DTF St. Louis Recap: Modern Love

DTF St. Louis
Go Getter
Season 1 Episode 3
Editor’s Rating ★★★
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“Something unknown. Controlling me. That sorta thing.” From pretending to be a fresh-out-the-box sex robot to getting pegged by your “powerhouse” lover, Clark Forrest’s wildest roleplay fantasies at the budget business motel are all about relinquishing control to something more brutal than himself. Sure, these are pedestrian, cliché, and painfully unimaginative fantasies (unless you’re into that sort of thing, not kink shaming over here, just… bore shaming, I suppose), but Bateman’s deadpan delivery of Clark’s uncertain root desires effectively articulates the sad absurdities and predicaments that inevitably encroach upon the comforts of the American Dream. 

By allowing the present murder investigation to take a substantial narrative backseat to the past events leading up to it, “Go Getter” reinvigorates the human drama and dark-comic character development at the center of DTF St. Louis. Simply put, we’re feeling like a full episode of television again. The back-and-forth-in-time structure functions as a framing device rather than a reveal-postponement machine, and the slowly building love-triangle dynamic of dark emotional truths distorted by “suburban lies,” as Detective Homer calls them, begins to take resonant shape.

And it’s looking more and more like Carol is the diabolical mastermind behind Floyd’s death, with the bored, vaguely unfulfilled, and therefore tragically malleable Clark Forrest as her red right hand. The episode begins with another replay of Carol and Clark’s first Jamba Juice meeting, only with the added context of Carol going full Karen on the Jamba clerk over pointing out her noticeable switch from “Watermelon Breeze” to “Go-Getter.” From there, we’re treated to Clark’s memory of hearing Carol’s domestic sob story right after a thorough pegging. The seeds she’s sowing are obvious — Floyd’s alimony, tax debt, and shrinking financial prospects as an ASL interpreter are weighing on her and keeping her from fully “escaping” into Clark’s “dreams” — but hey, who wouldn’t be obliviously swayed by Linda Cardellini’s “powerhouse” wiles, am I right? 

A cut to Clark under investigation in the present reveals his own realization that his desire to be controlled sexually was also a desire to be controlled in all aspects of life. The full scope of what Clark is covering up and who he’s protecting is yet to be revealed, but the message here is certainly that he’s keeping vital pieces of the puzzle to himself to protect Carol. Putting an exclamation point on that thought with a scene of Carol yelling at a group of joggers to get out of the way while listening to a self-motivation audiobook makes her character assassination feel heavy-handed this early on in the seven-episode run. Once again, the plot is sure to thicken from here. But the self-aggrandizing words of advice from the audio book, titled “Life Champions,” effectively frame Carol’s potential machinations as a symptom of the self-care-branded, phone-induced narcissism of our hollowed-out, gamified American society: “Consider the many ways your relationships ask for your time, your attention, and your emotional investment. And ask yourself what you are gaining in return. We are in the game of life. You will never finish first if you don’t put yourself first.” 

This week also sheds light (while casting further shadows) on Floyd’s whole seeking out men on the DTF St. Louis app via first date with Modern Love himself — a somewhat stereotypical white middle-aged suburban gay guy played by a straight guy with a profile pic of David Bowie in a dress circa “Man Who Sold the World” era. One of DTF’’s many quietly pedestrian tropes. It helps that Peter Sarsgaard is one of the great character actors of his generation. The guy can fill almost any thin characterization with a visceral, physical interiority. And David Harbour cooks as a scene partner here, so much so that the second Modern Love sits down at Floyd’s booth in the diner, you can see on his face that this was a mistake. You also know straight away that Floyd’s going to see the date through because he doesn’t want to hurt his date’s feelings (makes you wonder how often a David Bowie profile image has caused similar first-date mishaps in real life?) The rest of the scene is no less enjoyable, though, as it plays out, neither is the following homoerotic workout sesh where Harbour explains the whole thing to Clark between squats. The Harbour golden line-delivery of the week award goes to: “I think he read that like a thrusting motion because he gave me one back. He thrust one back.”

To Detective Homer’s dopey ass, the notion of Floyd meeting up with guys from a dating app — one date of which involved a confirmed make-out and pelvic thrust reciprocation, however accidental — because he didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or make anyone feel bad about themselves is a flimsy excuse. Especially from a murder suspect in custody who refuses to tell the whole story. But to anyone who knows or has even met Floyd Smernitch, it’s anything but far-fetched. When Floyd leaves his date with Modern Love to the tune of Donovan’s “Catch the Wind,” intercut with Carol and Clark’s passionless sex-robot roleplay at the “dream” motel, the tragedy of a man too pure for an insidious world really sinks in. 

And the old tugging of the heartstrings reaches fever pitch when Floyd has his breakthrough with stepson Richard at the skate park. Watching the overweight Floyd go absolutely acrobatic on the parallel bars shows Richard that it’s not only possible but worthwhile to work on oneself a little every day, especially if it’s in the service of making genuine connections with others. And when Richard says with glee, “This is way better than therapy,” the heart breaks all over again for this kid who’s about to lose the only friend (and genuine sense of security) he ever had. 

“I would never hurt him, because I loved Floyd,” explains Clark. “Like water when you really need water.” That’s all he’ll say, for now, without a lawyer present. The emergence of the mysterious key in Homer and Plumb’s possession has spooked him off from confessing any further. But what Clark does confirm is that he forged a genuine bond with the only truly decent person in his life after the seeds of his demise were already sown. A quick flashback shot of Floyd and Clark in a firm embrace, both shirtless, teases us with the notion that Carol’s suggested plot to kill Floyd for insurance money (complete with plausible deniability of knowing nothing about Floyd’s insurance policy since it was all arranged by Clark) still ain’t the whole story here. Neither is Carol’s “killer-Karen” characterization, for that matter, as suggested by her ominous final words to her son, left in grief, not knowing how his Mom will provide for them financially on her own: “I always do whatever it… I always do whatever to make sure that we’re okay.” Leaving one to wonder, how much is anyone involved in this case acting of their own volition? And how much is dictated by more powerful, systemic forces than we’re ready to admit?