Sandy says that line at the end of the episode, it’s obviously with a winking tone. Something’s always happening in Newport Beach, whether it’s the social committee chair shooting someone or a kid from the wrong side of the tracks punching out a faculty member or a real estate mogul sweeping the rug out from under his trophy wife one more time from beyond the grave. But at the same time, Sandy says this during a closing scene that bodes well for the future of the season. It’s a touching reunion scene for the Cohen family that suggests The O.C.’s third season is going to be all right and maybe even a true return to form after a mixed bag of a second season.

Unfortunately, the rest of the season after this episode ends up falling off a cliff, both figuratively and literally.

Despite this season introducing the character that is arguably my favorite of the entire series, I don’t believe anyone would call The O.C. Season Three their favorite. However, upon rewatching these first three episodes, I was struck by just how well they actually work. At least, 99% of each episode technically works. Things are definitely different coming into this season, starting with a new composer; Richard Richard Marvin takes over from Christopher Tyng (composer for the first two seasons), immediately forgoing the often light, bouncy O.C. score we’d grown accustomed to in favor of a more gloomy and obtrusive (especially in the premiere) score.

There’s also a notable departure from the usual episode runners and throughlines that had become synonymous with The O.C.’s writing style. The meta nature of the show continues on, but the last quarter of “The Aftermath,” in particular, ends up doing multiple Season One reduxes: Ryan running away with the help of his friends, a plan to sail to Catalina, Ryan in a jumpsuit and having a hard-headed conversation with Sandy, using the candy striper gimmick to maneuver around the hospital. As I wrote during my Season Two coverage, there was a clear desire from the fandom and within the writers’ room to recapture the magic of Season One, but a lot of that translated onscreen into Seth straight up calling out how that season sucked in comparison, essentially burying things before they could ever even get off the ground. It’s a smarter and more enjoyable choice to just do the things we’ve seen before and wink at how it’s been a while since we’ve seen them instead, but there’s still not a lot of substance to it. The only thing added is the inclusion of Summer to the runaway plan, as she was still on the outside as a character in “The Model Home.” But that inclusion, in general, is a necessary piece of the puzzle that is The O.C., as her role as the positive member of the group is a necessary contrast to Ryan as the sadsack, Seth as the snark-master, and Marissa as the sadsack, as well—this will be especially necessary (and something of a balm to the season) moving forward.

But those changes to the score and the show’s approach to storytelling aren’t inherently negative changes. When it comes to this season, a large part of the negativity surrounding it originally came from outside factors. Alan Sepinwall’s Welcome to The O.C.: The Oral History goes into far more detail about all of this, but heading into the making of the season, Peter Liguori took over as FOX Chairman, which coincided with the network becoming more “male and very action-heavy” (a la the thriving Prison Break and 24). As Stephanie Savage explained, “The quote that got back to me [from someone at the network] was, ‘This was the NASCAR network. We don’t make shows about nerds that talk to plastic horses.” It was a comment that Savage disagreed with, as FOX had always had lighter shows and she felt “like they were trying to make us into something that we weren’t and that we didn’t have to be.” The new directive for the season was “promotable elements,” which would seemingly be what The O.C. was already working with but apparently not, under the Liguori regime.

So despite the reaction to last season’s adult storylines and the complete failure of FOX’s attempt at doing an adult version of The O.C. in North Shore, the directive was for The O.C. to be more like ABC’s Desperate Housewives, with more adult stories. Josh Schwartz and company were also told to introduce “a mysterious femme fatale.” Dawson’s Creek fans might remember just how “well” that also turned out for early Dawson’s Creek Season Three, with the Eve storyline leading to the cast going to the network and getting Alex Gansa ousted as showrunner and Greg Berlanti taking the reins. Since The O.C. obviously couldn’t just go to a network that wanted this new direction in the first place, as the season went on the actors were all too disillusioned to do anything but wear their disinterest in the show on their sleeves, while Schwartz was eventually doing the best he could to avoid any and all conflict (and his actors).

“The Aftermath”

What’s impressive about these first few episodes is that they have a difficult task—tackling the aftermath of the Season Two finale—and actually succeed in doing so. Marissa shooting Trey to save Ryan is the kind of big finale moment where you just have to know how things will end up. Is Trey going to survive? Is Marissa going to jail? Is the gang going to work to protect Marissa? Are they possibly going to frame Jess (whose gun it was) for shooting Trey? This isn’t something that can be adequately handled in just a single episode. With the first day of senior year on the horizon, there’s immediately a deadline to “resolve” things, but even once school starts, things aren’t over by a long shot. It’s not an enviable position for Schwartz and the writers’ room to have been in, but they manage to handle it well in these episodes. In fact, to be on the nose, The O.C. handles the aftermath, the shape of things, and the end of innocence rather well in these episodes.

It’s also impressive how Julie Cooper-Nichol can continue to be the “worst” but still a character worth rooting for. In the premiere, she’s doing everything she can to pin the blame on Ryan in Trey’s shooting, going as far as to bribe Trey to lie. (That Trey decides to do it at first—to protect Marissa, instead of his own brother—is this season’s earliest example of the Marissa Cooper Derangement Syndrome but far from its last.) Again, as selfish as the Julie character is, the driving force is almost always that she’s doing these things for her family. And not the way Jimmy would claim he was doing things for her family either; nearly every decision Julie makes is because she believes it’s what she needs to do to protect her daughters and allow them to survive and thrive. That’s the reason why after she asks Marissa (in “The End of Innocence”), “What am I gonna do?” she immediately follows it up with, “What are we gonna do?” Love her or hate her, Julie does what she does to take care of her family. (Except for the whole affair with Luke thing.) The problems arise, however, as Julie does these things no matter the collateral damage, which often happens to be Ryan.

While The O.C. has always balanced various tones, “The Aftermath” really has its work cut out for it. There’s the frantic energy of the post-shooting, there’s the serious tone of the legal cases against Ryan and Marissa, there’s the necessary levity and humor that you expect from The O.C., there’s whatever’s going on in Kirsten’s story, and then there’s the Season One tribute act before the brief-but-emotionally-charged send-off to Trey Atwood. Though it’s all noticeably different, it’s also nowhere near the kind of a mess it could or should be. But while no character is informing the audience that it’s a “new era,” there’s still an air of something that says the show can’t ever go back to what it was, no matter how hard it tries.

