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From the moment "Stick" begins and Owen Wilson steps into frame with that unmistakable voice and world-weary charm, there's a strange kind of comfort in it all - like slipping into a familiar coat you haven't worn in years but somehow still fits just right. Wilson doesn't just play the lead; he owns the screen with that quiet magnetism, the kind that makes you root for him even as his character stumbles through a mess of flaws, missteps, and half-hearted redemptions. The show wisely leans into his presence, knowing it's the glue holding everything else together.

But then the supporting cast trickles in - and that's where the seams start to show. Peter Dager, playing Santi, brings enough charm to pass, but you can't help but take him as a Timothee Chalamet knockoff. One character in particular - you'll know them when they arrive - feels like narrative dead weight at first, dragging down the momentum with every forced scene and eye-roll-inducing line, before eventually clawing their way back into narrative relevance in a later episode that almost redeems the misstep.

There's comedy here, and a touch of drama, but the rhythm wobbles, leaning too often on contrived conflicts that vanish as quickly as they're introduced, leaving you wondering if anything really mattered in the first place. Still, when the writing falters or the pacing stalls, there's always Wilson - cool, steady, and just self-aware enough to keep you watching.

It's not a must-watch, but it's close enough - the kind of series you finish more for the actor than the story, more for the moments than the sum of their parts.

In a world where artificial intelligence feels less like fiction and more like everyday reality, here comes a series with a magnetic lead - Alexander Skarsgård, that rare blend of quiet intensity and impossible good looks - playing a robot. On paper, it's timely. Even gripping. And for a moment, it almost is. Skarsgård brings a subtle gravity to the role, even beneath the helmet that obscures the very face much of the audience came for, which feels like both a bold choice and a missed opportunity.

From the outset, the show tries to wink at the audience, to play clever, to subvert expectations - but it never quite gets there. The tone is aiming for sly, maybe even irreverent, but more often lands in that uncomfortable place where you're not sure if you're supposed to be laughing, or just politely enduring. And then there are the supporting characters - flat, forgettable, cartoonish in the worst way - not flawed in the human sense, but underwritten, as if no one expected viewers to care about anyone but the man in the metal suit.

The middle stretch drags. A slog of half-hearted twists and limp dialogue, the kind of television that makes you glance at your phone or, worse, doze off entirely. Still, the episodes are mercifully short - twenty minutes apiece - and Skarsgård is compelling enough to keep you from walking away. Just barely.

Then comes the finale, which almost feels like a different show - darker, sharper, unexpectedly alive. It hints at a direction the rest of the series never dared explore, and while the cliffhanger concerning the fate of the robot actually works, the rest of the ensemble is left hanging, unresolved and unmissed. You get the sense that if this series gets another shot, the smartest move would be a clean slate - keep Skarsgård, lose the baggage, and finally build something worthy of that brooding machine with a pulse.