‘The O.C.’ is in need of a reality check

PETER BUFFA

Let’s just get it over with. You know we had to get there sooner or

later. “The O.C.”

For those lucky few who have not heard of it, it is a new series

from the Fox television network that supposedly takes place in Orange

County, much of it in Newport Beach. Does it really?

Of course not. “The O.C.” has about as much to do with Orange

County as the Sapporo Ice Festival -- in fact, maybe less.

The supposed connection between the series and Orange County melts

away even before we get past the title -- “The O.C.”

Answer me this. Have you ever called Orange County “The O.C.?”

Do you know anyone who has?

Do you know anyone who knows anyone who has?

Do you know anyone who knows anyone who knows anyone who has?

The answer to all those questions is no. Occasionally, and I mean

occasionally, you and I might refer to it as “O.C.”, but never, ever

“the O.C.” Does that matter? Not really.

There are 3,033 counties in the U.S., and we’d be the only one

that knows that, but it does tell you something about how much “The

O.C.” has to do with the real O.C. OK, fine, but what is it about?

It’s a soap opera. I can’t tell you how difficult it is for me to

say those two little words. “Soap” is all-right. “Opera” is fine. But

“soap opera” is almost impossible for me to get out.

I know there are lots of soap fans out there, but I would rather

go to my endo with a raging migraine and get a root canal without

Novocain than watch 20 seconds of a soap opera. To watch an entire

soap, I would have to be strapped down like Malcolm McDowell in “A

Clockwork Orange,” my eyes forced open with little metal devices. As

soon as I heard “Like sands through the hourglass ...” I would be

sobbing and screaming, “No, please, I’ll do anything! Just make it

stop!” But “The O.C.” is even worse. It isn’t just a soap opera. It’s

a soap opera about young people. That’s young people as in teenagers,

as in adolescents who are dazed and confused about life and love and

zits, as in whether to get the tongue stud and the belly-button ring,

or just the tongue stud, as in “No, please, I’ll do anything! Just

make it stop!”

So what is “The O.C.” about? Here’s the Reader’s Digest version.

“Ryan Atwood” is a kid from the wrong side of the tracks who ends

up in Newport Beach by accident. His mother boots him out after he

has a minor scrape with the law and ends up in juvenile hall. His

public defender, “Sandy Cohen,” played by Peter Gallagher, has a

heart of gold and invites the tortured little twit to stay in the

guesthouse at his wowski Newport Beach home. Sandy’s wife, “Kristen

Cohen,” is blonde, beautiful and comes from a fabulously wealthy

Newport Beach family.

At first, she is very uptight about storing a juvenile delinquent

in the guest house, but as she gets to know Ryan, she discovers that

he is truly a wonderful person deep down inside. By the way, I

suspect Kristen Cohen’s character comes from a filthy rich family

because some writer finally found out what public defenders make and

how many of them live in Newport Beach estates with guesthouses. It

doesn’t take long for Ryan to meet “Marissa,” the girl at the

palatial estate next door, who has been like totally rich and totally

beautiful from birth and thinks euthanasia means nice kids in China.

And therein lies the plot for the next 172 episodes: Little rich

girl from Newport Beach drags the bad-boy with the good heart around

from one chi-chi party to another, but they always have to leave

early because the bad-boy has a habit of clubbing the rich boy from

Newport Beach with the Moet bottle and squishing the arugula quiche

in his face when he makes snotty remarks about Ryan and his clothes.

By the way, here’s what the same synopsis sounds like on the

show’s Web site: “From Ryan’s first moments in Newport Beach, he

finds himself in a strict social and economic hierarchy that has

existed for generations and doesn’t tolerate any incursion from

outsiders. His very presence in Newport Beach threatens the security

of its inhabitants and their way of life simply because this troubled

teenager is unable and unwilling to conform.”

In other words, Ryan keeps slugging rich kids when they make

snotty remarks about him and his clothes. OK, but they at least shoot

the thing right here, don’t they? Not really. They shoot the

exteriors in Hermosa Beach, which is like Orange County but more

north.

On the rare occasion when you do get a glimpse of Orange County it

was shot by a “second unit” (an assistant director and a small camera

crew) that shoots a few recognizable scenes of Orange County for “The

O.C.” -- or Washington, D.C. for “The West Wing,” or New York for

“NYPD Blue,” etc.

If neither the title nor the show has anything to do with Orange

County, what’s the point?

“The O.C.” is really about recycling. If something about this show

sounds familiar, it is. It’s just a matter of how well you remember

zip codes. This show isn’t about “Newport Beach, 92660.” It’s about

“Beverly Hills, 90210” -- the wildly successful 1990’s series about

the outrageously rich and totally beautiful children in Beverly Hills

and the poor kids who kept knocking them down when they made snotty

remarks about their clothes. Oh, yeah ... who produced “Beverly

Hills, 90210?” Yes, Tiffany, it was indeed Fox television. Just dust

off those scripts, change the names, send out for more quiche, and

voila -- “The O.C.”

And as for you, Tyler, I am not going to tell you again -- never

ever say anything about their clothes. Too dangerous. I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs

Sundays. He may be reached by e-mail at ptrb4@aol.com.