Stick review: Owen Wilson is full of charm in this wry, unassuming golf comedy
There is no logical reason why
Owen Wilson
's new
Apple TV+
dramedy Stick (Wednesday, Apple TV+) should be so full of charm. Once a regular collaborator with and even muse to high priest of cinephile quirkiness, Wes Anderson, Wilson has not had a project of note in years. Then there is the uneven quality of Apple's comedy output, which errs to a fault towards twee and fluffy (witness the unfiltered horror of feel-good soccer drama Ted Lasso). Plus the series is about golf, which already had its moment in the comedy spotlight with Caddyshack (let us also acknowledge underrated
Kevin Costner
rom-com
Tin Cup
). Absolutely nothing about Stick screams obligatory binge-watch.
But Stick sticks the landing. It coasts on the melancholic charm that was a feature of Wilson's early career as he plays a former golf wiz named Pryce Cahill, whose life has crumbled into a mid-life disaster zone until he discovers a young prodigy (Peter Dager) with a great swing and a terrible attitude and vows to make him famous. A likeable ensemble is filled out by Judie Greer as Pryce's ex wife and podcaster Marc Maron as his roguish best pal, Mitts.
Owen Wilson, as Pryce Cahill, discovers 17-year-old golf prodigy Santiago Wheeler, played by Peter Dager. Photograph: Apple TV+.
With his marriage and golfing prospects both in the bunker, Cahill is at rock bottom. But when he discovers the 17-year-old drop-out, Santi, played by Dager, thwacking a ball on the practice range, he's convinced he's stumbled upon the next
Tiger Woods
. Initially alarmed at being pestered by a random middle-aged man, Santi eventually comes around to Pryce's sales pitch. That is in contrast to his understandably suspicious mother, Elena (Mariana Treviño), who wonders about Pryce's motives and why he is so obsessed with turning her son into a star.
Much like Wilson and his career-making performances in The Royal Tenenbaums and
Zoolander
, Stick has a satisfyingly ambling quality. It is never in much of a hurry; there is plenty of time to slow down and admire the scenery. But as Cahill and Santi strike up a partnership and head on the road – inevitably, there is a big amateur tournament they hope to win – there are hints of a deeper sadness underpinning Pryce's meltdown. As Pryce lowers his guards, so the series gradually becomes a character study in loss, survival and learning to move on.
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The one caveat for the Irish viewer is that Stick insists Cahill's name should be pronounced 'Kay-hill', which will feel like nails driven into your ears. You won't want to scream at Stick – but you may want to take it aside and explain Cahill does not rhyme with 'fail'. That speed-bump aside, this wry, unassuming comedy swings, hits and, to mix sporting metaphors, knocks it out of the park.
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