I have insomnia. And it is brutal. But not as brutal as The Hawk on Netflix. Insomnia made me do it. And, at this moment that even is a fairly flimsy excuse based on what I saw.
My version of what I saw… Will Ferrell is this-is-prolly-a-flop sweating through every scene and you can feel it. The washed-up golfer premise arrives with a morsel of potential and then proceeds to do an absolute nose dive into a mountainside. Luke Wilson phoned in the same tired bit character he has been recycling for years. Cut and paste hack comedy at best. Molly Shannon as Hawk’s estranged wife is so relentlessly grating she makes you root for an inevitable demise, but certainly not a rekindling with the Hawk. The kid, Lance: you clock how insufferable he is going to be in the first thirty seconds and it just gets worse. The caddy side story is the kind of subplot that makes you wonder if there is anyone in the writers room, or if this outhouse of a production was written by AI. The whole thing plays like someone fed Happy Gilmore, Stick, and a network pilot from 2009 into a blender and forgot to put the lid on.
If you have not seen Stick on Apple TV, go watch that instead. Stop reading this. It understands what a golf show can be. The Hawk does not understand what a show can be, and is a blatant and brutal rip-off of the The Stick premise (which stars Owen Wilson, who is terrific).
The cameos in The Hawk are cringe without exception. Bones and Rickie Fowler so far, and there may be others I did not recognize which is either a blessing or a commentary on the brutal and maybe desperate casting.
Five episodes in and there is no redemption arc on the horizon. For the show or for me.
Netflix should be ashamed. I am ashamed. The only winner here is my insomnia, which is currently undefeated.
Maybe, maybe, the show was written by AI. Sure feels it.
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