‘Stick’ (2025) Apple TV+ Series Review - A Washed-Up Pro and a Teen Phenom Take One Final Swing at Life

There’s something oddly satisfying about watching someone spiral spectacularly and then slowly, painfully try to patch their life back together. That’s the sweet spot Stick occupies an emotionally offbeat comedy-drama that isn’t in a rush to impress you. It strolls onto the course, rusty clubs in hand, muttering old golf metaphors and questionable wisdom, but then somewhere between a wayward drive and a heartfelt monologue, it actually wins you over.

Owen Wilson plays Pryce Cahill, a man who once had everything: a championship title, a cushy life, and a marriage that seemed stable from the outside. Fast-forward to now, and he’s a hollow version of himself, selling golf gear at a strip mall store, nursing a hangover most days, and trying not to run into people who remember who he used to be. Wilson leans into the role with his signature weary charm; he’s not trying to be likable, but he is. Pryce is petty, bitter, defensive, and unshaven, but underneath the sarcasm is a man who still wants to matter.

Enter Santi Wheeler, played by Peter Dager, a 17-year-old who’s as raw and unfiltered as they come. He’s got a natural swing, a chip on his shoulder the size of a sand trap, and enough teenage arrogance to power a small country. Their meeting is as unglamorous as you'd expect Pryce getting kicked out of his store job and Santi showing up as part of a second-chance school program. From there, the series builds the core relationship between them slowly, and that’s part of its charm. It doesn’t rush into cheesy breakthroughs. Instead, it lets the miscommunication, awkward silences, and bruised egos breathe.

Stick works best when it forgets it's a “sports series” and focuses instead on the awkward dance of two misfits who are more alike than they want to admit. Santi has the world ahead of him, but no one to guide him. Pryce has all the experience in the world, but no one needs him anymore. Their lives collide not with fireworks but with a dull thud, and that’s what makes their evolving partnership feel earned.

The show’s dialogue is a particular strength. It's not trying too hard to be clever, which ironically makes it land better. Conversations feel lived-in. They’re not always snappy or quotable, but they’re grounded. There’s a memorable stretch in episode four where Pryce teaches Santi how to putt—not just technically, but psychologically. It turns into a kind of therapy session in disguise. Those moments-the ones that manage to be funny, sad, and quietly cathartic all at once—are where Stick really sticks the landing.

Visually, the show makes golf look better than it is. That’s not an insult to the sport, but golf on screen tends to be either hyper-dramatized or just boring. Stick sidesteps both traps. It shoots the game in a relaxed, breezy way. The camera doesn’t worship the swing or the ball flight. It focuses on the players ' body language, their hesitations, and the pauses before and after the shot. And since the game mirrors life for these characters, it makes sense that the moments between the action matter more than the swing itself.

The supporting cast helps round out the story’s emotional edges. Marc Maron plays Mitts, Pryce’s only real friend, and he brings the perfect dose of acerbic loyalty. He’s the kind of guy who tells you you’re screwing up while handing you a sandwich. Lilli Kay’s Zero, Santi’s friend (maybe something more), brings some needed vulnerability to balance out his posturing. Judy Greer as Pryce’s ex-wife is well-used; her scenes never feel like exposition dumps, and she manages to convey both disappointment and lingering affection with the tiniest shifts in tone.

Now, all that said, Stick isn’t flawless. At times, it leans on tropes it’s clearly trying to avoid. There are a few too many slow-motion “realization moments” scored by acoustic guitar. And while most episodes flow well, some dip into filler territory, especially in the middle stretch. Episode six, for instance, feels like a pause in momentum rather than a deepening of character. Also, the show occasionally stretches believability in how quickly Santi improves or how forgiving institutions are toward Pryce's behavior. It’s not a dealbreaker, but it chips away at the grounded tone the show is otherwise committed to.

The humor, too, is uneven. There’s also a noticeable difference in tone between the first and last episodes. The finale tries to wrap things up with more neatness than necessary, which feels slightly out of sync with how messy and real the characters are otherwise written.

Still, what lingers after the credits roll isn’t the flaws; it’s the relationship at the center of it all. Wilson and Dager have genuine chemistry. Their connection grows gradually, with just enough tension and tenderness to keep you invested. By the time Pryce starts seeing a version of himself in Santi and hating it, you realize just how much the show has let them both grow without fanfare.

In the end, Stick is less about golf and more about two people learning to aim again, not just at holes or trophies, but at the kind of lives they want to live. It’s about stumbling into relevance, even when you think your best years are behind you. It’s scrappy, a little uneven, but quietly heartfelt. And sometimes, that’s enough.

Final Score- [7/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
Follow @AnjaliS54769166 on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times
Note: All 10 episodes are screened for this review.
Premiere Date: June 4, 2025, on Apple TV+ with the first three episodes followed by a new episode every Wednesday.