“The Shape of Things”

On the one hand, as things end with Marissa getting no jail time for shooting Trey, Julie really tries to ruin Ryan’s life even though there was never any way Marissa was going to suffer real legal consequences for what she did. On the other hand, as Julie explains here, that’s not thinking about the full picture. While Marissa can argue against people listening to Newport gossip or caring what the people think of them, the fact is that that’s exactly what matters in a small town like this. It would be one thing if the gossip weren’t true, but it very much is. And much like there were consequences to Jimmy losing a bunch of Newport residents’ money, here, there are finally consequences for the latest, most dangerous mess in Marissa Cooper’s life.

Season Three is when the show finally acknowledges that everyone at The Harbor School (and their parents) must consider the Core Four either absolutely bizarre (at best) or the absolute worst (at… worst). Season Two somewhat worked that into the fabric of the show with Marissa’s reputation allowing her to get close to Jess, but post-shooting it would obviously be hard for the show to ignore the larger ramifications in such a small community. And with this acknowledgment arrives the series’ answer to Tracy Flick, Taylor Townsend (Autumn Reeser).

Last season, I noted how it was absurd to believe that Marissa was still able to function as social chair despite her behavior, and finally, we get confirmation: while Marissa is off getting day drunk or hooking up with Olivia Wilde or shooting Logan Marshall-Green, Taylor is actually getting all the work done as the uncrowned social chair. Just remember, if nothing else of value comes from this season, let it never be said it gave us nothing, as Autumn Reeser's energy as Taylor (much like Rachel Bilson’s as Summer) is very much needed. And yet, despite her being in direct opposition to Marissa, Taylor is immediately positioned as Summer’s rival in this episode. While one could argue that it’s because Summer is acting as Marissa’s proxy—as Marissa ends up getting kicked out of Harbor here—it’s yet another writing choice that speaks to The O.C.’s inability to make Marissa a dynamic character (and highlights the show’s clear belief that Mischa Barton couldn’t handle such a position).

“The Shape of Things” also introduces Harbor’s new Dean of Discipline, Jack Hess (Eric Mabius, the television season before Ugly Betty). Hess works the best of this season’s new adult characters, only because he doesn’t end up overstaying his chilly welcome. And especially after this episode, he is cartoonishly villainous in his behavior to the point of the audience not really needing to take him as seriously as the show may intend him to be. Especially watching now as a full-grown adult, it’s hard not to be on Hess’ side when he calls Marissa “troubled” or brings up all of her earlier issues (her shoplifting, drinking problem, and overdose in Tijuana) that should’ve gotten her in hot water at Harbor much sooner. As much as you might want to argue against that—especially as a teen watching the show who’s actually a fan of Marissa—all of that is true, and it doesn’t bode well that Marissa tries to argue that she’s not “troubled.” While Marissa may currently be trying her best, at the end of the day the defining word for this character will always be “troubled.” This is why, after this scene, Hess’ antagonism is indefensible. He physically removes Marissa from the Kickoff Carnival, he publicly says that he’s trying to Ryan kicked out of school, and then targets Seth and Summer because of their guilt by association. That’s all just the tip of the iceberg for the character, and his villainous blond allegiance with Taylor makes for a pretty striking image to end this episode. But he’s also thankfully not the type of character that has a long shelf life.

“The End of Innocence”

There’s something to be said about Marissa Cooper’s characterization in Season Three of The O.C., as it arguably provides two of the character’s best episodes (in terms of actual character growth and maturity), while also otherwise providing the nadir of the character’s existence. Those two episodes would be “The End of Innocence” (in which Marissa handles the possibility of moving healthily, finally sees and addresses her father for who he really is, and presents herself as a rock to her mother) and “The Graduates” (the season finale, which, surprisingly, is the most mature and at peace Marissa ever is). “The Shape of Things” has a moment where Marissa goes back to the well of being unable to speak up for herself (like in Season One) before she completely botches the attempt to get Hess to allow her back into Harbor, but there is such a self-assuredness and maturity in the Marissa character in these episodes that it feels like there’s potential to do some real good in rehabbing her this season. Again, everything falls off a cliff after this episode, but the potential was clearly there. If anything, there’s the worry that Ryan could possibly be the one devolving, as his savior complex—especially when it comes to Marissa—is what led to him confronting Trey and then leads to him punching Hess. Then there’s this line he says to Sandy:

“You and I are both here because somebody gave us a break. Well, now Marissa needs one.”

I don’t believe that Schwartz, Savage, and company genuinely believe that Marissa Cooper, of all people, has never gotten a break or wouldn’t be getting one if she had to move to Hawaii with her family. I do, however, believe the line speaks to the childish naivete Ryan Atwood always has when it comes to Marissa. Because if there’s one thing Marissa has gotten all her life and continues to get in even these episodes—despite being expelled—it’s constant breaks. While Marissa has proven before that despite her objections she actually does need saving, it’s in these episodes where, for the first time, those objections actually ring true. I’ve made my feelings about Marissa and this television season clear for a long time, but the best part of these reviews for me is getting to recontextualize and reassess certain elements of The O.C. through a new lens. And it’s astonishing to go back and see that this season actually started off on the right track with this character and in its follow-up to something as big as the Season Two finale.

Except for when it comes to the Charlotte Morgan (Jeri Ryan) story, that 1% that really doesn’t work in these episodes.

Regarding the inclusion of a femme fatale, naturally the writers initially pointed out that they already had that; they already had their “pot-stirrer,” their “Heather Locklear” in Julie. And from these episodes, she’s even more interesting than just that archetype, as she’s able to shift between being the antagonist to the Cohen-Atwood collective and still being extremely close to the family, especially Kirsten. But that which made her more interesting is apparently what made the network consider her “too soft and likable and well-rounded.” Enter Jeri Ryan’s Charlotte—as mandated by FOX, where Ryan was just fresh off Boston Public—who from these first few episodes feels more like a psychotic lesbian obsessed with Kirsten than the clear grifter she ends up being. And considering The O.C.’s foray into the world of queer women last season, strangely that might have been less offensive. But as hacky as a Single White Female plot would’ve been, it would at least have been a story that Schwartz would’ve remembered the plot of when asked about it. Instead, it’s the first new adult dud character of this season, providing some more early conflict between Sandy and Kirsten despite the negative reaction to such things last season.

