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Sunday, Nov 8, 2009
In a fantastical finale, Ryan gets back in touch with his inner thug. Is it enough to save "The O.C."?
May 20, 2005 | Last week, after a colleague caught a few minutes of "The O.C.," she was compelled to ask me a simple, yet poignant, question: "Do you watch 'The O.C.' because you think it's really good? Or are you just addicted?" It was clear from her tone of voice that her opinion of Fox's Thursday night teen drama, based on only a few minutes of viewing, was not high. I fumbled, uttering something about how good the first season was, about how the tawdry soapiness she'd glimpsed wasn't what the show was about. In other words, I dodged the question. I had once loved "The O.C." so much that I felt I had to cover for it -- sort of like when a friend points out what an asshole your ex was, you feel compelled to make excuses for him, even though you know it's the truth. The real answer was just too sad to admit: At that point, I was only watching "The O.C." because I had promised to write about the season finale.
I was addicted, to use my colleague's word, to the first season of "The O.C." I watched it in sequence on DVD, and actually woke up early in the morning more than once to sneak in an episode before work. A teen show without a taste of the supernatural (i.e., an awesome lead character who slayed demons) hadn't worked such a spell on me since the first season of "Dawson's Creek." The premise is simple: The wealthy, perfect Cohen family of Orange County -- coolish dad Sandy (Peter Gallagher), waspy mom Kirsten (Kelly Rowan) and their adorably awkward son Seth (Adam Brody) -- have their world rocked when dad comes home one day from his work as a public defender with a surprise in the form of -- a new son! Ryan Atwood (Ben McKenzie), a troubled kid from the wrong side of the tracks and one of Sandy's clients, provides a missing piece for each member of the Cohen clan: a second (and blond!) child Kirsten never had, a chance for Sandy to do good in the most hands-on way, and, most important, the super-cool older brother Seth always wished for.
Ryan's bumpy adjustment to life in the O.C. provided a solid central narrative for most of the first season to revolve around and stretch out from. His anger, a full flame kindled by a rotten childhood, fueled the show. Had anyone in Orange County ever wanted to kick so much ass? A mere cross-eyed look at Ryan would mean a fight -- with punches and grunts and swift kicks. He fought for Seth, for his girlfriend, Marissa (the pretty but tragically bad Mischa Barton), or just for the hell of it. He seethed, he brooded, he sulked in his black hoodie. Ryan was a character of few words, but he possessed an interior life we believed was deep, dark and, needless to say, attractive. He was "The O.C.'s" James Dean, with muscles and tank tops and, instead of a motorcycle, keys to the Cohen's SUV.
Seth was, and remains, the show's brightest star; he's the boy whose quirky intellect, terrific wit, swell taste in music, Le Tigre shirts and mensch-ness make him an oddity in the O.C., but a dreamboat to all us girls of Brooklyn. (Plus, those curls! Those cheekbones!) But Ryan, he makes "The O.C. " Without him, the show would be merely a slightly torqued "90210," focused on the trials of poor little rich girls and the geeky boy who loves them. That's why it was so awful to watch Ryan this season. He was emasculated -- not by Marissa, but by the writers. He got nice. His flame blew out. He dated a pretty, normal girl, did his homework and didn't run off to Chino to steal cars. During the finale, just as he's about to go beat the hell out of his brother (more on that in a minute) he says to Seth, "All year I've tried to be a different person. I can't do that anymore."
At that moment, I thought: So that's what happened? It turns out that being a different person -- in this case a good, perhaps less erratic person -- also means being really boring. The one thrilling moment last night came just before Ryan uttered that line to Seth: He really looked mad. Like he was coming back to life. Like, maybe, he'd been waiting for the chance to return to his natural state for the last 23 episodes, but something had been keeping him down. It looked like he was thinking: This is my moment for revenge -- not on my brother, but on "The O.C. "
