‘DTF St. Louis’ Review: A Sensational Finale Reveals Far More Than Who Dun It — Spoilers

Episode 7, aptly titled "Nobody’s Normal. It Just Looks That Way From Across the Street," not only crafts a satisfying explanation of what happened to poor Floyd Smernitch. It asks everyone watching to reveal more of ourselves, too.

[Editor’s Note: The following review contains spoilers for “DTF St. Louis” Episode 7, “Nobody’s Normal. It Just Looks That Way From Across the Street” — the finale.]

One of the most revealing moments in the very revealing “DTF St. Louis” finale is also one of the most forgettable. Early in Episode 7, when it appears the case against local weatherman Clark Forrest (Jason Bateman) has stalled out, Detective Homer (Richard Jenkins) relays the results of his investigation with Officer Plumb (Joy Sunday) to the district attorney, Bob Dalt (Chris Conrad, who happens to be series creator Steven Conrad’s brother).

“What are you saying, detective?” Dalt asks.

“The case was sound,” Homer says. “It’s less sound the more–“

“The more you believe him?” Dalt says, to which Homer shrugs and nods. “Well, I don’t believe him,” Dalt continues. “Forrest gets a prescription for Amphezine, yeah? To help some other guy fuck his girlfriend? Have you ever done a favor for a friend like that?“

Homer admits he has not, but it doesn’t change his mind about Clark. He’s done the digging. He’s sat in the room with the suspect. He knows what he knows, and even though he struggles to internalize the logic, he believes Clark didn’t kill Floyd Smernitch (David Harbour) because Floyd was Clark’s friend.

In the end, Homer and Dalt’s brief exchange isn’t all that consequential. It isn’t even particularly memorable in the context of so many remarkable moments. It doesn’t compare to Clark and Floyd’s fateful whitey-tighty boogie woogie, or Stephen Queece (Asher Miles Fallica) tenderly explaining why Carol (Linda Cardellini) earned her Umpire of the Year award, or even Homer and Plumb’s skate-park conversation with Richard (Arlan Ruf), when he learns his step-father’s last words weren’t actually “rock on.” Those moments are all enlightening illustrations of who our main trio are, at their cores, and each one provides a profound poignancy that ensures “DTF St. Louis” will end with a satisfying emotional wallop.

But Homer and Dalt’s back and forth shows how easily things could’ve gone another way. A darker way. A false way. On paper, what happened to Floyd sounds far-fetched, at best. It would be much easier for Dalt — and by extension the courts and the public at large — to accept that Clark killed his friend in order to run off with his wife. It would be just as easy to believe Carol and Clark collaborated to kill Floyd for the insurance payout, or even that Carol did it on her own. The alternative explanation, which just so happens to be the truth, may be simpler — that Floyd, after months of depression, shame, and loneliness, took his own life, rather than face further embarrassment — but it ignores a lot of related information that would certainly raise eyebrows around Twyla, Missouri.

Which brings us back to Dalt. Hearing a heretofore unseen character dismiss the studied, experienced perspective of our lead investigator is enough to turn your stomach. Had Dalt stuck to his dismissive instincts, or if Homer hadn’t opened his mind over the course of all those interviews (with the help of Plumb, his diligent, progressive partner), Clark could’ve been convicted and executed for a crime he didn’t commit. He could’ve been put to death because the people in charge didn’t want to consider any kind of atypical behavior as anything more than evidence of a nefarious mind. He could’ve been killed because he dared to open a door so many of his neighbors prefer to keep slammed shut.

Or, put another way, a man could’ve died because society refuses to believe friends could be that close. Because it’s so rare. Or because no one talks about it. Or is it actually so rare because no one talks about it?

“DTF St. Louis” doesn’t set out to scare viewers or argue that Clark was some sort of hero. The series’ priority isn’t pointing out the human hiccups in our criminal justice system, as much as it’s unpacking the destructive nature of isolation and humiliation, as it applies to the innocent aspects of human nature. That’s why, for as brave and bighearted as Clark’s pool-house gesture was — trying to boost his buddy’s self-esteem enough to bring him back from the edge of despair, even if it meant lying to Floyd (and himself) — it’s still fitting that Clark ends up alone.

“I don’t know what I’m doing in here, I don’t know what I’m doing in life,” Clark says, hugging Floyd and crying in his arms. “I think I fucked everything up this summer.” He certainly did with his family — with Eimy (Wynn Everett), who became a casualty of Clark’s ennui, and with his daughters, who aged out of his focused devotion. None of them became meaningful parts of the narrative because they weren’t meaningful parts of Clark’s summer. But leaving him in the dust, without so much as a goodbye note, emphasizes their autonomy, just as it emphasizes Clark’s neglect. “I’ve mattered to them for 12 years,” Clark says, by way of explaining why his wife and kids aren’t enough for him anymore. “I want to matter to someone else.”

These are clichéd excuses, and “DTF St. Louis” isn’t pretending otherwise. “That’s middle-age talking,” Floyd says, trying to dismiss Clark’s feelings as a familiar phase everyone goes through. But what the show does so well is the opposite of dismissive: It hears Clark and Floyd’s complaints and pays attention to them. It scrutinizes their mid-life crises with the same ample consideration they feel they deserve. Even then, when Clark is admitting to selfish feelings Floyd would never share, Floyd doesn’t judge him for it. He accepts him. After all, when a friend is in a spiral, telling them they’re in a spiral usually isn’t enough to pull them out of it. You have to sit, listen, and acknowledge what, to them, feels unique, specific, and harrowing.

That’s friendship, and perhaps the ultimate tragedy of Conrad’s extraordinary limited series is that Clark and Floyd don’t recognize the value of friendship when it’s staring them plain in the face. They share a deep, intense connection, but they ultimately don’t know what to do with it. Each man tries to explain to the other how lonesome they are and how insignificant they feel. Each one goes to various extremes to be there for the other, and each one sees the other’s value so clearly and easily, even when they can’t see it in themselves. Yet they still look past each other for something more when it matters most. Clark even convinces himself he has to be sexually aroused by Floyd — and show it to him — in order to make Floyd feel better. And Floyd goes along with it! Because he needs it, too.

Or he thinks he does. “DTF St. Louis” could be insufficiently summarized as an intricate examination of the male loneliness epidemic. (How it utilizes the murder-mystery genre — without retreating to its popular conventions or betraying the natural satisfaction of piecing together who dun it — is an essay for a different time.) Beat by sensitive beat, Conrad pores over why his two leads feel so alienated, even when living what appear to be the same kind of lives everyone else seems to find so fulfilling.

But therein lies the rub: We don’t know how fulfilled anyone else feels; we only know what they’ll tell us. The rest is assumption, and assumption isn’t a reliable path to the truth. (Take it from Homer.) We have to be honest with each other, and just as vital, we have to be open to each other’s honesty.

“Summers’ over, feels like,” Clark says.

“Yeah,” Floyd replies, “and all I’ve got to show for it is a little color.”

But that’s not all he has to show for it. He has Clark. He made a friend — a friend who sees him for who he really is — and that’s a big deal. Despite making choices that would bring traditional dudes to blows, these two forged a real connection, a real trust, a real relationship. Clark believes in Floyd, and Floyd believes in Clark. Instead of putting up walls, they opened doors. Instead of retreating into themselves, they reached out for each other. The world needs more of that — more connection, more vulnerability, more acceptance — or there’s going to be a lot more people like Clark who fuck up their lives without knowing why. Or a lot more people, like Floyd, who die alone.

Grade: A

“DTF St. Louis” is available on HBO and HBO Max.