As good as Kelly Rowan is, no one was clamoring for more scenes and episodes of Kirsten being so devoid of energy and life, of being so unsure of herself while Sandy worries about her. By going all in on Kirsten’s alcoholism, The O.C. made the choice to eliminate any more fun to be had out of Kirsten getting drunk during an event-of-the-week. While that could lead to plenty of plot fuel on its own, instead there’s Charlotte, a character that spends every other scene popping out of corners and transparently manipulating Kirsten into negative self-esteem and confidence for…reasons. Kirsten second-guessing herself and her sobriety due to a third party is a risky choice that instantly serves as a warning sign that The O.C. isn’t completely back on track. And in following through with it and what the network decided it wanted out of the show, The O.C. would only continue to go off the rails.

But the season isn’t quite there yet. The reveal that Caleb Nichol died broke and left Julie with absolutely nothing is the one thing that makes the decision to kill off Caleb really worth it. Summer versus Taylor Townsend is such a different, higher energy than just about anything else on the show right now. And with all the serious drama in these episodes, the Core Four is also tighter than ever, which is always key in a teen drama, as you never want to wonder why any of the characters are still hanging out with each other.

Plus, despite the obvious promise of rocky shores ahead for Ryan/Marissa (as that is always the case for them), these episodes probably have them at their healthiest as a couple. Even their typical lack of communication ends up being a hurdle they actually end up jumping together, allowing the characters and the show to move on from the Trey situation as naturally as possible. And while the lifeguard station made minor appearances last season, it becomes an honorary supporting character this season and part of the Ryan/Marissa relationship. For all the issues with this pairing and the trouble that comes when they’re together, at their sweetest and most earnest, it’s hard not to see why they would want to be together despite the trouble. And while Ryan/Marissa sleeping together for the first time isn’t technically “the end of innocence,” as neither were virgins, the scene is still genuinely romantic. Even juxtaposed with Jimmy getting his ass beat.

Stray observations

• The Most 2005 Moment of the Episode: “Summer, we have HBO on Demand. Every season of Sex and the City. Knock yourself out.” (“The Aftermath”); re: a chocolate fountain at the carnival, “Didn’t Britney have one at her wedding?” (“The Shape of Things”); Summer’s insistence on calling Taylor a “skank,” unfortunately (“The End of Innocence”).

• Favorite Needle Drop of the Episode: Bloc Party’s “Blue Light” as Trey and Ryan have their silent, painful goodbye; Death Cab for Cutie’s “Soul Meets Body” as the Core Four half-heartedly plan for a great senior year; Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's "Salvation" as Jimmy gets his ass beat.

• According to Summer, there are always comas on The Valley, to allow for recasting. Obviously, despite putting Trey in a coma, that recasting already happened beforehand. But considering The O.C. and The Valley comparisons have otherwise usually been pretty one-to-one, I imagine this bit is more in line with what the network wanted out of The O.C. at this point.

• I mentioned Mabius/Ugly Betty, so I should also note Timothy Omundson as the Deputy D.A. in the premiere. Psych would end up premiering in the summer of 2006.

• As much as it tracks that everyone would try to pin the shooting on Ryan instead of Marissa—and the drama of that all works—a gunshot residue test would have solidified things, wouldn’t it?

• As far as I can tell, there are two Michael J. Fox bits in the premiere. The first is Seth and Ryan watching Teen Wolf. (And as for why becoming a werewolf turns him into a good basketball player, it’s because becoming a werewolf turns him into a Black man.) The second is proof that Charlotte is a fake (or actually that Josh Schwartz only had one frame of reference), as she brings up rifling through the cupboards for vanilla extract to get a buzz… like in the Family Ties episode where Tom Hanks plays the alcoholic uncle.

• Summer: “Alright, I have an idea.”
  Seth: “Are you gonna save Chrismukkah again? ‘Cause I really enjoyed that last time.”

• Summer: “Mr. Cooper’s got a nice boat, huh?”
  Seth: “Yeah, it’s amazing what laundered money can buy.” It’s very funny that Jimmy Cooper’s whole thing is being the rich boy who went into finance but completely sucks at it. Newport Beach’s biggest fail son.

• Summer: “Should we bring him a snack? What does Ryan eat?”
  Seth: “Dry cereal from a box and black coffee.” Seth/Summer really are a dynamic duo.

• The thing about Ryan trying to run away again is that, in “The Model Home,” it was an understandable scared kid reaction. As the show hammers home it being senior year and these characters growing up, that reaction doesn’t quite work. And it mostly only exists to include Summer this time (and get Ryan back into a jumpsuit). At least Seth then calls out the atonally “light-hearted” gesture in doing the candy striper thing again.

• The guys don’t get how Kirsten always kept their home so pristine because they seem to have forgotten they had a housekeeper in Season One. One of those early series things that fade away because it doesn’t make the Cohens the more relatable rich family to watch.

• A solid moment in “The Shape of Things” is Ryan asking Seth to grab a trash bag, the two of them starting a walk and talk, then Ryan stopping to go back to get the bag that Seth didn’t even think about grabbing.

• I suppose the reveal of Charlotte with the flask is the “adult,” less iconic version of Valerie Malone smoking pot in the Walsh home in Beverly Hills, 90210. She also smokes cigarettes indoors with her flask nearby. I actually don’t know how people really feel about Jeri Ryan as an actor. For me, I’ve always kind of felt like she has a very disingenuous air about her performances, which I’ve found really worked for her stints on Leverage and Bosch (I’ve recently become a Bosch-head). So in theory, I should enjoy her here…

I know it’s hacky, but I’ll say it one more time: After 24 long, messy episodes, The O.C. Season Two goes out with a bang. It ends with, arguably, the shot heard around the pop culture world, as there still remain people who have seen the Saturday Night Live sketch riffing off how this season ends without having ever actually seen the end of “The Dearly Beloved.”1

For everything that follows (and as a result of the choice for Marissa to shoot Trey), it’s an ending that feels just as right for this season as Ryan leaving for Chino (and Seth sailing to “Tahiti”) did in the first. Well, it feels right for this season heading into a post-Trey world or even as an act of defiance for how this season began. Because remember—and I know how hard that can be in a 24-episode season—this season was supposed to be an evolution of the show, with “less spectacle” than the first season and a slowing down of the storytelling. That mission statement essentially flew out the window with every other new element (sans Zach and Atomic County) this season, which made for another component of this season’s messiness. But as I have done throughout this coverage, I still defend The O.C. Season Two: it sticks the landing in terms of having a solid, memorable finale and in creating a promise of an interesting immediate future. It’s not its fault that Season Three ended up being such a disaster. In fact, while I can place plenty of blame on Schwartz for the messy nature of Season Two, as we’ll see (hopefully—don’t forget to comment and share this coverage) with Season Three, executive interference could always make things so much worse, alongside Schwartz’s fear of the cast as a result of network-mandated inferior material.

