Episodic Classics: The O.C., “The Distance,” ”The Way We Were,” ”The New Kids on the Block” | Season 2, Episodes 1, 2, & 3
Sophomore year begins for The O.C.
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.
“I think they were already running out of steam. It came up with a couple of cultural icons, like Chrismukkah. But at the end of the day, it wasn’t a mystery and there was nothing really going on—kids getting high and fucking each other.”
- Preston Beckman (head of scheduling, FOX), Welcome to The O.C.
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 his 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.5Also, 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.”
I am a Season Four defender. But come on—Season One’s the best, folks.
It’s fascinating that, in all of the discussion of a potential spin-off of The O.C. there was no real talk about a Luke/Portland spin-off. Not only does Luke’s send-off in Season One work to set that up, as does the glimpse we get of his new life. Instead, it was apparently a lot of “Anna in Pittsburgh” and “Summer in fashion school” talk. (The idea of Summer leaving would’ve been FOX repeating and not learning from their own history).
After an entire season of being billed as “Benjamin McKenzie,” our Ryan Atwood is now “Ben McKenzie.”
As a lover and aficionado of teen dramas, I’ve had a lot of time to really unpack my issues with lead female characters in the vein of Marissa Cooper, Serena Van Der Woodsen, and Lana Lang (Smallville). For the first two, I do believe that Schwartz and Savage wrote consistent characters, who unfortunately, consistently refused to take any accountability for their actions. For Lana Lang, my issue was always more that the writers wrote her less as a character and more as a plot device. I’ll also admit that the acting that came with all three characters left much to be desired, often especially compared to other female cast members. And with the Marissa character’s own issues, I came to realize that Everwood was the teen drama that really nailed a troubled female lead in the Amy Abbott character and her depression.
MM to note that this might actually be from a shooting script, potentially?
So, as we return to The O.C., I need to reflect on one of your footnotes for a moment, LaToya. What struck me most reading through Alan's oral history was the idea that Fox desperately wanted a spinoff or at *least* a followup show from Schwartz, and it never happened. And while there's no place for it in an oral history, I do think it's worth noting that Schwartz has never come up with another original idea in his entire career. Everything from that point on is either an adaptation or a co-creator credit shared with the clear creative voice (Fedak for Chuck, Gerstein for Hart of Dixie).
In this way, I kind of feel like it's an indictment of Schwartz as a writer that he never managed to be able to generate based on his own I.P. in the way he eventually managed to work with others successfully. (Which kind of ties into my other note, which is that I'd love to hear how Schwartz and Savage feel about EACH OTHER, which was obviously challenging when Alan primarily seems to have interviewed them together and they're still so closely linked professionally).
Thanks, as always, for the book plugs, LaToya! I doubt I need to tell anyone here anymore, but I'll nonetheless remind everybody that Welcome to The O.C. remains available wherever books are sold: https://www.harpercollins.com/pages/welcometotheoc
My newbie rankings are more or less the same. I would say that Alex is by far the best character, though Zach is the one the show did the best job of integrating into the group, like Anna or Luke in s1. He goes to Harbor, he has things in common with Seth, is incredibly easygoing, etc, and Michael Cassidy's really likable. I could imagine an alternate timeline where they kept him around. Good as Olivia Wilde was, there were some limits on using her because she lived like an adult rather than a teenager. Lindsay went to the school but rarely interacted with anyone but Ryan. And DJ... well, DJ was a failure of imagination by all involved, which I imagine will be part of the discussion for the next batch of episodes.
(Also? Olivia Wilde was easily the white whale of the interview process. The press cycle for Don't Worry, Darling almost entirely overlapped the stretch where my researcher Oriana Schwindt and I were talking to everybody. Josh kept saying that he would reach out to Olivia when we felt the time was right, and every time we were on the verge of doing that, some other crazy damn thing came out about that movie. At no point did it seem like she'd be in the mood to speak to yet another reporter. Oh, well.)