The suburbs are murder. This at least is the impression you would get from a number of domestic crime thrillers, including “Big Little Lies,” “Love & Death” and “The Hunting Wives,” all of which entwine emotional upheaval with bloody business in settings that are supposed to be the picture of peace.
On the surface, HBO’s “DTF St. Louis” seems to be another one. It follows two middle-aged colleagues, Clark (Jason Bateman) and Floyd (David Harbour), dissatisfied in their marriages, who sign up for sexual adventure through the titular hookup app. (Google the abbreviation.) Floyd’s wife, Carol (Linda Cardellini), nurses her own dissatisfactions, and as midlife crisis, infidelity and yearning run their course, someone ends up dead.
But the differences become quickly apparent — quirky, dark-comic shadings that indicate that “DTF St. Louis” is interested less in discovering who dun what than in the hungers that drive its sad suburbanites down odd and dangerous paths.
The seven-episode limited series, starting Sunday, comes from Steven Conrad, a screenwriter who has built a TV brand on unfamiliar approaches to familiar genres. His series “Patriot,” about a spy who retold his missions in the form of folk songs, hid a tale of trauma and mental health issues under cover of an espionage thriller. His “Perpetual Grace Ltd.” was a bonkers comic noir with Ben Kingsley as a larcenous pastor; “Ultra City Smiths” was a dystopian musical that used stop-motion-animated baby dolls.
To love a Conrad show, you need to prefer your TV more surprising than consistent, and that holds for “DTF St. Louis,” a crime investigation story in which the deed is incidental to the details.
Clark, a local-TV weatherman whose early-to-rise schedule has destroyed his marital sex life, confides his dilemma to Floyd, an American Sign Language interpreter he has befriended through work. Floyd has his own bedroom issues; Carol has taken a second job as a little-league umpire, and the sight of her in the boxy uniform — or, possibly, the reminder that he is saddled his family with debts — renders him unable to perform. Clark manages to interest Floyd in signing up for the dating app, but Clark also develops an interest in Carol.
The resulting triangle plays like “American Beauty” as made by the Coen brothers, a tale of middle-age ennui loaded with off-kilter dialogue and details. Clark commutes to work on a recumbent tricycle. Floyd has married his A.S.L. work with a passion for hip-hop dance. Carol has a penchant for the phrase “No way, José” and a rock-steady regular order at Jamba Juice (one of many brand placements that build an atmosphere of franchised sameness).
It all could seem like oddity for the sake of oddity, but it adds up to an exploration of the many forms of loneliness. The standout performance is Harbour as Floyd, a beat-up teddy bear of a guy who has big feelings but struggles to express them. In any early scene, he goes to therapy with his awkward stepson (Arlan Ruf), whom he reassures about getting Cs in school.
“I just don’t want you to get grown-up Cs,” he reads, stiffly, from a prepared sheet. “Grown-up Cs means that you’re often sad a lot because you haven’t discovered and then found a way to share what’s wonderful about you.”
At heart, “DTF St. Louis” is about getting grown-up Cs; about taking a hard look at your report card and realizing you have only so many semesters left to try for something above average. The subject matter — cornhole-playing middle-age nerds whose veins course with lust and Jamba Juice — could easily slip into mockery. But Conrad has a talent for penetrating his characters’ peculiarities without judging them.
The series requires a lot from Bateman, whom I have not always found a convincing dramatic actor in shows like “Ozark” and “Black Rabbit.” But he conveys a kind of sad smarminess that’s perfect for the minor-media-market star Clark. Cardellini — “Mad Men” fans may recall her as a partner in another melancholy affair — brings a quiet desperation to a character who, in the four episodes sent to critics, remains a bit of an underdeveloped enigma.
The philosophy of “DTF St. Louis” is voiced mid-series by a character questioned in the crime investigation, played by Peter Sarsgaard: “No one’s normal. It just looks that way from across the street.” But the show’s weakness is that the premise pushes it toward normalcy — a more ordinary mystery whose twists are, thus far, not that engaging. (Richard Jenkins and Joy Sunday play the investigators, who have their own dry-humored odd-couple dynamic.)
“DTF St. Louis” has a bit of the feel of a character piece about midlife mores smushed into the currently more commercial format of the crime-based limited series. It might not satisfy fans of that genre, while if anything, I found myself wanting it weirder and less bound by its format.
But if it can find a way in its closing run to escape the ubiquitous pull of the murder show and its conventions, that would be the perfect crime.
James Poniewozik is the chief TV critic for The Times. He writes reviews and essays with an emphasis on television as it reflects a changing culture and politics.
The post ‘DTF St. Louis’ Review: Sex, Death and Jamba Juice appeared first on New York Times.
