Previously on The O.C.: Julie Cooper. Currently on The O.C.: oval eggs toppling toward the floor in dramatic slo-mo. Aaaaaand that pretty much sums up where things are just at the moment.
Plink plink plinkety-plonk! The Plucked Strings Of Get Some New Music Cues, Show, ring out as morning has once again come to the Cohen manse. We pop in on Trey "The Second Becky Conner" Atwood, trying to look tough while cracking a farm-fresh egg on a very expensive bowl, but it's difficult to maintain the tough-kid ruse when you're surrounded by the latest finery from Restoration Pottery Pier And Barrel. Just ask his brother. Oh, look. You can ask him yourself. Ryan comes in just then and asks his brother, "What're you making? Mom's hangover special?" Trey asks, "What do you mean? A pack of smokes and a fresh cocktail?" Woohoo! Fun mom! Ryan tsk-tsks this obviously true statement, and I have to respect him for trying to deflect the blame from the generation, because I have a theory that you have to stop blaming your parents for how badly they fucked you up on the day of your twenty-fifth birthday, which for Ryan has now taken place some eight years hence. Instead, he goes for the coffee pot (which, again, is an automatic reflex for any thirty-three-year-old) as his brother lets him know that the recipe is something he "picked up in prison." We'll let Seth cover the snark for us on this one, as he enters the kitchen just then and notes that Trey must be referring to "the old scallion and shiv omelet." Seriously. If Trey wanted to show them what he really learned to make in prison, he'd be in there with his safety goggles down, soldering a license plate. Seth -- who is returning to first-season levels of attractiveness (because everything WAS better last year, I agree unironically) in a hideous grandpa sweater he actually makes work -- continues the banter: "I've seen Lock Up. Stallone's finest work since Over the Top." Stop! Or my mom will...agree. Except that Lock Up was actually his only work since Over the Top, with the exception of his fortieth Rambo sequel and an appearance on The Pyramid. Is that part of the joke? Trey proclaims himself "more of a Van Damme fan," which would be like saying, "Yeah, Coupling is okay, but it's no American Coupling." And Ryan introduces a third element into the trashy pop-culture action pantheon with the sentiment, "What, are you kidding me? Seagal, man!" Me, I'm more of a Rainier Wolfcastle guy. Look out, Fallout Boy!
Pulling matters back around to the topic at hand, Seth informs the brothers, "A divided house cannot eat." It's actually "a house divided against itself cannot, um, eat," but we'll let is slide for now, because Seth has a point: "We all gotta get together behind a single action hero." Just then, Sandy ambles into the kitchen, and I half-expect him to be all, "It's Peter Gallagher, and the non-dancing dance hero Jonathan Reeves he portrayed in Center Stage." Now that would be some meta I'd probably be able to get behind. But instead, Sandy throws his choice into the ring: "Steve McQueen," he says, prompting Seth to ask, "Steve Muh-who?" Sandy looks saddened, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge (and back in his stylish surfer jams) and complaining, "My own son doesn't know Steve McQueen." Trey shows his McQueen knowledge by naming two of his movies, prompting Sandy to note, "Cooks breakfast and a McQueen fan. I knew I liked you." I guess "McQueen" is what they called skinny-armed Trey during his dark days in the clink.
