🔗 Share this article

In a quiet neighborhood of Dublin, a man stands on the pavement, wearing a tank top and expressing his concerns. “I notice myself getting quieter. Less noticeable,” remarks Leonard, gazing up at the night sky. “Events have unfolded and at this point I believe unless I take action, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, his closest confidant, considers these words. “There's no harm in that,” he answers, his dressing gown moving gently. “Superior to trying to make a mark and causing harm instead.”

For viewers exhausted by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul arrives similar to a warm cover with a hot drink of Ribena.

Similar to its gentle leads, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part show developed by the writing duo, based on the novelist’s quiet book – casts a critical eye at modern life; gazing skeptically over its prematurely middle-aged glasses on everything that involves loud sounds, quick actions or – goodness forbid – an abundance of ambition. This show on the contrary, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration of those happy to pootle around out of the spotlight. And yet. He (one more uniquely quirky turn from Alex Lawther) is uneasy. He senses a creeping “desire to unlock the entryways in my existence … slightly.” The loss of his mother has whisked the rug out from under him and Leonard, an anonymous author, now feels reconsidering the choices which led him to where he is (unattached; with a protective mustache; working on a range of kids' reference books for an employer who concludes correspondence using the words “see you later”).

And so Leonard launches on a journey for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder friend Paul (the actor) acting as his trusted friend, guide and partner in a recurring game night functioning as both debate (“Does the pool feel warm from kids relieving themselves, or do children urinate since it's warm?”) and safe space.

(How did Paul get his nickname? The reason is unknown. The origin of the moniker seems forgotten in mystery. Perhaps he once ate a snack very fast, or responded to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling some food items using his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence comes Shelley (the performer), a new spring-loaded co-worker who lightheartedly proposes to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (the character) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound audible is Leonard’s gentle world experiencing a revolution.

In another part in the initial show of this program focused less on story and centered around what the under-30s may refer to as “atmosphere”, viewers encounter the older generation (the brilliant the performer), a worn-out individual who secretly watches, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to impress his devoted partner with his general knowledge.

Shepherding us throughout this subtle warmth we hear a narrator who closely resembles – and actually is – Julia Roberts. Yes, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “certainly the use of a big-name celebrity is at odds with the show's modest approach and at first acts merely as a diversion?” you would be correct. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and phrases for example “Leonard’s problem is the missing an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that early misgivings fade if not quite to appreciation, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling currently. The show's core has good intentions: which is “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, showing the duck it loves.” It’s a series that moves gently wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up toward the sky, at other times looking at its slippers, quietly confident that nothing is in life as uplifting as passing time in the company of close companions.

Throw open the portals of your life, just a bit, and let it in.