This writer would gladly watch a sitcom about these characters, given their nuanced backstories, hysterical antics, and whip-smart insults that don’t feel forced, just accurate and clever. The action really kicks off, however, when a mystery arrives at Diarra’s doorstep in the form of Chris (Shannon Wallace), a man with whom she matches on Tinder and goes on a handful of deeply successful dates with. Fully “in like” with this new man, who is as skilled at ordering in a restaurant as he is in bed, Diarra is in seventh heaven, hopeful that this new bond may be what helps her accept her impending divorce. But Chris ghosts her on their fifth date. Diarra refuses to believe this; instead, she is convinced he’s been kidnapped, and sets off to solve the mystery of Chris’s disappearance with her friends.
Mocking the true crime military industrial complex has become something of a trope in recent years, with shows as different as “Dexter: New Blood” and “Based on a True Story” riffing on the popularity of podcasts, blogs, and YouTube channels dedicated to the genre. “Diarra from Detroit” chooses to dollop in small doses of such mockery, but the journey to find Chris has little to do with true crime and is largely about Diarra’s attempts to define herself as something other than a driven, engaged teacher battling a messy divorce. Reinforced repeatedly through the writing is the relatability of these characters’ stories. Kilpatrick embodies that unholy blend of emotions in the aftermath of a breakup—shame, frustration, rage, anxiety—via the specificity of her body language. Her limbs are languid, hunched when she is morose, but when she’s inspired there’s no stopping her, she’s a whirling dervish of determination, results be damned. The camera does not shy away from close-ups of Diarra in times of crisis, pleasure, and humiliation, highlighting the messy state of being a woman in flux.
The writing is thankfully careful not to sideline the rest of the cast either, who are fully fleshed out, negotiating challenges, joys, and the socioeconomic differences adult friend groups can run into. Perry is a natural comedienne—she previously shone as Lawrence’s rebound on “Insecure”—balancing with ease her insecurities and hopes for a shining future. Moni’s marriage to Roman is strong (they discuss mundane household tasks in between moans during sex) until it’s not, and Logan and Bechir do a wonderful job sorting out the knots together. Clark is an absolute riot to watch, as Mr. Tea fears nothing so much as permanent, reliable intimacy with a long-term partner. The bond between the cast is profound; you’d think they’ve known each other for years, given the ease with which they tease, support, and simply exist with each other.