Stick review: Owen Wilsons new comedy is basically golf Ted Lasso
Apple TV+ looks to create the next Ted Lasso with its sports comedy Stick, replacing soccer with golf and Jason Sudeikis with Owen Wilson.
Even with these differences, there are times when it seems like Stick was engineered in a lab to be as close to Ted Lasso as possible. Both shows center on a coach figure who's great at dishing out life lessons yet has a lot of learning to do himself. Both shows also focus on mental health and grief, emphasizing the importance of community in getting through tough times. (In that way, Stick also feels like Shrinking.)
If that weren't enough, Stick, created by Jason Keller, features its own take on some of Ted Lasso's most well-known moments. A high-stakes golf wager between rivals recalls Ted's darts game against Rupert Mannion, while advice about forgetting your last golf swing, be it good or bad, echoes Ted's "be a goldfish" philosophy. Yet as shameless as some of these comparisons are, it's nearly impossible to resist Stick's charms, and that starts with Wilson's lead performance.
What's Stick about?
Wilson plays Pryce "Stick" Cahill, a former pro golfer whose viral tantrum at a key tournament cost him his career. Now an employee at an Indiana golf center, Pryce is just inches from rock bottom. It doesn't help that he's squatting in the house he and his ex-wife, Amber-Linn (Judy Greer), used to live in — the same house she's currently trying to sell. Yet instead of being a caricature of a bitter has-been, Pryce maintains a cheery, affable disposition, one that comes in handy when he and his curmudgeonly caddy, Mitts (Marc Maron), run the occasional hustle for some spare cash.
Despite the inevitable comparisons to Sudeikis' performance as Ted Lasso, Wilson manages to make the role of "sweet Apple TV+ coach" his own. Pryce's open eagerness and history of failure make people perceive him as a bumbling idiot, and he knows it (and often takes advantage of it). That undercurrent of wiliness runs throughout Wilson's performance, turning Pryce into a savvy schemer in addition to a supportive mentor figure to an up-and-coming golfer.
That golfer is Santi Wheeler (Peter Dager), a 17-year-old prodigy whose complicated history with the sport is tied to his absentee father. He's a wizard on the golf course, but he needs formal training. Thankfully, Pryce is ready to throw his every resource (not that he has many left) behind him. Tying his future to Santi's is a huge risk, but this move could be exactly what the otherwise aimless Pryce needs to truly get back on his feet.
Like Ted Lasso, Stick boasts a charming ensemble.
Pryce and Santi set out across the U.S. to get him into amateur tournaments, but they're not going it alone. Along for the ride are Mitts and Santi's mother, Elena (Mariana Treviño), as well as Zero (Lilli Kay), a nomad who strikes up a fierce friendship — and maybe something more? — with Santi.
This quintet makes for a charming ensemble: Treviño's Elena is equal parts sweet and fiery in her support of Santi, while Maron's gruffness as Mitts serves as a nice counterpoint. Dager and Kay make the budding romance between Santi and Zero absolutely adorable, all while grounding it in the traumas that have molded their individual character's trust issues.
At the center of it all is the pairing of Pryce and Santi, whose partnership quickly grows beyond golf. Santi's father is AWOL, while Pryce lost his son at a young age. As Stick gestures toward their growing surrogate father-son relationship, Wilson and Dager's vulnerability proves a strong starting point for the show's exploration of grief. But Stick also pokes fun at the generational differences between Pryce and Santi, providing some lighter fare amidst heavier subject matter.
Unfortunately, not all of that generational comedy lands, especially when it comes to a "Who's on First?"-style riff on Zero's she/they pronouns. Too often, these gags rely on low-hanging Gen Z vs. Gen X fruit. Frankly, the show's comedy and conflict are at their best when its characters are needling each other over specific traits — like Pryce's unfortunate love of gambling, or Elena's pampering of her three little dogs — as opposed to broader generational stereotypes.
Stick commits one cardinal casting sin.
But that isn't Stick's worst sin. Instead, that award goes to the show's criminal underuse of Judy Greer, who's given the thankless role of Pryce's ex. Sidelined for much of the season, Amber-Linn only seems to exist to remind Pryce of his shortcomings, or to lift him up when he's doing something right. That does a disservice to Greer, whose comedic talents are on full display in shows like Arrested Development and Archer, yet who has often been relegated to wife or mother roles. (See: Ant-Man, Jurassic World, Tomorrowland.) In a series where the rest of the ensemble is allowed to let loose, why not give Greer the same chance? Still, there's always hope for Season 2, right?
Despite Stick's crimes against Greer, the series is an otherwise heartwarming take on found family that managed to make me, a golf hater, actually care about the sport. But just like Ted Lasso was never primarily a soccer show, Stick isn't primarily a golf show. As Mitts so candidly puts it to Pryce, his mentorship of Santi is "not about golf. It's about all the shit you never dealt with."
That's certainly not new ground for Stick to tread (again, the shadow of Ted Lasso looms large). But for the most part, the show is thoughtful in its exploration of grief and mental health, with golf — where all your mistakes can compound — acting as a solid metaphor for how Pryce, Santi, and their friends move through troubling times.
As familiar as these beats are, there's no denying they make a solid base for any feel-good comedy. And with Wilson capably leading such a likable ensemble, Stick feels pretty darn good.