The bomb has dropped. Call it what you will, but Veronica Mars (Friday, 7.30pm, TV2) is the most subversive thing on the box at the moment – a statement anyone who saw Friday night's anvil-of-an-episode will vouch for. That includes ruling out Desperate Housewives, the so-called sophisticate of the soap-dish: really nothing more than four dolled-up MILFs on a hiding to nothing 'cos – surprise, surprise – they're trapped in the infinity of suburbia. Wisteria Lane just happens to be another Rockwell-tinted derivative of the suburban facade, something that might've been pertinent back in the fifties when pre-packaged living was all the Time-Life rage, only *yawn* nowadays, the bubble-wrap culdesac is as ubiquitous as it is problematic (don't get me started).

In Housewives, the notion that bad stuff can (and will) happen behind closed, well-kept surroundings is nothing less than a postmodern cliche; meanwhile, the show's iconography – pickets, manicured lawns, the SUV in the driveway – comes off not so much as satire, but inadvertent parody. Plus don't adults get their fair share of fuck-ups? They're over-represented – on Desperate Housewives or otherwise – and the suburban paradox seems far better suited to derailing bored, materialistic kids with nothing better to do than get drunk, high and laid.

Preconceptions are a bitch. Veronica Mars may seem like the odd cousin of The O.C, but it's the closest thing that television's had to Larry Clark since, well, since never. Lodged firmly in the TGIF take-out slot, it's easy to assume that the show's another blip on the teen culture radar (notably, it replaced The O.C on TV2). And it looks the part: hot girls, where's-my-car dudes, lockers and bleachers in constant view. Set in the fictional locale of Neptune, California, creator Rob Thomas is careful not to overstep the mark – he has a demographic to adhere too, after all – but appearances are deceiving, and he manages to take the show to rough, fucked up places that belie its pre-bedtime scheduling. The pilot episode for instance was full of sexual innuendo, a high school drug bust, corrupt police officers receiving blowjobs, and kids tail-lighting cars. It's also the first time we learn of Veronica losing her virginity at a party where she was drugged and raped (of which in subsequent episodes we're reminded of again and again). Charming. As a comparison, it screens at 9pm on the UPN Network in the States. Not here, where it rides covertly on the coattails of dear old Shortland Street.

In the latest episode, the drug-rape is still on Veronica's mind. According to the back-story, she's one of the popular kids; best friends with Lily Kane and dating brother Duncan. Lily goes all Laura Palmer on us though, and is murdered. The town's in a frenzy, and in the ensuing chaos Veronica's dad Keith – Neptune sheriff at the time – pins father Jake Kane as the killer, only to be disproved and ousted from the police department. Present day, and the Mars family are ostracised; he's now running his own PI gig; she's his apprentice Nancy Drew running surveillance and whatnot after school. Veronica of course has been mounting her own private investigation into the mystery of Lily's death since day one, and has dredged up some awful possible-truths: one being, that her mom (who's MIA) happened to be high school sweethearts with Mr. Kane some 17 years ago, and that due to some unconfirmed rumours, the paternity of her "father" Keith is now in question.

Veronica has a nose for floating intel, and soon enough, she's onto a scent that leads her to the alleged GHB drugger at said party a year ago. The episode is clearly a homage to Rashomon, with variants of truth sliding back and forth with each new layer of information peeled. Flashbacks maintain the rape took place until it's revealed that Duncan Kane was in the bedroom with Veronica, and that despite the inappropriateness of it all, both boy and girl were off their face, dating at the time, and consensual in the act. But the arsehole bailed in the middle of the night, leaving Veronica to wake the morning after alone, disoriented, and with nothing to go on except her panties on the floor. Pissed, she confronts now ex-boyfriend Duncan at his home, and they shout and scream until he can't stand it anymore: "YOU'RE MY SISTER!". Forget it Jake, it's Chinatown.

If this is Rob Thomas doing Park Chan-wook, the impression is pretty damn good. Granted, the whole incest bombshell has been hanging over much of the series, with the Kane-Mars bloodline always potentially intertwined. But Veronica and Duncan for all intents and purposes were your average Joanie and Chachi – they dated, held hands, went to the prom, and just kissed. As unnatural as that still is, Veronica coped with the idea – until discovering bodily fluids were also exchanged. Dating your brother is one thing; losing your virginity to him is something else entirely. The real kicker is that Jake Kane may have had an inkling on the origins of Veronica's genes all along, and yet did nothing to prevent son Duncan from initiating non-platonic relations.

Will she bounce back? We assume so. She's plucky for a start – a fiery cut of blonde who punches above her weight, boasts a knack for glib one-liners, and has more comebacks on tap than Muhammad Ali. She'll rise above the filth if only to maintain an air of PG-13 decency. Indeed, therein lies Veronica Mars' genius: it's not about social or human facades; it is the facade. This is a show that's rotten to the core, masquerading as a teen high school drama. And I like it.—TW

» Rob Thomas | USA | 2004+