Josh Schwartz/USA/2003; R4, (7-disc)
Warner Bros, NZ$79.95 | Reviewed by Tim Wong

RECENTLY, I stooped so low as to describe The O.C. as a "Californian handjob". Whatever that's supposed to mean or infer, I'm not entirely sure, but I do know that I intended it as an endearment in the sincerest, strangest sense. And although it might appear that I loathe the series with a vengeance – taking elongated sentences, for example, to butcher its numerous teen-opera clichés, bathed in the affluence of white people with big houses, walk-in wardrobes and champagne on-tap – I'm actually transfixed by the whole keeping-up-appearances thing. Returning with a new series in February, The Complete First Season arrives with impeccable timing to DVD, allowing closet-O.C. addicts like myself to relive the many guilty pleasures of a show that's almost bad enough to be good.

Indeed at first glace, The O.C. feigns nothing more than a Sweet Valley High premise: a James Dean-incarnate (Ryan, Benjamin Mckenzie) from the wrong side of the tracks joins the world of MTV Cribs; aligns himself with a witty, bar mitzvah-stunted outcast (Seth, Adam Brody); locks eyes on the all-American girl next door (Marissa, Mischa Barton); is irritated by her bikini-clad Valley-galpal (Summer, Rachel Bilson); and butts heads with the agro jock-boyfriend (Luke, Chris Carmack), whose hospitality extends about as far as, "Welcome to The O.C, bitch". Invariably love trysts, OD's, cocaine parties, surprise threesomes, eternal teen angst, and fist fights that seem to always end up in a pool, follow – much to the liking of the show's impressionable core demographic.

And what would the American Dream be without rich people and their problems? Of course, The O.C. is hardly Larry Clark territory, and despite the ongoing protrusions of its wild teen clique, the show is invested as heavily in the Dallas-like exploits of its parental adults (anchored by the excellent Peter Gallagher) – who invariably too, all fall prey to their own brand of casual sex, bitch-slapping and late-night booty calls. Here, the Josh Schwartz-created series becomes a whole other beast in its own right: the adult characters coexist alongside their more youthful counterparts (instead of becoming wall furnishings); the teen dialogue is written, like, with such pure inarticulacy (Dawson's Creek this isn't); while the entire cast revel in the show's murderous delight at mocking the cha-ching out of the white and wealthy.

Schwartz claims that The O.C. is his Freaks & Geeks. Executive producer McG even suggests it's a Californian version of The Last Picture Show. It's neither of these, admittedly – more Beverly Hills 90210 with a different zipcode, occasional snort lines and barely legal sex – but scores enough points on its own for being really very funny, trashy in the soapiest sense, and a true primetime, junk-laden pleasure that I can't help but feel guilty indulging in.


SPREAD generously across seven discs, the season's 27 episodes find themselves bundled together with a range of extras (the 7th disc housing the bulk of bonus content). Disc One contains The O.C's pilot episode, with an audio commentary by series creator Josh Schwartz and supervising producer Stepanie Savage. A "building blocks" commentary, it's light on entertainment, but works perfectly as an "orientation" primer for The O.C. virgin.

The first six discs also feature an optional on-screen "Music Guide" for selected episodes, with pop up cues indicating title/musician info for each song employed on the episode's soundtrack, followed by the briefest of biographical insights into the singer/band in question.

Loaded on the final disc are three Featurettes: "Casting The O.C.", a 15 minute spiel on the difficulties (or lack of) in casting the show's large ensemble; "The Music of The O.C.", a 10 minute soundtrack companion focusing on the creator's cachet for emerging, undiscovered, occasionally John Hughes-inspired music; and "The Real O.C.", a refreshing 12 minute interview with a handful of "real" Orange County teens, spoilt only by executive producer McG's (can I get fries with that?) incessant anecdotes on his own moronic adolescence and the one time he had sex during high school.

Rounding off the extras are: 8 grainy deleted scenes (with introductions by Schwartz), two of which were cut post-Janet Jackson "boobgate" due to some fairly tame sexual-innuendo; DVD-ROM weblinks; and a Season 2 "Sneak-Peek", which is really more of a "what if" montage of sound-bites where the cast ponder the future arc of their respective characters. Adam Brody, funnily enough, proposes Seth gain a limp and grow a mustache in the interim.