THE O.C REVIEW

Revisiting The OC: the glitzy teen drama made a major cultural impact - and it's still quite wonderful. The 2003 season blazed hot and swiftly, with a backdrop of California beauty and some of the best music of the era. It's definitely worth seeing again.

The OC was one of those lightning-in-a-bottle shows, intended to be a cross between The Karate Kid and 90210, and containing all the essential elements of both: a James Dean type from the wrong side of the tracks; a smart kid who can't wait to leave the fishbowl he was born into; buckets of tragic teenage love set amid wealth, glamour, and California coastlines; and hard-partying teens shepherded by troubled adults. Overdoses, house fires, and fist fights all occurred.

Josh Schwartz, the showrunner and creator, who was in his late twenties and working on his debut show, rushed through stories so quickly that major gaps appeared by the end of season two. The OC burned brightly and short, lasting only four seasons - one and a half of which were magnificent. But, like Friends or 90210, its cultural significance beyond its television run; its performers will be remembered for the vehicle that first brought them to the world. Unlike other teen series, the "adults" were given plenty of screen time and their own complex plots.

Best of all, The OC was well aware of its own absurdity. Despite their pool mansions and ponies, the program was full of self-aware winks and sardonic nods to its own madness, and it never depicted its flawed characters as totally aspirational. Everyone's life, like California itself, were built on cracks. Every tiny tremor would set off an earthquake, and every mega-mansion was constructed on shifting sand. Season one is when The OC reaches its pinnacle, but it's the second season that we meet the implausible indie rock club The Bait Shop and its rotating lineup of the best performers from the mid-2000s. At the venue, The Killers, Modest Mouse, the Thrills, the Walkmen, and Rachel Yamagata all performed.