So the NY Times had a piece about the end of DTF St. Louis about which I’ll quibble: The writer was disappointed, it seems, that Floyd and Clark did not become lovers, implying that their “toxic masculinity” (groan) is what keeps them back from happiness and sexual fulfillment. Here’s the quote: “Floyd is reduced to the self-hating, gay-coded character whose sexual exploration concludes with death. And Clark is the male character who grew too close to his friend in a way that threatened his heterosexuality, so he ultimately finds his life upended as well.”
That’s so wrongheaded. It misses all the joy and charm and pathos of the series. Yes, Floyd and Clark love each other. When Jason Bateman (as Clark) insists he didn’t kill Floyd his justification is a confession: “I loved Floyd.” The detectives investigating the case are surprised by this, somewhat, but it’s only the beginning of Clark’s confessions that ultimately resolve the murder mystery and the sadness of Floyd’s unfortunate death. At the end it’s clear Clark loved Floyd but didn’t want to have sex with him. That seems perfectly reasonable. It’s also touching: In the final scene at the pool house Clark tries to alleviate Floyd’s crushing depression and lack of self-esteem by sexual overtures that fall flat. It seems real to me. And as far as the “charm” of the series, most of it involves the tragic-yet-lovable Floyd Smernitch, played by David Harbour. He’s a good guy who cares about others. Admittedly, sometimes too much. At the end we finally learn what caused Floyd’s “crooked dick.” And it’s heartbreaking.
Here’s what I find most fascinating and admirable about DTF: The writers/director cleverly frame the season as a murder mystery, when it isn’t. It tricks the viewer into watching the story, paying attention to all the clues, only to be surprised at the end when all is not what it seems. But the mystery forces you to pay attention to all the subtle interactions between Carol, Floyd, and Clark. All three of them are “lost” in some way: Carol squirming under crushing debt and disappointment, Floyd suffocating under his weight-gain and idealistic decisions, and Clark ultimately voiceless as a victim of his own peculiar loneliness. The final image conveys Clark’s anguish: He’s sitting on the child’s swing where he would sometimes sit and talk to Floyd, only he’s all alone and bereft. He loved his friend, who is now gone forever. Clark has a successful career and family life, but what good is it when you’re friendless? Much is being written now about American males lack of close friends. That argument often seems rather academic and abstract. The story of Clark and Floyd makes it real.