Missouri Malaise

HBO’s latest Sunday night series DTF St. Louis isn’t as much a brave investigation into unprecedented topics as it is a rebuke of other shows of the same ilk. Love triangles, sexual escapades, and the underbelly of suburban mundanity may sound like sensationalist topics from an outside perspective, but in reality it’s a frustrating reality for miserable people.

DTF St. Louis understands that most ardent television viewers will be able to guess the presumptive victim early on in a murder mystery, which is why the pilot’s initiated with the reveal that the small-town ASL translator Floyd (David Harbour) is found dead. Floyd left behind a wife in Carol (Linda Cardellini), who’s taken on additional jobs in the community to help balance their household budget. Floyd had grown further apart from Carol in a situation not made easier by the distance with his adopted son, Richard (Arlan Ruf), who refused to call him “Dad.” The only connection Floyd had to a world outside of his depressing middle-aged melancholy was a friendship with the weatherman Clark Forest (Jason Bateman). It’s shortly after they’ve become comfortable disclosing secrets with one another that Clark introduces Floyd to an app that’s allowed unsatisfied singles to have one-night stands, with no questions asked.

Although it was clearly shot in Atlanta, DTF St. Louis has an understanding of the Midwest. Floyd and Clark work for a local weather station that’s given them access to the state’s biggest urban epicenter, but they live in a town small enough for everyone to know a little bit too much about their neighbors. Floyd and Clark became friends out of necessity; both are unhappy about their marriages, but only Clark is confident enough to voice his dissatisfaction. His self-proclaimed restlessness is less an expression of vulnerability as it is a test to see what Floyd might be able to do. Floyd wouldn’t sacrifice his family for the sake of carnal pleasures, but Clark has manipulated him into thinking that an extramarital relationship might rejuvenate him.

This isn’t the first time that creator Steven Conrad has studied the collapsing middle-aged masculine ego. His previous writing credits include The Weather Man, The Pursuit of Happyness, and The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, all of which cast A-list movie stars as unfulfilled men hobbled by their incapacity for upward mobility. DTF St. Louis isn’t more plot-driven, but the depth of a seven-episode miniseries has given it time for the desperation to be more palpable. Clark has used his child’s swing set as a means to voyeuristically glance at his attractive younger neighbor, and a community game of cornhole is Floyd’s last-ditch attempt to be perceived as “cool” in the eyes of Richard. Since DTF St. Louis has put in the work to show the casual vexations that these characters face on a near-constant basis, there’s more authenticity when their under-the-radar indulgences become wilder.

What’s most fascinating about Bateman is that his dramatic enterprises with Ozark and last year’s Black Rabbit have made him a better comic foil. Clark isn’t in a physically pitiful state like Floyd, but he’s compromised his ambitions for the sake of security. Being the top weatherman in a small town may have been the ambition of a younger man, but a nice house, beautiful family, and billboard with his face on it haven’t soothed Clark’s disappointment that this is all that life has to offer him. What’s most reprehensible about the character is that he must first experience deviance by living vicariously through Floyd, which has fulfilled a different sexual identity in its own right. Bateman spent so much of his early career playing unapologetic dirtbags that it’s fascinating to see him as a character just as dubious that has managed to hide within the guise of a well-meaning community staple.

That Floyd, Clark, and Carol are all unlikable and self-absorbed to various degrees did make it necessary for DTF St. Louis to provide an alternative perspective that could gauge the situation from an objective stance. Law enforcement is present in the show in the form of Detective Donoghue Homer (Richard Jenkins) and Jodie Plumb (Joy Sunday), who’ve been begrudgingly teamed up to look into Floyd’s death. Homer and Plumb come from different fields; he’s a by-the-book local cop lacking in sentimentality, and she’s a special crimes officer with an interest in the psychology of their cases. The tension between them isn’t just about the clash of department heads, but of a generational divide in regards to acceptance. Plumb is too liberal in her acceptance of the suspects’ proclivities, whereas Homer has no qualms about disregarding them as degenerates. It’s a reminder that Jenkins, one of the most underrated actors of his generation, can put himself on equal footing with any of his co-stars.

That DTF St. Louis is airing as Paramount has solidified its purchase of Warner Bros. and its assets (including HBO) signifies what may be lost in the pending merger. It’s unlikely that David Ellison’s reign would see HBO essentials like House of the Dragon or the pending Lanterns and Harry Potter shows vanish, but a downbeat, unusual character drama like DTF St. Louis might have a harder time making the cut on a new streaming service that’s burdened by an influx of Paramount content.