If it weren’t for arrested development, Will Ferrell might not have a career.
Happily for him and his legion of fans who’ve supported the Saturday Night Live sensation through movie stardom in hits including Elf, Anchorman, and Talladega Nights, this Peter Pan of pratfalls and other ridiculous antics shows no sign of growing up even as he approaches 60. (Ferrell turns 59 on Thursday, the date his newest series premieres.)
He’s not so much getting older as staying sillier, resting merrily in his discomfort zone as yet another vulgar oaf with a heart of tarnished gold. Ferrell returns to the sports arena in Netflix’s deeply shallow, farcically familiar The Hawk as its irrepressible title character, Lonnie “The Hawk” Hawkins, a seemingly washed-up golf legend who refuses to give up his clubs. (If jokey innuendo about “balls” and “holes” offends you, consider watching a more subtle comedy like, say, Caddyshack.)
Having never recovered from “the worst choke in golf history” in 2010, when Lonnie missed a 3-foot putt that could have earned him a career Grand Slam at the U.S. Open, “the Hawk” is flying awfully close to the ground when we first encounter him, struggling on the Korn Ferry Tour circuit with hope springing eternal that he’ll someday play his way back into the majors. As the formula dictates, he gets his wish, spurred on by a brush with mortality and the urging of Sam (Fortune Feimster), his bawdy new caddie with zero knowledge of the links but a healthy appreciation for the junk and fast food that sustains her boss.
Colleen E Hayes/Netflix
With sun-blasted face, an untamable mop of frizzy hair, and a fashion sense more befitting a clown, Lonnie makes a run against the odds for the U.S. Open in Pebble Beach, much to the chagrin of his profanely hostile estranged wife Stacy (fellow SNL alum Molly Shannon), who’s busy promoting a Teed Off canned cocktail line, and his equally distant son Lance, short for Lancelot (Jimmy Tatro), a rising golf star himself. Some view the reignited father-son rivalry as Shakespearean. It’s really more like Mad Magazine.
Lance has gambling and substance abuse issues, not to mention an annoying wellness influencer fiancée (Katelyn Tarver) who’s big on “manifesting.” No surprise that the chip on his shoulder that Lonnie represents sends Lance into a downward spiral that only a climactic showdown with his dad can remedy. The sentimentality isn’t laid on quite as thick as it was in last summer’s Apple TV golf comedy Stick, starring Owen Wilson. (By happenstance, Owen’s brother Luke Wilson co-stars as Lonnie’s chief rival, the smug Golden Fisk.) But what redeems The Hawk, both the show and the character, is the genuine earnestness that underlies this goofball’s delusional and raunchy bravado.
While I could have done without the Vegas detour at midpoint, when Sam’s criminal past collides with Lance’s degenerate habits, some running gags land, including a few well-chosen celebrity cameos, the casting of Chris Parnell (another SNL veteran) as a PGA Tour board member who loathes Lonnie for personal reasons, and anything involving David Hornsby as Stacy’s absurdly fey companion Radford, whose reading material of LGBTQ literary classics belies his pronounced adoration for this barracuda.
Does The Hawk score the proverbial hole in one? It doesn’t have to. Whenever Lonnie sinks a winner and crows, “That’s how it’s done,” you know you’re in the presence of a comedy master who’s done it before and will likely keep doing it for as long as he can. (In another era, Ferrell could have hosted a classic comedy-variety show, with Lonnie a recurring character.) His “fore” play never gets old.
The Hawk, Series Premiere (eight episodes), Thursday, July 16, Netflix