‘DTF St. Louis’ Review: HBO’s Stellar Suburban Murder-Mystery Is More Than Meets the Eye

“Patriot” and “Ultra City Smiths” creator Steven Conrad’s latest genre-flipping original series gets at the unexpected truths behind a dead body, a forbidden affair, and an unusual friendship.

By Ben Travers

February 26, 2026

When I hear The Fifth Dimension’s “Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In,” I think of “The 40-Year-Old Virgin.” It’s a surprise musical number in a film that is by no means a musical, and Steve Carell’s euphoric rendition doesn’t start so much as it bursts out. Andy, at the overripe age of 40, just had sex for the first time, and breaking into song is the only proper expression for how he feels. The scene even follows him into a fantasy dance sequence with the rest of the film’s ensemble (including his shirtless buds, played by Paul Rudd and Seth Rogen) set on a green hilltop adorned with colorful banners and awash with, yes, sunshine.

It’s such a perfect ending — as pure and endearing as Andy himself, while still as raunchy and passionate as the cause for celebration — that, for years, I never questioned where the idea came from. Turns out, when other people (older, wiser people) hear “Let the Sunshine In,” their mind goes to its original encapsulation: the 1967 rock musical, “Hair,” a venerated salute to sexual freedom. Well, isn’t that fitting: Judd Apatow’s sex-positive comedy paying homage to a musical that champions the ’60s free love movement (even if that’s not exactly how the director dreamed it up).

So when the crooning melody kicks in under the opening credits of “DTF St. Louis,” whether your memory jumps to a legit musical or a brief embodiment of one, don’t worry — you’re in the right headspace. Writer and director Steven Conrad’s latest eccentric wonder is at once a classic whodunit and a savvy deconstruction of what typically drives a murder-mystery: Does motive assume guilt? Is guilt as simple as identifying who did it? And can we ever really know what happened if we don’t fully grasp why it happened?

A show made with such careful intent didn’t choose its title at random. The seven-episode limited series (four of which were screened for review) is also an intensely curious character study that centers the damage done by repressed desires, as well as the liberty found in their uninhibited acceptance. It illustrates how sexual freedom can lead to a richer, fuller life while acknowledging how difficult it can be to ask for what you want without feeling judged, shamed, or worse. “DTF St. Louis” breaks down its crude acronym until it isn’t disagreeable anymore. At times, it’s downright aspirational.

Perhaps best of all, it’s also very, very funny.

Meet Clark Forrest (Jason Bateman). A husband and father of two, Clark rides his recumbent bicycle to work everyday, where he “does the weather” for St. Louis’ Channel 10. It’s there where he first meets Floyd Smernitch (David Harbour), a sign language interpreter who hits it off with Clark after saving his life during a tornado report. Their budding friendship starts to bloom after a few neighborly games of cornhole, and soon Clark asks Floyd a sensitive question: Does he know about DTF St. Louis?

Floyd, bless his heart, doesn’t even know what “DTF” stands for (“down to fuck,” in case there are any Floyds reading this). Floyd puts all of himself into his job and his family. Floyd takes dance lessons so he can better embody the music he translates for exuberant concert-goers. Floyd goes to therapy sessions with his step-son, dreaming of the day he’s finally called “Dad.” Floyd fixates on losing weight — shooting hoops, going to the gym, taking hikes — in the hopes of getting back the body he had when he won over his wife, Carol (Linda Cardellini).

So when Clark suggests they sign up for a risqué new dating app (new to them, at least, in 2018), Floyd isn’t so sure. What sells him on DTF St. Louis, eventually, is Clark: Floyd needs a friend (probably more than he knows), and he and Clark get along great. But Clark also sells the app as a way to spice up their marriages, not as a choice that invites divorce. They both sign up as a means to revitalize their existing relationships.

How much either man really believes that’s all they’re doing is part of the larger mystery at play. You see, shortly after Clark and Floyd agree that they’re “down” (to fuck people who aren’t their wives), “DTF St. Louis” jumps ahead eight weeks to reveal Floyd is dead. Next to the body is an empty Bloody Mary can and an old poster of a naked dude dressed up like Indiana Jones. Foul play is suspected, but not at first.

