Created by Steven Conrad

Starring Jason Bateman, David Harbour, Linda Cardellini, Richard Jenkins, Joy Sunday, Arlan Ruf, Peter Sarsgaard, Chris Perfetti, Wynn Everett, Aizley Ford, and Maddyn Kendall

With its ability to subvert my expectations and weave a nuanced sweetness and poignance into its narrative, this HBO Max offering turns out to be one of the more surprisingly worthwhile shows as of late. The trailer makes this look like it’s going to spend a lot of time drawing dark comedy out of its strange and lurid story, and sure, it can be quite funny in its own quirky fashion. It can dish out plenty of dialogue that makes me go, “Humans don’t talk like this in real life,” although the series does an effective job at wrapping me up in this suburban world and believably offering up the odd parts, including the dialogue. Holy crap, this really does baffle me with its focus on Jamba Juice—not a bad thing, to be clear. The crooked penis material memorably stands out, too. But somehow, this miniseries proves itself to be nimble enough to avoid viewing all of that through a sordid perspective. It’s not framing these events to be your typical thriller that aims to titillate us with the filthy details. No, no, this steers us down a different road into quietly emotional and human territory that navigates the concepts of friendship and love between men who generally identify as heterosexual. Even in the year of 2026, there’s still this sexist belief hanging over us that says tenderness and closeness between straight men can only exist in romantic and sexual forms. It excludes platonic companionship from this space. It’s a belief that we need to evolve past in order for straight men to feel more comfortable breaking out of their masculine stereotypes and building up loving dynamics with each other.

And this show is diving into that space with the help of Jason Bateman and David Harbour layering out Clark and Floyd into a couple guys whose companionship I do genuinely buy into. This portrays Floyd as such an incredibly endearing and heartfelt kind of person who deserves to be loved, and I understand why Clark cares about him the way that he does. Same goes for Carol as well, even when there are difficulties in her relationship with Floyd that widens the distance between them. Linda Cardellini turns in her own excellent performance and plays off of the chemistry with her costars, and in general, all three of them succeed at clicking with the tone as it flows back and forth between the peculiar and the weighty. This series utilizes a commitment to the bit that makes everything come across as so much more real and grounded. None of it is being doled out with shame and hesitation. It’s not depicting these aspects of the narrative with a grimace that encourages us viewers to feel like it’s gross. Nope, it persuades us to connect with these humans and their messy flaws. It’s what makes me think that if the ending chooses one of the two routes that I’m predicting for its mystery, then it will break my heart. What ultimately happens isn’t what I’d foreseen, but it still achieves that effect. It’s an appropriate ending for this show that’s taken me through a fascinating path over the course of seven episodes. Kudos to Richard Jenkins, Joy Sunday, Peter Sarsgaard, and Arlan Ruf for their own contributions to the supporting roster. I’m used to seeing Sunday over in Netflix’s Wednesday, so it’s funny to watch her play a cop alongside Jenkins.

So if you’re searching for a limited series that can have a startlingly touching impact on you, I’d say DTF St. Louis would be a fulfilling pick. I’m curious to see how this will hold up when I’m ranking my favorite TV shows of 2026 at the end of the year.

Final rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars