It’s a story as old as time, or to be more specific, the first golf-related tale shared around a campfire by our not-so-distant ancestors: A down-and-out loser, once the best at his profession, squanders his talent and with it, his personal life. Said ex-golfer slips so far down the economic ladder that he works at a sports store, spinning mythopoetic stories about golf to a wide-eyed, open-mouthed mark, selling said awed admirer a single driver for $1,200.
As the down-and-out ex-golfer, Pryce Cahill, in creator-producer Jason Keller’ sports comedy Stick, Owen Wilson brings his fast-talking, self-deprecating, not-quite-everyman charms to an otherwise routine series. From its first moments to its last, Stick delivers overly-familiar genre tropes, including the obligatory obstacles, setbacks, and reversals, before turning negatives into positives and everything into a predictably cheery comfort watch.
That Stick works as well as it does — and it does work even if only at a root, gut level — owes less to Kellner’s producing or writing skills or the serviceable, competent directing and everything to Wilson and a supporting cast that elevate every line of banal dialogue, every clichéd plot turn, and every emotional beat. Besides Wilson, Peter Dager, Lilli Kay, Mariana Treviño, and Marc Maron give memorable performances as the members of Cahill’s found family brought together by the golf circuit and the promise, however elusive or unreal, of fame, celebrity, and, of course, financial remuneration.
Cahill’s journey across the series begins at the aforementioned low point. Resistant to his ex-wife’s desire to sell the family home, Cahill lucks into the next great gold prodigy, Santiago “Santi” Wheeler (Dager), a skilled 17-year-old gifted with range, power, and precision, on a local driving range. Santi initially rejects Cahill, dismissing him outright before Cahill adopts an alternative plan, convincing Santi’s mother, Elena (Treviño), with the promise of free coaching, covered entrance fees to local tournaments, and a non-negotiable check for $100K.
Cahill doesn’t have $100K to his name, but luckily for him, there’s a deal to be made with his wife and a co-shared house that needs to be sold. From there, it’s only a matter of getting the support team together, including Mitts (Maron), Cahill’s onetime caddie and current friend, Elena herself, and later, Zero (Lilli Kay), a Gen Z ex-bartender with she/them pronouns (an unfortunately unfunny, condescending run-on joke) and a romantic interest for the relatively inexperienced Santi.
Not unexpectedly, throwing Cahill, Santi, Elena, and Mitts into a week-long journey across Middle America to various amateur golfing tournaments causes plenty of friction, arguments, and strife. Everyone has long festering personal issues–many of which are traumatic with a capital “T”–to work out, often via the equivalent of talk therapy. Cahill still hasn’t reconciled himself to the split with his wife, a grievous personal loss, and the end of his professional career. For Elena and Santi, it’s the abrupt departure of her husband and his father after Santi, buckling under his father’s constant criticism, quit golf. Mitts, meanwhile, hasn’t moved on from losing his partner to a terminal illness. For the restless Zero, it’s finding a family to call her own.
Throughout a meandering, occasionally unfocused 10-episode series, Stick takes broad swipes at Gen Z attitudes and preferences. It often relies on clashes between the curmudgeonly Mitts and a perplexed Zero to poke non-good fun at the latter’s generation. It’s to Maron’s credit as a performer that he plays Mitts as deeply flawed, but never far from redeemable. His anger, frustration, and disappointment with a world that’s spun past him might be the most understandable note for Stick’s target audience (Gen X and elder Millennials). He also doubles as Cahill’s conscience and an audience stand-in to question Cahill’s often perplexing life choices.
In addition to Cahill’s dizzying verbosity and sad-sack personality (a Wilson specialty), Stick derives a modest amount of humour from the easily frustrated Elena. She’s a Latin-American immigrant and college dropout, regularly slipping in and out of Spanish with Santi or when angered by Cahill and/or Mitts, the former over his outsized promises, the latter because of his natural rudeness and incivility. Some humour translates more easily across generations.