The police assigned to his case are of two minds about what happened. Jodie Plumb (Joy Sunday), a special crimes investigator for the city of Twyla (a fictional suburb), wants to let the facts come to her. She’s curious about the evidence and backs up her conclusions with sound, observational reasoning. She’s also a quick study of people and reads the smug old county detective (Richard Jenkins) with ease.

“He’s gonna be a normal sort of person, I’m sure,” Det. Donoghue Homer says after a few minutes assessing the crime scene. “And the autopsy’s going to say ‘heart attack.’ Three miles from home. Suburban dad… with his secret gay pages.”

That last bit, in reference to the “porno” found next to Floyd, throws the detective enough to elicit a little philosophy. “You should be able to be yourself in your house,” he says. “You shouldn’t have to get up so early just to be you. It should be an all day kind of thing.”

But it isn’t. Not for everyone. Even though Floyd, Clark, and Carol seem like the kind of people who can’t help but be themselves, all day every day, those assumptions are dangerous. They assume a lack of interiority, of self-awareness, of feeling bored with long-standing routines or scared of a temporary rut becoming permanent. As Homer and Plumb’s investigation presses ahead, those feelings and their motivating factors gain steady, arresting clarity. Each clue toward solving the murder doubles as a telling personal detail, drawing you deeper into the trio’s lives even though — or because — you know one of them ends up dead.

It’s an ideal blend of character drama and murder-mystery, and the way Conrad (who writes and directs every episode) frames their lives — with the camera tilting up from the smooth black pavement of a residential street or the jagged brown grass of a neglected lawn — is equally absorbing. Intimate and honest without being patronizing or dismissive, he embraces their particular perspectives by accepting the truth as they experience it, sans judgement.

Sometimes it’s an airport motel lent a heavenly glow by long-held fantasies come to life, but then it’s also a romantic birthday date turned tragic by the temptation of security that’s still out of reach. Conrad makes it clear his characters’ lives are what they make of them, rather than being made by what’s around them, and the series’ ability to reflect multiple perspectives without succumbing to stereotypes about suburbia or suburbanites is one of its stronger attributes.

Having Bateman at his best helps, too. Often cast as an unassuming Michael Bluth type, the “Smartless” host has been enjoying an extended run as the relatable bad guy since “Ozark” hit it big. But after descending too far into the darkness with “Black Rabbit,” “DTF St. Louis” asks him to dial up the ambiguity again. There are big, blaring signs that Clark sucks — not only does he cheat on his wife, but when he lies about it, he often uses his kids to deflect suspicion — but his secretive side can read as either calculated self-awareness (“He’s a guilty son of a bitch!”) or pure Midwestern cautiousness. (“He’s just caught up in a bad situation!”) He’s simultaneously a cliché and a conundrum, and seeing Clark go on a transformational journey, expressed so fully by a dialed-in Bateman, forces you to empathize with Clark whether you want to or not.

Harbour is even more delightful, in part because it’s easy to sympathize with the victim, but also because of how much the “Stranger Things” star throws himself into the role. There are a handful of hilarious scenes in the first four episodes — full scenes, not just a funny line here or a cute moment there — that Harbour sparks through sheer force of will. He’s good in the smaller moments, too, where Cardellini really thrives. She’s more reserved than her male co-stars, but the nuanced edge she lends Carol is nonetheless arresting.

Later in the series, a resplendent Peter Sarsgaard (whose onscreen identity is best left unspoiled) repeats a personal truism: “No one’s normal. It just looks that way from across the street.” Certainly, you’ve heard someone say something similar before, but where other shows use axioms for atmospherics, “DTF St. Louis” takes the implication that you don’t really know what’s going on in other people’s lives and delivers one blindsiding yet beautiful epiphany after another. You get to know Clark, Floyd, and Carol by digging through their best-kept secrets, just as you come to see how they may end up misunderstood if said secrets weren’t acknowledged with such perception.

So go ahead. Let the sunshine in. It may just be what saves your life.

Grade: A-

“DTF St. Louis” premieres Sunday, March 1 at 9 p.m. ET on HBO. New episodes will be released weekly through April 12.