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There’s a major moment that happens in this batch of O.C. episodes, one that really hurtles the show toward this season’s finish line in a way that could have never been expected: as we see in “The Rager,” Ben McKenzie finally got a haircut. In a way, this moment was the season’s way of saying it’s time for us to finally heal, as Ryan’s hair was really hurtling itself, seemingly toward an unfortunate bowl cut-mullet hybrid situation. Thankfully, that is all over now.

From Risky Business to an out-of-control rager—and then even to sexual assault—I suppose that this chunk of The O.C. Season Two (the Trey Atwood saga) unexpectedly ended up recontextualizing the ‘80s teen movie. Admittedly, as someone who has written so much about these episodes, there’s really not a lot to say about this batch of episodes specifically, beat-by-beat. Besides the fact that they all somewhat blend together—not just in the Trey saga but also in the graphic novel/Seth/Summer/Zach realm, as well…

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Seth: “I mean, look—we all tried some new things and that was fun.”
Ryan: “Mmhmm.”
Seth: “Uh, yard guys, illegitimate daughters, less fighting, more live music.”
Ryan: “Well, maybe you remember last year as better ‘cause it was all new.”
Seth: “So, you think I’ve sentimentalized the past all out of proportion?”
Ryan: “Yeah, come on, I mean, we can’t keep living in last year.”
Seth: “Sure we can.”

There’s so much talk within The O.C. Season Two about returning to the way things were in Season One, you kind of have to think the show somewhat set itself up to “fail.” The second episode of this season was “The Way We Were”—a pointed conversation about how this was a new season doing new things, which episodes like “The New Kids on the Block” and “The New Era” reaffirmed—and all that talk (of missing the good old days) would’ve been enough and fine if it had simply been confined to that episode. Instead, even in this season’s success—or what could’ve been success—with new elements…

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After taking such a spectacular downturn in the past four episodes of this season, it’s fascinating to see how this batch of episodes reads as The O.C.’s version of “break glass in case of emergency.” “The Father Knows Best” (especially) and “The Rainy Day Women” are both episodes marred by the mess this season has somehow become, but the latter—notably written by Josh Schwartz—gets the ball rolling on “fixing” things. The season arguably isn’t actually “fixed” moving forward, but it’s not hard to see all the moving pieces in trying to do so.

Because fixing the second season seemingly means returning things to how they were in the first season, and after having a good deal of this season involve characters wishing things could just be like they were “last year”—in addition to a viewing audience wishing the same thing—that is clearly the direction Schwartz and Stephanie Savage decide to finally take. But that direction still comes with the mess that is this second season…

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Until we get to a certain Atwood arc, I think I’ve provided enough preamble for this season. Let’s get into it.

“The Accomplice”

As I was writing my notes for “The Accomplice” —and as you can imagine, I write a lot of notes in general for the shows I review but especially for The O.C.—I realized that I had so much more to say about this episode than I had previously imagined. Last week, while I called “The Ex-Factor” the shift and pivot point for this season into a downward trajectory, I really didn’t have all that much to say about it otherwise. I noted that it was perhaps the low point of an otherwise fairly strong start and first half of this season, giving a sample of what was to come moving forward but not really showing the full picture as to what issues were really there. But here in “The Accomplice,” that picture is pretty damn clear.

The biggest issue in this batch of episodes—one that I will forever rant about when given the opening to talk about and otherwise d…

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Episode 9 is when the downward shift starts to happen with this season of The O.C.

I wrote extensively in last week’s review about how, when this particular stretch of episodes originally aired, I had made ABC’s Life As We Know It my priority Thursday night teen drama. That series’ first season didn’t make it to February 2005, so I then returned to The O.C. fully, bummed and rather resentful that it continued on as a new show I’d really come to love essentially died by its “hands.” And come that February, The O.C. gave me plenty of reason to be bummed and resentful.

Rewatching these particular episodes for this review, they still mostly serve as proper examples of how strong early Season Two of The O.C. really is. However, the cracks and hurdles start to really show in Episode 9 (“The Ex-Factor”).

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“The New Era,” “The SnO.C.” (a truly inspired episode title), and “The Chrismukkah That Almost Wasn’t” is probably my favorite stretch of episodes in this season of The O.C.1 By this point, the season (and series) hadn’t gone off the rails, we were still having a good mix of meta references to Season One,2 alongside fun new bits for Season Two, and there was just the right amount of melodrama that you’d look for and expect in a teen drama/nighttime soap of its ilk. Of course, there is a turning point in this season, and upon looking back at all of this for this coverage, I would have to say that 2005—which is when the rest of the season airs—appears to be said turning point. But in 2004, we’re still in the thick of what made The O.C. work and what makes it a “magical” show, as I’ve brought up over and over again throughout this Episodic Classics coverage.

I’ve also already brought up this show a couple of times in my reviews, but it’s with “The New Era” that the ABC one-s…

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Welcome back to The O.C., subscribers. LaToya Ferguson is back on the beat analyzing the Fox series as it continues to celebrate its 20th anniversary, and her reviews of the second season will arrive on Saturdays through March. To keep reading along, and get access to all our other reviews, become a paid subscriber.

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The first season of The O.C. has always been pretty undeniable. I’ve yet to meet anyone who considers it anything but the best of the series, although I’d at least be willing to listen to any Season Four defenders make their argument.1 As I’ve stated before, Season One is both timeless and a beautiful time capsule. It was also a season whose pacing was always going to be impossible—or at least, really, really difficult—to replicate. The only other show I could say successfully captured—and arguably improved upon—first-season O.C.’s pacing was The Vampire Diaries in its first three seasons (especially its second). I think the supernatural element of that series helped it sustain that type of breakneck storytelling, as it meant having to be less tethered to reality than The O.C. obviously had to be, even in the “reality” of the superficial world of Newport Beach.

