DTF St. Louis Review: A Bold, Repetitive Drama on Male Loneliness and Suburban Despair

There is something inherently absurd about a character in a film or TV show uttering the title of the production they appear in. It’s a moment often played for laughs, but when a work takes itself seriously, the self-referential naming can feel jarring. Most filmmakers avoid such clunky announcements—imagine Daniel Day-Lewis growling, “Welp, there will be blood,” or Leonardo DiCaprio sighing, “You know, man, it’s always just one battle after another.”

HBO’s new limited series DTF St. Louis makes no such effort to avoid this trope. In its fictional world, “DTF St. Louis” is a hook-up app designed for married individuals seeking discreet extramarital encounters. This app serves as the catalyst for the series’ seven-episode narrative, driving the sweet and sordid affairs of its characters.

We first encounter the app through Clark Forrest (Jason Bateman) and Floyd Smernitch (David Harbour), suburban husbands and fathers who are sexually unfulfilled in their marriages. The two men form a pact to revitalize their lives through online infidelity. Later, police investigators—Detective Homer (Richard Jenkins) and Detective Plumb (Joy Sunday)—reference the app while interrogating Clark after Floyd’s mysterious death. The app’s logs become critical evidence as the detectives piece together what happened.

The show’s title is repeated like a mantra: “DTF? DTF. They met on DTF. I got a hit on DTF.”

This repetition isn’t just a narrative quirk—it’s a stylistic choice that mirrors how characters fixate on other phrases and brand names, such as “cornhole,” “Outback Steakhouse,” “Quality Garden Suites,” “nicer plates and bowls,” “Finish First,” “B out the B,” “Watermelon Breeze,” “No way, José,” and “Jamba Juice.” These repetitions highlight the characters’ linguistic reverence for the mundane commercialism of their Midwestern suburban lives. Over time, these phrases evolve from words into gestures, then into feelings, becoming the show’s signature style.

Is DTF St. Louis a prose poem? The comparison risks over-intellectualizing a series that is, at times, willfully goofy and tonally uneven. Not every choice lands with precision, but the experience is unlike anything else currently on television. Words and phrases repeat, but so do images—sometimes achingly beautiful ones—stitched through the series like embroidery.

I’ll admit: I have a deep-seated allergy to media about suburban ennui and adultery. Yet, DTF St. Louis hypnotized me from its opening moments. The show begins as a murder mystery—or perhaps a suburban tragedy—before unfolding into something far more complex and hypnotic.