🔗 Share this article

In a peaceful area of the Irish capital, an individual stands in his driveway, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and voicing his thoughts. “I notice I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” says the main character, staring into the darkness. “Events have unfolded and now I feel like if I don’t do something, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” Hungry Paul, Leonard’s best companion, considers this statement. “Nothing wrong with that,” he responds, his robe flapping with the wind. “Better than attempting to leave an impact and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone tired by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes like a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

In line with its harmless protagonists, the series – a six-part show written by its authors, inspired by Rónán Hession’s quiet story – casts a critical eye toward today's world; peering critically through its spectacles at anything that involves loud sounds, sudden movements or – goodness forbid – an abundance of ambition. The program on the contrary, an ode to introversion; a gentle tribute to people content to pootle around below the parapet. But. The character (one more uniquely quirky turn from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He notices a creeping “need to open the openings within my world … a little.” The recent death of his beloved mother has whisked the rug from under his slippers and this young man, a writer for others, now realizes questioning the decisions which led him to his current situation (alone; defensively moustached; writing a range of educational volumes for a man who signs off messages with the phrase “ciao for now”).

And so Leonard begins an exploration for emotional fulfilment, with the slightly bolder Paul (the actor) acting as his confidante, mentor and ally in a weekly gaming session which acts as symposium (“Does the pool feel warm because kids pee in it, or do children urinate because it’s warm?”) and safe space.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The source of the nickname appears lost to the mists of time. It could be that the postal worker on one occasion consumed some food unusually quickly, or answered to an awkward situation by nervously peeling some food items by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life cartwheels Shelley (the performer), a new energetic associate who cheerily offers to get rid of his terrible supervisor (the character) in a workplace safety exercise. That whooshing sound audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine experiencing a revolution.

Elsewhere during the opening installment of the comedy driven less by plot and more on what a modern audience might call “vibes”, we meet Paul's father (the ever-wonderful the performer), a battered sofa of a man who secretly watches, records then replays television game programs to amaze his adoring wife with his general knowledge.

Leading viewers amidst this gentle kindness is a narrator who closely resembles – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Indeed, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “certainly the inclusion of a major Hollywood star clashes with the show's modest approach and at first acts merely as a diversion?” you would be correct. Still, Roberts does a good job, and lines for example “Leonard’s problem is the missing an expression of discovery” help ensure that early misgivings fade if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. The series' spirit is well-intentioned: which is “resting on a bench alongside similar shows, showing the duck it loves.” The program that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, occasionally looking up into space, at other times looking at its slippers, calmly assured that nothing is in the world as cheering as passing time alongside good friends.

Unlock the entryways within your world, slightly, and allow it entry.