Television history has proved that the value or influence of a show is not necessarily equivalent to the number of seasons it ran. Joss Whedon’s space cowboy fantasy "Firefly," for instance, lasted one season but inspired a major motion picture and an international cult of weirdly obsessed yet endearing fans, while the lasting legacy of "Coach’s" mind-boggling nine-season run seems to be the pitchman career of Jerry Van Dyke and a shining example of how a laugh track doesn’t mean something’s funny.

But when the tony denizens of Fox’s "The OC" take their last jaunt around Newport Beach tonight they can be confident of the pop cultural importance of the show’s relatively short four seasons of witty quips, pool parties and monied angst.

It’s responsible for the mass launching of relatively obscure indie bands, a lot of the fashion trends flowing out of Forever 21 (those tiny ruffled skirts) and other juniors clothing meccas, some inspired catch phrases ("Welcome to the OC, b—!") and the devotion of both trendy youths and their parents to the same TV show.

Josh Schwartz’s soapy creation wasn’t perfect - it sometimes faltered under the weight of its own preciousness, lost steam with extraneous characters like crazy kid Oliver and Jeri Ryan’s villainous rehab roomie that stole attention and momentum from characters and relationships we cared about.

Still, even after Ryan, Summer, the Cohens and that deliciously heinous Julie Cooper head off into the balmy sunset of cancellation, their effect will be felt because of the following:

1. It reinvented the nighttime soap: Yeah, yeah, so there are some similarities between "The OC" and its teen drama predecessor "Beverly Hills 90210" - chino thug Ryan Atwood’s fish-out-of-water immersion into the casually-worn wealth of his new home in Newport Beach might have mirrored those perky Walsh twins’ conversion from Minnesota fresh-faced to Rodeo Drive chic. But Schwartz also borrowed from the boardroom shenanigans of "Dynasty" and "Melrose Place," the neighborly goings-on of "Knots Landing" and the midlife marital crisis of "thirtysomething," stripping them down and turning them into something referential but still current.

And its fearlessness in creating shocking plot twists, like the death of reigning troubled teen Marissa Cooper is a soap staple, except that "The OC" had the guts not to have her show up later alive and happily soaping up in the shower.

2. It was about family relationships - twisted, pain-ridden family relationships, but family relationships, nonetheless: The biggest secret to "The OC’s" cross-generational appeal was the way it gave parents and children equal focus in its storylines, and treated the impact of the characters’ decisions on each other as important.

3. It became a televised jukebox without descending into cheese (mostly): Fictional television shows have been platform for bands ever since Ricky Nelson played a couple of tunes for the cool kids on "The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet." But while Ozzie artfully shilled its own hot star, and "Beverly Hills 90210’s" musical interludes at the Peach Pit After Dark were usually awkwardly product placement tidbits that were extraneous to the plot, the Modest Mouse, Death Cab For Cutie, Interpol and Bright Eyes songs featured on "The OC" were usually woven into the plot and character development of cute geek Seth Cohen. We cared about Seth, so we cared about the music that fed him. Tunes and television have seldom combined this seamlessly.

4. It included familiar character types... then let them be anything but typical: Anyone watching "The OC’s" premiere episode would have been forgiven for rolling their eyes at what initially seemed like stock characters. The comic geek with the crush on the snotty, clique-conscious pretty girl? The former thug in love with the lovely, pouty princess? Been there. The princess’ fight-starting blond jock boyfriend? Done that. But actually putting the geek and the snot together without either one getting a major makeover, acknowledging the princess’ darker tendencies without excusing them, or having the jock boyfriend be surprisingly moral, if not altogether bright? That’s different. And then having the jock start an affair with the princess’ mother? Never been there! And we like it!

5. It made religion, sexual identity and culture a part of the story while sparing us the Very Special Episode: Newport Beach was a fairly WASPy place, and Schwartz didn’t shy away from divisions that would, quite realistically, be apparent in such a place. Kirsten and Sandy Cohen were presented quite clearly as a loving, interfaith couple who celebrate an inclusive holiday for their son (Chrismukkah, anyone?) but whose relationship still showed their differences.

 the disapproval that Kirsten’s country club father had for Sandy was very likely not just about his working class background and bleeding heart-ism but his Jewishness.