DTF St. Louis
DTF ST. LOUIS. Some months ago, in a fallow period likely brought on by the end of a Taylor Sheridan binge, I had resigned myself to listlessly stream-scrolling, nearly paralyzed by the catastrophe of excess. In swooped my younger, frequently wiser brother, who recommended the decade-old series Patriot and, at that entertainment nadir, led me back into the light. The light being, of course, countless, arguably better-spent hours spent devouring content. It was the rare case of content breeding contentment, though, and I remain grateful because it led me to a re/discovery of the works of Steve (may I call you Steve?) Conrad, one of the magical, under-sung writers for the screen.
Conrad had co-written the screenplay for the mostly forgotten Wonder (2017), a movie as much about compassion as any in recent memory. My recollection of it was faint, lingering as a pleasant sense memory from that long-ago era of nascent American fascism. It afforded a brief “aha” moment when I dove into Patriot (a series I had flipped past too many times to count), which is a secret agent tragicomedy about well-meaning people struggling, sometimes ineptly, to contend with the demands of a largely uncaring world. Backdropped with that theme, the show is elegantly, hilariously written, populated by characters so absurd and befuddled that they cannot help but seem true to life. It is also ambitiously staged, beautifully photographed, intricately plotted and as debilitatingly funny as it is sweetly sad. It evinces mastery of a very particular strain of writing for the screen, delicately laden with motifs and flavored with razor-keen, perfectly timed dialogue that wouldn’t seem out of place in the pantheon of mid-20th century screwball or noir. At the same time, though, the characters are lovably dumb, capable of terrible venalities and just barely hanging onto the tiller of righteousness in a sea of turpitude.
Patriot led me inevitably to Perpetual Grace, LTD, Conrad’s next series (tragically cut short by the onset of the plague), which scaled down from international espionage to Southwestern grift, to equally ecstatic effect. Working with some of the same brilliant actors (some might call them a troupe), Conrad created another elevated but familiar world of bumblers and ne’er-do-wells, once again defined by distinctive control of camera and editing and indelibly colored with lively, lovingly crafted language.
Between then and now, Conrad also created two Patriot spinoff podcast series (only one of which I have voraciously binged, so far) and the hardboiled puppet series Ultra City Smiths, all of which contend with humanity (or a simulacrum thereof) as a species making its way in a world that may turn out to be empirically uncaring.
Conrad’s writing lands somewhere between Wes Anderson and the Coens: If Anderson wore less seersucker and accepted adulthood; if the Coens were a little less certain the universe is blithely antagonistic.
Which brings us to the now and DTF St. Louis. A show about schlubby ASL translator Floyd (David Harbour), half-slick weatherman Clark (Jason Bateman), who rides a recumbent bike and may or may not be Floyd’s friend, and a hook-up app for past-their-prime suburb denizens, DTF has yet to fully reveal itself, but has already shown the trademarks of its creator. While faces from Conrad’s previous work have yet to appear, the language (alternatingly laconic and staccato) and aesthetic are very much in place, as is the greater tonality of regular people running up against irregular circumstance.
As in Conrad’s other work, the world of DTF isn’t so much evil as inert, an objective reality wherein the actions of its inhabitants define its occasional malignance. But it’s also a fun, funny place where deaths by misadventure and malice aforethought just might happen to go down.
A quick word of advice: Maybe don’t watch this series with a St. Louis native (like my wife), as the pause button will become shopworn from that St. Louisan pointing out the show’s many geographic and verbal irregularities; it was not, in fact, shot in or near St. Louis. It is yet to be determined whether the setting is indeed a crucial part of the narrative, but knowing Conrad’s approach to the work, we should be safe in assuming everything happens for a reason. This time around, Linda Cardellini, Joy Sunday and Richard Jenkins join the cast, all of whom have frequently proven themselves game for something new, nasty, clever and welcome. TVMA. HBOMAX.
John J. Bennett (he/him) is a movie nerd who loves a good car chase.
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For showtimes, visit catheaters.com and minortheatre.com.
This article appears in King Salmon Recovery, Egg-citing Condor News + Black Heritage Ball.