The O.C.’s second season—a season I mostly enjoy and like but whose cardinal sin tends to come in the form of being “boring” at times—suffered for a number of reasons. Part of it was the difficulty of replicating its monumental success, but there were also external forces. Moving forward with my coverage, I now have the additional context that comes from having read commenter (and prolific TV critic) Alan Sepinwall’s Welcome to The O.C., an oral history of the series. And with that context, I can speak more to how The O.C.’s success in its first season mattered little when its second season had so many of the people involved in creating that success being pulled in different directions. Stephanie Savage had to go run The Mountain (a one-season WB series). FOX was adamant about Josh Schwartz creating an O.C. spin-off to bank off the series’ success.2 And the writers simply wanted to slow things down—to change up the way they told stories and to lean more into the series’ initial desire to be more of a My So-Called Life in soapy, Beverly Hills 90210’s clothing. Then there were people like Preston Beckman, who simply saw the show as empty calories in the first place—which would lead to even more attempts to change what the show was, never for better.

I also still have the context of having been a teenage girl—with a deep TV obsession—watching this all live at the time. So as this coverage continues, I’ll also be bringing up FOX’s North Shore (in which Amanda Righetti starred, the reason for Hailey being written off in “The Way We Were”) and ABC’s Life As We Know It, as the former one-season show highlighted FOX’s bizarre stubbornness when it came to The O.C. past its first season and the latter eventually led to my own personal disillusionment with The O.C. The connecting point of both sources—Sepinwall’s tireless interviewing and reporting and my “you had to be there” perspective—is, of course, the one-season FOX series, Skin. Skin aired and flopped during The O.C.’s first season, but the bullet points in relation to all of this are as follows:

• Olivia Wilde, female lead of Skin, was the runner-up for the Marissa Cooper role. She, like Amanda Righetti, was under a holding deal with FOX. She ended up playing Alex (named after music supervisor Alexandra Patsavas) this season.

• D.J. Cotrona, male lead of Skin, was the runner-up for “Ryan Atwood.” At one point in the development of the series, there would’ve been a more racial component to the main teen romance, in addition to the class stuff. Nicholas Gonzalez’s “D.J.” in this season is a nod to that, both in name and characterization. And for that reason—in addition to the Theresa stuff—I will always say it’s for the best that there was not a more racial component to the main teen romance of the series.

But as for North Shore, it was a nighttime soap that aired during this 2004-2005 season, in the wake of The O.C.’s success, with FOX clearly believing that it could replicate said success. Using the summer premiere strategy that The O.C. originally employed—with a summer setting of sorts, in Hawaii—was an obvious tactic, clearly believing it could replicate the magic with a more adult-focused show. (After all, part of The O.C.’s magic was its ability to make audiences just as invested in the adult storylines as they were in the teen. Something that would change with The O.C.’s second season.) It could not. But FOX, unfortunately, wouldn’t learn its lesson from that, which is a discussion for next season…

“The Distance”

“The Distance” is an episode that obviously had to follow up and even “undo” the events of the first season finale, “The Ties That Bind.” Ryan going back to Chino to help Theresa during her pregnancy, Seth running (or sailing) away from home (and Summer) because of Ryan’s departure—those were the big things that needed to be “undone.” And the magic of The O.C.’s first season made that ending such that, at the time, there wasn’t an irony-poisoned reaction of “well, obviously that’s all going to be undone when it comes back.” Instead, there was anticipation and excitement in seeing that unfold, which “The Distance” handles as organically as possible.

The thing about these first three episodes and early Season Two, in general, is that it is all a pretty fresh start to things. First of all, this time around things begin in the fall, with a new school year right around the corner, instead of with the no-rush attitude of a summer run of episodes. There is also that emphasis on the earnestness and simplicity (in addition to the usual meta nature of things) that Josh Schwartz and company always wanted for the show. But also, in setting up some of the newer elements of the show—like Ryan’s new academic focus, a new hangout spot in The Bait Shop, and even the ‘new kids’—there is plenty introduced up top that just seems like it’ll be ripe for the picking moving forward. I firmly believe that these early episodes do exactly what you would want a follow-up O.C. season to do.

But “The Distance” also continues the series’ tried and true depiction of Chino, CA as the place where dreams go to die. It’s easy to forget that Theresa’s first appearance in Newport Beach actually came with moments of levity and ease between her and Ryan, because the character is depicted as an anchor and weight from there on. So this character (and her baby) is not just the obstacle to Ryan and Marissa, she’s the obstacle to Ryan and the Cohens, an obstacle to the show’s entire premise existing. It’s unfair, and for all of the relitigation of story choices and lack of diversity from the show’s creative forces, I still don’t think anyone involved has really reckoned with their depiction of this character, or what it said about Newport (which, while it provided plenty of opportunity for the Ryan character, in terms of his circumstance in life, was also supposed to be presented for how superficial and imperfect as it really was) versus Chino (which was never presented as anything but “The Bad Place,” even for characters like Theresa and Eddie, who arguably “deserved” more based on how they were initially presented).

In terms of this depiction of Theresa, I would argue that “The Distance” provides Navi Rawat’s best work in the role, as she and Ben McKenzie navigate the unspoken emptiness of a “relationship” that was once one of friendship and love.3 At the same time, when Schwartz provides Rawat with lines like, “Why [make things right with Seth]? It’s not like you abandoned him,” it’s a sobering reminder of The O.C.’s adamance in depicting Chino (or really, any place where people might be struggling to make ends meet) as a place where the concept of things like “friendship” simply don’t exist. Theresa went from being Ryan’s oldest friend and someone who even his new friends and family liked to being the obstacle to Ryan’s happiness, without even an ounce of sympathy baked in. She became another thing from Ryan’s past life trying to bring him down and dim his light. Because light isn’t allowed in Chino. The resentment that the show fosters for Ryan toward Theresa doesn’t quite come to fruition simply because of the kind of noble character it’s made out of him, but it does, unfortunately, come to fruition for the audience.

