Summary
Stick is likeable and comforting, but it also seems risk-averse and perhaps perilously familiar. Episodes 1-3 set the scene, but some evolution is required as the season progresses.
It’s impossible to talk about Stick without mentioning Ted Lasso, since the rubric for beloved sports comedies was defined by AFC Richmond’s adventures on Apple TV+. This series is about a different sport, set on a different continent, and has a different – albeit highly recognisable – cast. But it’s functionally the same thing, a comfortable and familiar tour through the ups and downs of sporting excellence in 20-ish-minute bursts. Episodes 1-3 set the scene with an almost irritating level of watchability, given how arch and predictable so much of the drama and comedy ends up being.
Owen Wilson (Loki), very much doing the usual routine, plays Pryce Cahill, a disgraced former golf pro whose public meltdown torpedoed both his career and, eventually, his life. His wife, Amber-Linn (Judy Greer, Reboot; The 15:17 to Paris; Jurassic World), left him, and he still lives in their old house – that she’s trying to sell – as a lodger. He drinks. He gambles. He and Amber-Linn had a son who is now out of the picture for reasons that aren’t concretely explained in the three-part premiere, but suffice it to say, Pryce is a broken man in need of a redemption arc.
Pryce thinks that redemption is going to come in the form of Santi Wheeler (Peter Dager), a preternaturally gifted young golfer who is nursing his own share of trauma thanks to the – again, mostly unexplained for now – absence of his father. Instead, he lives with his overprotective mother Elena (Mariana Trevino, The House of Flowers), who won’t let Pryce whisk her son away to the professional circuit without making sure they’re fairly compensated, which leads Pryce into a string of urgent promises and loans that make him financially as well as reputationally invested in Santi’s success.
But Santi’s a kid. Episodes 1-3 of Stick spend some time establishing that he’s brash, arrogant, and a little bit damaged, which is why he’s so immediately smitten by Zero (Lilli Kay, Yellowstone; Your Honor), a put-upon young waitress at a tournament he plays in. Zero raises the idea that Pryce doesn’t really care about Santi and is just manipulating him to cash in on his talent, which, to be fair, might be true. This being the kind of show it so obviously is, though, I wouldn’t expect it to remain true for very long.
And that’s the point. Stick is, for better and worse, exactly the kind of Ted Lasso-like sports dramedy you think it is, which is precisely what Apple TV+ is banking on. It’s comfortable, charming, familiar, and doesn’t require any pre-existing knowledge of golf – I have none, for example – to be enjoyed. Whenever Pryce tries to get technical, Santi mostly ignores him anyway; his ability to hit the ball is framed as almost supernatural, but all of his limitations are related to his youth and internal crises, not his technique.
Peter Dager in Stick | Image via Apple TV+
The cast seems to know what the deal is. Wilson’s playing something very close to a pastiche of his usual screen persona. Judy Greer, who’s always excellent and should be in more things, is lovely as a warm and understanding ex-wife who is rightly sick of Pryce’s self-sabotage but tinges her annoyance with lingering affection. Trevino has a fierce mama-bear sensibility and in the first three episodes is enjoying an evolving relationship with Price’s best – and seemingly only – friend and long-time caddie, Mitts (Marc Maron, The Horror of Dolores Roach; The Bad Guys). Dager and Kay do a good job at providing the know-it-all youth-of-today vibe, and apparently, Timothy Olyphant is going to turn up at some stage, though he doesn’t feature in the premiere.
I wish I had more interesting things to say about Stick, but Episodes 1-3 are the usual introductions and reassurances that we’re getting what was advertised, which is basically the glossy Apple TV take on Happy Gilmore. The other obvious comparison would be Shrinking, but I’m not willing to go that far just yet – Stick is similar, but it has a long way to go to earn being mentioned in the same sentence as one of the finest TV comedies of the century. My main early fear is that it will lack that show’s passion for narrative risk. Thus far, everything is very safe, almost to the extent that it might become dull within a couple of episodes. I don’t want these characters to be put through the wringer to quite the extent that Shrinking’s cast has been, but there has to be some meaningful conflict as we go.
But it’s probably too early to be complaining about these things. Thus far, Stick might be perilously recognisable in a lot of its constituent elements, but it’s also undeniably well made. It’s worth reiterating, too, that it really isn’t about golf; neither playing it nor understanding its cultural relevance or business model. There’s an almost fantastical quality to how Santi plays, which circumvents all that stuff, leaving instead an intriguing character-driven drama with a surprisingly thoughtful and mature approach to the issues that crop up across multiple generations. I’m just hoping it evolves beyond being a comfort show.
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