I only have vague memories of watching The O.C. for the first time. I watched it with my older sisters when it first aired in 2003, so I would have been about five at the time. There was so much that didn’t stick—I thought Ryan Atwood was handsome, I loved the theme song, I remembered the dramatic moments of season finales. I did a rewatch in 2012 when I was fourteen and I remember less about watching it that time than I do watching it the first time. So when I started a rewatch a couple of months ago, it felt like watching it for the very first time. It was kind of uncanny—I felt like I knew these people well, I knew their fate, but I didn’t remember how they got to certain places in their life or when key events would happen. All the disparate things I remembered about The O.C. had coagulated into one O.C. shaped glob, and rewatching it has been like replotting it, fitting all those free-floating things into their proper place.
For those who don’t know, The O.C. begins with the premise that a reluctantly rich public defender, Sandy Cohen (Peter Gallagher) brings home one of his young clients, Ryan Atwood (Ben McKenzie) who has gotten into trouble helping his older brother steal a car. In the tanned, clean wealth of Newport, Ryan is the boy from the other side of the tracks, he is bad boy right down to his Cuban heeled boots. His favorite clothing items are his wife-beater (or, as the Brits call it, his vest) and his hoodie. He smokes cigarettes and he moves like he’s choreographed by Mikhail Baryshnikov. This latter detail is one of the most delightful parts of watching the earlier episodes of the show. Ryan is supposed to be a young man hardened by life—his dad’s in jail, his mom’s an alcoholic—but he moves like a primo ballerino every time he tries to look tough and mysterious. As the show goes on and Ben McKenzie gets better at acting, Ryan loses that little flounce but I’ll always remember him that way.
I have no context for this because I did no research, but The O.C. feels like it marked the beginning of a new era of television. A lot of the show’s elements feel familiar if you’ve watched shows like Dawson’s Creek and even Freaks and Geeks, but there’s a lot that feels incredibly fresh as well. Watching the show, I get the sense that the creators were super aware that they were navigating new ground in a new world, one that they only had a vague sense of. And they deal with that sense of ignorance in the best way that you can—by being speculative to the point of absurdity, thereby setting the tone of what was to follow.1 Instead of trying to repeat what had been done in the past, they dove into the void. You can tell that Josh Schwartz and his team took what they did seriously, even as they poke fun of themselves all the time. Although it’s an iconic scene that gets reposted on TikTok every so often, I was still blown away by the level of CRAFT displayed in the season two finale and especially the last 15 seconds. It is melodramatic and absurd and BIG but every detail is so precise. Every once in a while I scream (to myself, in my bed) Josh Schwartz, the man that you are! and during that finale, I screamed it six different times.
As I get near the end of Season 3, I find myself feeling mournful already. Officially, The O.C. had four seasons, but only the first three are really any good. I can only preserve that by not watching the last season. As I waxed lyrical about it the other day (to myself, in the shower), I couldn’t help thinking that so much T.V. has now been irrevocably changed for me. There was my understanding of T.V. before The Great The O.C Watch of 2023 and soon, after The Great The O.C. Watch of 2023. Soon, I’ll move on to other shows (The Morning Show’s third season for example) but I’ll always remember The O.C. this way.
the report
Killers of the Flower Moon (dir. Martin Scorsese)
I saw Killers of the Flower Moon last night with RAFTM Allison Picurro (of
fame) and I woke up thinking about it. It was THAT GOOD! You can believe me because I hadn’t drank the Martin Scorsese Kool Aid until very recently and am not so dazed by loyalty to him that I wouldn’t say what I truly felt. I would say that Killers was one of my most anticipated movies this year because it is one of like three trailers that I’d seen that actually made me feel something. The first time I watched it, I got LITERAL CHILLS and lost my breath. And then, I watched it again and had the same reaction. The movie is the same x1000. It’s incredibly compelling, visually intelligent, and (surprisingly) funny. Not funny in a way that diminishes the seriousness of the subject matter but rather offers levity within the midst of a truly gutting story. For background: based on a book of the same name, Killers of the Flower Moon tells the story of the ethnocide of the Osage people of Oklahoma by white settlers post-WWI. It focuses on William K. Hale (Robert De Niro), a “benevolent” white man who ingratiates himself with the Osage community but all along is planning to steal their money and kill them. Leonardo DiCaprio plays his nephew, who he coerces into marrying a young Osage woman, Molly Kyle (Lily Gladstone, who is sickeningly good in this), so that they can get access to her family’s money. The movie does a fantastic job of considering the larger historical context and situation, while giving us an intimate look into a particular situation. And if, like me, you were wary about the 3hr+ runtime, there’s no need—it feels like no time at all. I can’t wait to see it again!Nathalie Léger, Suite for Barbara Loden
“Seen from a distance, a woman, etched against the darkness.” I picked up Suite for Barbara Loden earlier this week after it passed my first line-last line test, and read it over the course of a few early mornings. I never know if reading right when I’m barely awake means my response to it is more genuine or if the early hour means I’m not really absorbing much, but I didn’t find myself as compelled by the book as I anticipated. It’s a short book that came about after Léger was asked to write an encyclopedia entry, a notice, on Barbara Loden but found it difficult to stick to the constraints of an entry. Suite weaves together the little biographical detail that can be found about Loden with descriptions of her well-known film, Wanda, as well as Léger’s personal connection to Loden and her film, and the encounters Léger had while conducting research for the book. One of the things I found difficult about the book is the personal aspect of it, and Léger’s identification with Loden and Wanda, who she imagines are basically the same. Léger takes on the position of a lyrical ‘I’, one whose personal experience and connection to Loden and her work speaks for a collective of women. A book does not need to be relatable to be any good but this book is one of those that might not do too much for you if you can’t relate to the sentiments expressed. I did find myself enjoying it more in the second half, when things get a bit more historical and I enjoyed the descriptions of scenes from Wanda. I also appreciate how it works within the “suite” of its title, stitching together different genres in a way that gives new meaning to them. What is a movie, what is a newspaper clipping, what is an essay, when in this book they all appear as each other?
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When I need to know what is going on with Bradley Cooper or Hilary Duff, I know that Allie Jones’
has me covered. Allie keeps her celebrity gossip rundowns short but gives so much, and her paid posts are usually great primers of one specific news item (my favorites this year have been on Sophia Bush—her wedding, her divorce and now her new girlfriend).community board
Schwartz would go on to make Gossip Girl with Stephanie Savage, a show that I LOVE but that is still not as good as The O.C.