On the “bright” side, that resentment is something that only colors this part of the story. Despite the “blame” on Theresa for taking Ryan away from Newport Beach, there’s not actually blame put on her for Marissa’s behavior, for example, or for Seth’s refusal to come home. Instead, those things land on the shoulders of a confluence of events. For Marissa, it’s not just losing Ryan, it’s being that fairytale princess “trapped” in the evil king and queen’s castle. As we learned throughout the first season, Marissa was troubled even before the series began, so what we see when we return to the story is a continuation of that aspect of the character. And for Seth, it’s not just about losing Ryan, it’s him realizing that he doesn’t want to go back to how his life was pre-Ryan. It’s having his mind opened to what life and people can be like outside of that Newport bubble and deciding to move onward.

Funnily enough, I could also just as easily call out both Marissa and Seth’s behavior in this episode as “white nonsense” and “poor little rich kid” problems. But as true as that would be, part of what makes The O.C. endure is the depth it added to that behavior and characterization. And that’s something I’m really finding myself interested in exploring this go-around in the series, especially when it comes to Marissa. Because this season premiere features a pretty unforgettable moment for that character, in her “telling” Julie how she really feels:

It’s melodramatic, it’s over-the-top, and it was definitely all the rage to talk about and laugh at in school for the next few days after it happened. Yet, the further away I get from when this moment originally aired, the more I can accept it for what it is. Yes, it’s ended up a meme, but it really is the perfect distillation of what the Marissa Cooper character is, underneath all the designer fashion and poor decision-making. Of course, this is just a moment. From week-to-week, while Marissa isn’t having that freakout in every scene, that’s still what’s inside her, at all times.

From what she told Sepinwall for the oral history, it seems Mischa Barton’s overall issue with playing Marissa was that she found her to be an inconsistent character, but I’d argue that Marissa was entirely consistent from start to finish. The actual issue was that that consistency just wasn’t flattering. Much like Gossip Girl’s Serena Van Der Woodsen, making Schwartz and Savage two for two in this realm, Marissa was consistent in her inability to take responsibility or accountability for her actions.4 She was consistent in her excuses and blaming others for her shortcomings. And as I’ve mentioned before, that consistency would lead to repetitive beats between her and Ryan (with Ryan being consistent in his attempts to save her from herself), as well as with future characters filling the “Oliver spot” of the story. She would also be consistent in her inability to learn from her mistakes. Really, I believe Barton’s issue was more the fact that Marissa was more static and less interesting of a character than the rest of the Core Four, with even less moments of fun than Ryan. It’s understandable that she would want to play a more dynamic character, but I also don’t know that she could.

Going back to Seth, while Ryan was very much the catalyst for him leaving, so much of Seth’s argument here is about just how much he hates Newport and the people there. Seth tells Ryan he would’ve run away eventually, even if Ryan weren’t in the picture, and to think about it, it’s easy to believe. I brought up last season how Seth’s mentions of some of his bullying were often treated as throwaway jokes (like water polo players peeing in his shoes), but when really examined, there was a darkness to it all that had to reach a point of no return. That’s what Seth says here, despite the episode opening with Sandy trying to blame it on Kirsten’s “smothering overprotectiveness that kept him from ever having a friend until Ryan came along.” Because without Ryan, Seth would’ve remained the bullied outcast of The Harbor School, until he either ran away or worse.

But Ryan is still so important to Seth, and ultimately, it really all comes back to that: Seth-Ryan time. In fact, in the oral history, Schwartz and company note how their relationship is far more important than any actual romantic story in the series. Which is why, even if everything else is different this season, this episode has to end with their (and then the Ryan/Cohens) reunion. Schwartz writes and Ian Toynton directs the ultimate “Seth/Ryan is the love story” moment of the series, and it is just as romantic—if not more so—than Seth on top of that kissing booth or Ryan overcoming his fear of heights.

“The Way We Were”

After a first season of taking it easy before sending the teens to high school, this season gets into all of that very quickly. And while The O.C. writers’ room may not have wanted to repeat what they did in the first season, I think everyone reading this knows exactly how audiences ended up reacting to this season: ‘We loved the first season, so just do that again.’ And this season, Schwartz would be well aware of both fan and critical (especially via Television Without Pity) reactions to both new characters and new storylines. But up top, the series decided it would get meta about how its characters—at least, Ryan and Seth—would also want to just do the first season again too. That’s the premise and runner of “The Way We Were,” even going so far as to bring us back to the start of the year carnival (introduced in “The Heights,” with the aforementioned Ferris Wheel) and having Seth unsuccessfully trying to recreate that kissing booth moment (from “The Telenovela”). Ryan’s back home, so obviously he and Marissa should get back together, and the same goes for Seth with Summer, despite him really screwing that relationship up. (And Rachel Bilson’s performance in these scenes with Seth here and in the next episode—exasperated and frustrated but also just really sad—is just terrific.) It’s the Core Four, after all—they all belong together.

While Ryan left Newport because of a sense of duty and responsibility, that wasn’t the case for Seth. Where Ryan and Marissa were over—even though they tried to keep in touch at first, we learn—that was not the case for Seth and Summer, until it was. Until Summer, understandably, decided to stop waiting for and chasing after Seth. It’s delusional and self-absorbed of Seth to believe that he and Summer can just pick up where they left off, especially considering the fact he’s returning after doing exactly what Summer was afraid he’d do to her in the first place. Enter Zach (Michael Cassidy), the perfect guy (for both Summer and Seth) who plays water polo and loves comic books. He’s not as funny as Luke, but he probably also won’t sleep with anybody’s mother.

For Ryan and Marissa, it is actually understandable and more realistic for them to believe they can pick up where they left off, based on the circumstances of Ryan’s absence in the first place. It also, unfortunately, is a pattern with the two of them, despite there then always being things to remind them why they shouldn’t be together. Of course, the specific elephant in the room here is the fact that Marissa is dating “the yard guy” and isn’t mature enough to actually make a choice between these two guys. Once again, we’re hit with Marissa’s inability to take accountability for her own actions, as her reaction to Ryan being upset about the D.J. reveal is to say, “What was I supposed to do? Wait for you? You weren't coming back.”... to which Ryan’s response is a reasonable “I wanted you to tell me the truth.” While she fires back the excuse that she couldn’t tell anyone, that of course ignores the issue being her lying to Ryan by saying she wasn’t seeing anyone. Answering that question truthfully would not have been the same as blowing up D.J.’s spot, but the argument instead ends with Marissa pointing out that she and Ryan have never actually been friends… and then the next episode has Ryan and Marissa trying to be friends again, only for Marissa to walk away once she sees Ryan have a nice interaction with another girl (similar to the moment last season when Ryan though Marissa and Luke were getting back together).

