‘DTF St. Louis’ Review: Jason Bateman and David Harbour in HBO’s Oddball Suburban Noir

A crime show wrapped in pitch-black comedy, DTF St. Louis is less interested in solving the murder than in getting to know the people tangled up in it. Through its three main characters—along with the oddball ecosystem they inhabit—the series quietly observes life in the well-kept suburbs of a seemingly sleepy Midwestern city. It’s a placid, family-friendly world where people pedal down the street on tricycles, nobody seems worried about crime, and most folks are busy juggling work and family life. But while the show never quite goes full Twin Peaks, it gradually makes it clear that things beneath the surface are darker than they first appear.

You could describe DTF St. Louis as a suburban crime dramedy filtered through the eccentric sensibility of the Coen brothers. From the start it’s obvious that creator Steven Conrad (Patriot) has a very particular way of looking at this world. The staging, the music, the dialogue, the performances—the whole tone—sets it apart from other series that poke around similar territory, like Big Little Lies, with their stories of affluent couples getting tangled up in crime. Conrad may be dealing with similar themes, but he approaches them by carving out a stylized aesthetic space that feels entirely his own.

At the center of the show is a love triangle whose fallout turns increasingly messy. Jason Bateman, who keeps proving how versatile he can be, plays Clark Forrest, one of those familiar figures from local television: the friendly weatherman on the morning news. Clark is mild-mannered, family-oriented, a little obsessive but generally likable—and he gets around the suburbs on a slightly ridiculous recumbent tricycle.

Working alongside him during the broadcast is Floyd Smernitch (David Harbour, of Stranger Things), the sign-language interpreter who translates Clark’s weather reports. Floyd might be even stranger than Clark. He’s kindhearted but secretly drowning in debt, desperately trying to improve the life of his antisocial stepson Richard while mostly failing at it. He’s also struggling with his weight and stuck in a curiously sexless marriage for reasons that are, frankly, pretty absurd.

Floyd’s wife Carol (Linda Cardellini) becomes the third point in the triangle. Clark and Floyd bond during a chaotic weather report in the middle of a storm and soon start hanging out—gym sessions, casual chats, the kind of personal confessions that sometimes sneak into new friendships. That’s when Clark, whose odd work schedule also leaves him with almost no sex life, suggests they try the app that gives the series its title. “DTF,” short for “Down to F***,” connects people looking for casual sex with zero emotional strings attached. Clark frames it as a way to “spice things up.” Floyd, understandably, isn’t entirely sure he wants any part of it. A few weeks later, someone winds up dead under some rather bizarre circumstances. The mystery of the series isn’t just who did it, but how this odd friendship managed to spiral into something so twisted.

The murder—and the arrests—happen right in the first episode. From there the show jumps back and forth in time, piecing together both the events leading up to the crime and the investigation itself. That investigation is handled by another unlikely duo: Detective Homer (Richard Jenkins, always a welcome presence) and Officer Plum (Joy Sunday). They’re basically opposites. Homer is the weary veteran trying to make sense of an online world he insists has moved beyond him. Plum, younger and more blunt, describes herself as “pro-porn” and seems far more comfortable navigating the kinds of worlds Clark and Floyd have been exploring. Still, beyond the digital sleuthing, the show eventually circles back to a very old-fashioned subject: adultery.

There’s nothing particularly new about the premise. Love triangles and suburban infidelity have been staples of American drama since the 1950s, in both literature and film. What DTF St. Louis leans on instead is its execution: the persistent tone that hovers somewhere between comedy and absurdity, the stylized and slightly off-kilter dialogue (watch how often everyone repeats the name of a particular hotel, or how many lines carry obvious double meanings), the quirky production design—like the unusually decorated police station, Clark’s infamous tricycle, or some of the clothing Harbour wears—and the wry, almost mischievous way the show presents what is ultimately a pretty shocking crime story.

Dark comedy built around tragic situations involving seemingly normal people isn’t exactly new either. What sets DTF St. Louis apart is how comfortably it translates that tone into a serialized format. The Coen brothers’ influence is obvious, but Conrad rarely uses it to mock his characters. Clark and Floyd may come across as a little pathetic at times, but the show treats them with a degree of empathy. Their circumstances might not be moving in a sentimental sense, but they make the characters relatable enough that the audience connects with them rather than laughing at their expense. Everyone knows suburban life isn’t quite as shiny as it looks from the outside; what the series does well is find oddly charming ways to explore that gray area.

That said, Conrad occasionally gets a little too clever for his own good. At times the show pushes its quirks too far, as if every character is tuned to the same peculiar frequency and St. Louis itself were closer to The Truman Show than a real city. It’s not quite that extreme, but the stylistic choices can feel a bit forced and overly eccentric.

Even with those missteps, HBO’s new comedy has one major advantage: it doesn’t really resemble anything else on TV right now. And it boasts three standout lead performances—four, if you include Jenkins—that will almost certainly enter the awards conversation. Just watch the simmering sexual tension between Bateman and Cardellini, the oddly touching friendship between Bateman and Harbour, or Jenkins’ wonderfully bizarre scenes as Detective Homer. It quickly becomes clear that the whole thing works not just because of the writing, but because of the sheer charisma and talent of the cast.