What is it? The moment that Netflix ate itself.

Why you’ll love it: Here’s a theory: media outlets that are comfortable mocking themselves are the easiest ones to love. The BBC can air a series as lacerating as W1A – set inside the actual BBC HQ, full of BBC middle-managers drowning in pointless BBC bureaucracy – and people read it as a sign of self-confidence. Same with NBC and 30 Rock. Now Netflix has released American Vandal, mercilessly lampooning one of its most identifiable genres – the long-form, true-crime documentary – in such a way that it forces you to begrudgingly respect the service’s commissioning editors.

A small-town school has been besieged by penises. All in all, 27 have been spray-painted across buildings and cars, causing thousands of dollars’ worth of damage. The main suspect – the only suspect – is inveterate dick-painter Dylan Maxwell. When Maxwell is expelled, sophomore student Peter Maldonado launches an investigation. No stone is unturned in his quest for justice. Did Dylan really draw the junk, or is something more sinister at play?

So, yes, American Vandal is basically a four-hour dick joke. Penises are its raison d’etre, and they’re referenced again and again and again until you become immune to the torrent of todgers flung in your face. Sometimes the subject changes focus – there is a side-plot about people who fart on children’s heads – but it always snaps back to dicks. Crude as it all is, my bet is that you’ll fall for American Vandal, thanks to its deep love for its source material. Like Making a Murderer, the series is rammed with cleverly paced twists and the stock characters that a true-crime doc requires. There is the (presumably) innocent suspect, the dogged investigator, the suspicious authority figure; all are so authentic, they have to come from a place of deep affection.

It’s surprising how well it works. After one episode, you might write off American Vandal as a piece of one-joke, genital-obsessed fluff. But as Maldonado dives deeper, the mystery of the crime rises up above the toilet humour and takes over. By halfway, you’ll find yourself utterly invested in Maxwell’s plight. You’ll catch yourself wondering: “Could he really be the perpetrator if the graffiti has less ball hair than his own penises?” and “Why don’t I trust that beautiful girl who denies ever giving that nerd a handjob?”

Clues are unlocked by deep dives into seemingly trivial details – car repair bills, the implied meaning behind a texted “Heyy!” – and every scrap of information thrusts the mystery into new light. In this sense, it’s a little like last year’s Search Party: a detective show first and a comedy second.

Funny and knowing, unafraid to bite the hand that feeds it, American Vandal puts Netflix light years ahead of its competitors. Amazon hasn’t come close to producing something so winkingly self-referential; it’s such a faceless, corporate monolith, it probably couldn’t if it tried. Well played, Netflix.

Where: Netflix.

Length: Eight 30-minute episodes, available to stream now.

Standout episode: Episode three, when Maldonado’s obsession begins to drive his friends away.

If you liked American Vandal, watch: W1A (iPlayer, Netflix), People Just Do Nothing (iPlayer)