Ultimately, “The Way We Were” functions as an early notice to let these characters and the audience know we can’t go back. At least not yet. Season Two’s mantra to start is really all about the “new;” the next two episodes are even titled “The New Kids on the Block” and “The New Era,” the latter of which really hammers home that point. But one could argue that this dedication to the new is an attempt to fix something that wasn’t (yet) broken. Because there’s a difference between the “new” concept of making Alan Dale a series regular (as the already established character Caleb Nichol) and the “new” concept of love interests for our Core Four that the audience has no reason to believe to stick around. Because neither Luke nor Anna stuck around, and they were actually a part of the crew.

“The New Kids on the Block”

After introducing D.J. (the yard guy) in the premiere and Zach (the Congressman’s son) in the previous episode, here, we meet Alex— manager of Newport’s new local music venue The Bait Shop—and Lindsay (Shannon Lucio, new Harbor School transfer). And now that they have all been officially introduced, allow me to get my ranking of the ‘new era’ characters out of the way now, from favorite to least favorite: Alex, Zach, Lindsay (and the gulf between her and Zach isn’t too wide, though I have considered a recent criticism of the character that compared her to Charlie Brown), and D.J. (the gulf is wide). This ranking can also function as “best to worst” or “most developed to least developed,” with the Alex and Zach slots easily being the most interchangeable. The fact that D.J. is the only one of these four not even in this episode really says all that needs to be said, but I can find the time to say more next week.

While I mentioned that the audience (as aware as the series was self-aware) had no reason to believe these four would stick around, it’s worth noting their presence in the promotional photoshoots for this season—not just with their Core Four counterparts but with each other. The promotional push for these four was bigger than expected—except for maybe Wilde, who the writers had even wanted to keep around for longer—especially looking back at this season. 

Alex and Lindsay provide two completely different vibes in their introduction. The former is an alpha in a way different from characters like Summer or even Anna, and the writers clearly knew immediately to pair her with Seth for that very reason. I can honestly say that Alex’s introduction unlocked something within teenage me I didn’t realize was locked, because at the time, I forced myself to believe I just really wanted to be “good friends” with someone “like” Alex. Olivia Wilde was able to somehow make that hairstyle and butterfly tattoo seem so cool. As for Lindsay, I maintain that the screwball comedy of her and Ryan’s interactions throughout this episode still works very well, but the very aughts beats of her making clear she’s “not like most girls” fall really flat 20 years later. This was something that could also be the case with Anna—though part of her character development shed that, in her friendship with Summer—but Lindsay’s introduction really turns it up to 11 in a way that is very of the time but also too much, too soon for a character that will already have an uphill battle in being liked (for the Ryan/Marissa fans watching). It’s also something that would almost be more expected from “Cool Girl” Alex, yet she is shown to be much more mature for her age.

While there is still that earnestness and simplicity I mentioned in this third episode, this is also the episode in which the series’ meta nature (now two seasons in) paves the way for some of the less flattering things about the season and series moving forward. No, I’m not talking about The Valley but instead the fact that the subtext officially becomes text when it comes to Seth’s selfishness and self-absorbed nature. From this point on, the series is now really acknowledging this aspect of Seth, which is—both the character trait and the show’s acknowledgment—both a feature and a bug. Where Seth considers Zach the “WASP version” of him, I would say he’s more the best qualities of him, amplified, whereas Seth himself becomes the worst qualities amplified. It’s arguably a symptom of a character’s (and actor’s) popularity affecting the direction of the series, as we all loved to hear Seth (and Adam Brody) riff; but with more of that came more of the realization that Seth is kind of insufferable. It’s a fun performance of someone who’s insufferable, but as Schwartz and company continued to highlight that aspect of the character, it became a very big part of the character and show.

Because besides the whole plot of Seth trying to be “new” and get away from selfish “Cohen Classic” in this episode, there’s also the runner of him mocking Ryan’s new academic focus. The problem is, the way this runner is constructed, it feels like it ends up betraying the concept of a studious Ryan before it can ever really become its own thing and before the audience can accept it. Instead, Seth calling it out turns it into another thing the audience wants to go back to normal. Remember how, in the first season, there was a directive to not have these characters in class; starting now, that’s a good deal of Ryan’s scenes, and they’re Ryan’s scenes with another new character fighting to be accepted by the audience. When Seth tells Ryan in “The Way We Were,” “You’re the bad boy, okay? You’re the outsider. You’re supposed to be leading me into temptation, not homeroom,” that reads more like a winking reference to the type of notes the show must’ve gotten from the network about Ryan not really being that much of a bad boy. But in continuing with more jokes about it, it’s like the show is sabotaging the premise before it even gets off the ground, for the sake of another Seth riff. And it’s one of the first cracks in a sophomore season that otherwise starts off quite promising.

The Valley would’ve avoided such a pitfall, is all I’m saying.

Stray observations

• The Most 2004 Moment of the Episode: Marissa calling Cardio Bar “the new Tae Bo” in the premiere. Second place goes to Alex’s entire look as soon as soon as she shows up. (The skirt really clinches it.)

• Favorite Needle Drop of the Episode: Unfortunately, I’m not going to choose any Walkmen song this week. For the premiere, it's Zero 7's "Somersault," as the music of Zero 7 really is about as 2002-2005 as it gets for me. Then, The Perishers' "Trouble Sleeping," a song (from an album) I still really love. And for the third episode, it’s A.C. Newman's "On The Table," though I will also note The Beta Band's "Assessment" as a song that ends up overlapping with the Life As We Know It (a show that was clearly very inspired by The O.C.’s music supervision) soundtrack.

• Caleb: “What’s wrong with China?”
  Julie: “China has alopecia.” The way Melinda Clarke, once again, delivers that line… The gravitas. The pain. It really is a tragedy for a little girl to love a hairless pony. Good thing they’ve shipped Kaitlin off to boarding school.

• Caleb offers to go to Portland to help get Seth back, and honestly, I’m a little curious to know how he would’ve handled it. I imagine he’d threaten to cut Seth out of his will or something like that.