“ Ryan asks Sandy, 'How was surfing?' and I half-expect Sandy to respond truthfully, 'Off-camera as usual, thanks for asking.' ”
Ryan changes the subject, asking Sandy, "How was surfing?" and I half-expect Sandy to respond truthfully, "Off-camera as usual, thanks for asking." Trey expresses curiosity about Sandy's surfing, and Seth responds in kind, "He surfs. He sings. He technically fights crime. Maybe Sandy Cohen could be our action hero." This comic book I would read. Trey asks for a surf lesson sometime, perhaps unaware that those shorts are a required aspect of the surf ensemble, and Kirsten sashays in just then and informs Trey, "Better you than me. He's been trying to get me out there for years." Just then, a ringing phone takes over Kirsten's attention, and she notes the caller ID and informs the room, "Julie Cooper. This can't be good." That's what I say whenever the following characters show up on my caller ID: Zach. Kirsten takes the call and goes, leaving time for Seth to explain, "Julie is Marissa's mom." Trey puts the pieces together and refers to her as "Ryan's mother-in-law." Wow. Six minutes on the Cohen house and he's got the patter down. No time for him to be a bad guy; too much room for him to be bantering about the collected works of Steve McQueen. That house makes everyone talk the same! A writer's room not divided against itself cannot stand! Sandy hears this news and expresses surprise, but Seth assures him, "It's on." Sandy proclaims himself "always the last to know," which is usually how the matrix works when describing the intersection of "love life" and "father." I think it's pretty fair that's the last person I tell as well. Ryan promises that Sandy didn't know anything because "there's nothing to know," but Trey thinks otherwise. They all play one line of Banter Pong around the room, Ryan continuously protesting too much about his we-don't-like-it-either resurgence with Marissa. He finally stops the room dead, and after a pause even more pregnant than the Chino girlfriend we haven't seen in sixty-seven years, Ryan admits sheepishly, "We're taking it slow." The room erupts in applause, Sandy foreshadowing, "It's a good thing she's no longer your neighbor" at the exact moment Kirsten walks back into the kitchen with this news: "So, Caleb and Julie are off on their trip...her housekeeper got deported and there's no one to stay in the house with Marissa. So I told Julie that Marissa could stay here for the week." It is notable that Ryan is taking a sip of coffee during the delivery of this news, and it is to someone's eternal credit that a spit take did not accompany this epiphany. But the contrivance really is a bit too much to bear, isn't it? Seth smiles and notes, "That'll keep things at a snail's pace." Seth? You have no idea.
Opening credits: "It's as large as five New Jerseys and as versatile as a spork/ It's named after an older place somewhere/ The Empire State! New York!" Time for some other states to start getting their due, y'all, and it's not like there's ever been a song written about New York, right?
“ This way Marissa can 'keep an eye on [Summer's] boyfriend,' because, left unchecked, he might feel tempted to be unfaithful with a videogame or a small pet horse. ”
The sound of the crashing waves. The sound of the breezy soundtrack. The sound of Uta Hagen spinning deeper into her grave. All of these cues make for the perfect introduction of Marissa "Food For Thought, Hold The Food, And The Thought" Cooper. She's in one of the sixteen bathrooms at her palace, an exterior that -- considering its orange stucco, SoCal grandeur, and faux-Tex-Mex pretensions -- is starting to look less like a fancy-pants mansion and more like the world's biggest Taco Bell. Inside, we find Marissa packing her toiletries and explaining to Summer that, even though she's moving in with the Cohens, it's really only for a week. Of course it is, or else it might accidentally start to look like something resembling consistent plot development or coherent narrative continuity. My complaints, they are not new. Besides, Marissa explains, this way she can "keep an eye on [Summer's] boyfriend," because, left unchecked, he might feel tempted to be unfaithful with a videogame or a small pet horse. Summer retorts, "And yours," which leads Marissa to level the hilarious quip, "What? I'm not dating Seth." Look who's kicking it all wocka-wocka style this week! Unamused (join the club!), Summer narrows her eyes and is all, "Coop, you know who I mean." But Marissa -- apparently having accidentally contracted a sense of humor from a public swimming pool somewhere -- piles it mercilessly on, "No, I don't. 'Cause I don't have a boyfriend." Live from the Catskills, ladies and gentlemen. She's there all week. Try the veal. Lord knows she won't be eating it.
Aaaaaaanyway, Summer reminds Marissa that the mere fact that Ryan and Marissa shared a tent drove Alex out of town (for the love of god, Summer, we're still trying to forget the existence of that episode, and there's no need for you to keep bringing it up), so she can only imagine what will go down when they're under the same roof. Marissa doth protest too much and this recapper doth careth too little, so Summer drags out her "Exhibit A" of her argument for a Ryan/Marissa conjugal reunion, unearthing from Marissa's suitcase a frilly negligee of sorts. She holds it in front of her, sarcastically intoning, "Nothing will happen in this," and arguing that it's an outfit that says, "Take me down." Unless what Summer actually just said was "Take me back," I can't agree with everything she's saying here. Marissa goes on to argue that the middle of spring is too hot a time for heavy flannel pajamas, but nevertheless, she stomps over to her bureau and fishes the dowdiest, heaviest pair of pajamas she can find out of there. Good as a chastity belt, those are.