• Kirsten: “New car?”
  Marissa: “Oh, yeah. My mom gave it to me. It’s my getaway car.” I’m not sure if anyone else has noticed this, but Hulu’s subtitles for The O.C. are horrendous. It’s not just spelling character names wrong, it’s seemingly deciding that it basically has the gist of certain dialogue and writing them out like that, instead of the actual dialogue. But in this particular case, instead of “It’s my getaway car,” the subtitles say, “It’s a bribe,” which a whole other concept.5

• Also, based on Marissa’s behavior in the first two episodes, she was 100% driving drunk with Jimmy “Father of the Year” Cooper in her car.

• Seth: “Dude, when are you gonna give up the sports games?”
  Luke: “Why would I do that?” Luke Ward, a perfect angel.

• The early exception to the less bombastic style of storytelling of this season has to be the Marissa/D.J. relationship reveal. To really contextualize this plot in time and its place in pop culture, The O.C. Season Two premiered a month after Desperate Housewives Season One. Which means that there was obviously parallel thinking in the case of the sexy yard guy but also means that The O.C. ended up looking like the less original show. Especially since the parallel thinking didn’t make this plot (or the D.J. character) good.

• Jimmy (to Marissa): “What do you know about being lonely?” Say what you will about Julie Cooper-Nichol, but she is aware that her daughter has issues. Jimmy Cooper remains a character they haven’t known what to do with since he got punched out at Cotillion.

• Since there was so much to tackle in just the teen stories alone, unfortunately, I can only dedicate a little time to the adults. (And even less to Jimmy.) Returning to the series, it’s unsettling to see Sandy and Kirsten at odds, but it’s also understandable. It also works because the audience and show understand that these two always find their way back to each other. Moving forward, the writers’ attempts to heighten the conflict in this relationship are far less interesting than what we get in just this one episode. Over on the Cooper-Nichol front, it’s interesting to watch now and clearly see the chess pieces move around to include Julie Cooper in a more prominent role—with her becoming the CEO of The Newport Group, working alongside her best frenemy Kirsten. Because of what Julie went through in the first season, it’s really fun to watch Clarke play her wary, afraid that history is repeating. I believe there is one beat in which the show stumbles here, though, by not including a scene of Julie confronting Caleb before he makes her CEO. The lack of that scene makes it come too out of left field, in a sense, as Caleb has been completely oblivious to how off on the sidelines Julie’s felt compared to Kirsten and Sandy. Also, Michael Nouri returns as Summer’s dad, receiving a guest star credit for zero lines—a truly aspirational act. (And unlike Seth, he loves Zach.)

• You know, the introduction of The Bait Shop (which is the redressed set of Sandy’s former law firm) is perhaps the only new thing about this season that had no audience pushback. Also, in a Beverly Hills, 90210/Peach Pit (After Dark) reference, Alex says the owner of the place (who’s never around) is named “Nat.”

Welcome to the conclusion of LaToya Ferguson’s Episodic Classics coverage of The O.C. season one. There’s been some questions about how we’re determining continuing Episodic Classics coverage, and the answer is “I do not know.” But the best way to make things clear is to like/comment/subscribe—either way, we’ll be giving LaToya a bit of a break either way, having just worked through 27 episodes in 10 weeks.

This is it. We’ve made it to the end of The O.C.’s first season. 27 episodes of mostly killer and only a little filler. (Thankfully, for any and all restaurant mentions in these final two episodes, no one says a single word about any meatloaf.) When we started this journey, we were in the summer of 2003. Now here we are, in the summer of 2004. Things have changed drastically, and yet some things remain the same. Look at the way Benjamin Mackenzie looks in that jacket-hoodie combination, or the way that Peter Gallagher looking at Kelly Rowan can just melt a viewer watching on their television screen. Those remain forever. Really, when I’m talking changes, I’m mostly talking Julie Cooper’s hair.

Seriously, as long as this season is, it really does feel like a journey, and—ultimately—a worthwhile one. Even though it’s really November 2023 right now, I suddenly can’t wait for the summer to end so I can watch this show’s second season. Even with frustrating characters and arcs among all of the greatness, that is the thing about this first season of The O.C.: you may have watched this whole series multiple times and know where it goes next, but that feeling of wanting to see where this all goes always returns with the end of this season. It’s a comfort show, which is something we know that audiences are desperately latching onto now more than ever in this streaming era—and for good reason.

At the same time, I’ll be honest: I spent a whole day struggling to figure out how to tackle these episodes. Neither is exactly the pinnacle of this season. “The Strip” is fun, at best, but mostly going through the necessary motions, while “The Ties That Bind” is a good, competent season finale. “The Ties That Bind” taps into those early moments of the season while also pulling everything leading up to it together. It’s just simply not the best episode of the season. And “The Strip” is… “The Strip.”

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Keeping in mind that Melinda Clarke’s Julie Cooper was just a recurring guest star and we hadn’t even met Alan Dale’s Caleb Nichol when The O.C.’s first season began, it’s kind of amazing that it all ends with the rise of the “gruesome twosome.”1 Long live The Cooper-Nichol Regime, the true winners of this 27-episode season.

You could also call the Seth/Summer relationship a winner as a result of this season’s length as well, considering the character development at play and their ups and downs from beginning to (near) end. The length has definitely made them feel more like a seasons-long couple than just the one. Their relationship beats, especially from “The Heartbreak” on, only continued to solidify them as the true “it” couple of this show—and, of course, reinforced Adam Brody and Rachel Bilson as breakout stars at the time. Seth and Summer more or less go through the “normal” relationship beats of a teen drama, but there’s something about Brody and Bilson’s individual charismas tha…

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I still maintain that the comedown from the Oliver arc is a strange one for The O.C.’s first season. The series was, arguably, at the peak of its powers, and it went even more full tilt into the meta aspect as a result. If this were any other show, I would call that a worrying, troublesome sign—see: Glee—but with The O.C., it kind of always felt right. The meta nature at this point of the first season has always felt like its true, final form, and with the large number of episodes and the massive amount of plot, I suppose it only made sense for it to reach this peak before it even got to a second. At the same time, this point in the season also brings us the Theresa arc, an arc that I’ve come to feel has stakes and driving forces that seem to change wildly from scene to scene, even in just the first two episodes of this batch alone. This post-Oliver, post-Ryan/Marissa break-up era also, unfortunately, brings us the sobering reality (which I would also consider a scathing indictment of…

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