🔗 Share this article

In a calm suburb of the Irish capital, a man is standing in his driveway, wearing a sleeveless jumper and expressing his feelings. “I notice myself getting quieter. More invisible,” remarks the protagonist, gazing into the darkness. “Circumstances have evolved and currently it seems without a change, I will continue in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Hungry Paul, his only companion, reflects on this statement. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his robe flapping in the breeze. “Preferable to attempting to leave an impact and ending up damaging things.”

For viewers exhausted by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of modern television landscape, this series comes like a foil blanket and warming mug of Ribena.

In line with its harmless protagonists, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-episode program written by its authors, based on the novelist’s subtle book – looks disapprovingly at modern life; gazing critically through its spectacles on everything in the way of disturbances, sudden movements or – perish the thought – excessive aspiration. This show on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a quiet celebration to people content to amble along away from attention. However. The character (another sublimely idiosyncratic performance from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He notices a growing “urge to throw open the doors and windows in my existence … a little.” The loss of his parent has pulled the carpet out from under him and this young man, an anonymous author, now feels doubting the paths that directed him to his current situation (unattached; sporting facial hair; writing a range of kids' reference books for a man who ends messages saying “goodbye for now”).

Thus Leonard begins on a journey to find happiness, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (the performer) serving as his confidante, life coach and partner in a recurring gaming session that serves both as debate (“Is the water heated from kids relieving themselves, or is it that kids pee since it's warm?”) and safe space.

(How did Paul get his nickname? The reason is unknown. The beginning of the moniker appears lost to the mists of time. Perhaps he on one occasion consumed a sandwich in record time, or responded to a tense moment by panic-peeling some food items by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world bursts a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a new spring-loaded associate who happily suggests to eliminate Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. The rushing noise you can hear is Leonard’s gentle world being turned upside down.

In another part during the opening installment of the comedy focused less on story and centered around what the under-30s might call “mood”, we meet Hungry Paul’s dad (the brilliant the performer), a battered sofa of a man who secretly watches, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to impress his devoted partner using his trivia skills.

Shepherding viewers amidst this minor-key niceness we hear a narrator who closely resembles – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “certainly the inclusion of a big-name celebrity is at odds with the program's low-key style and initially serves only as a distraction?” that's accurate. Nevertheless, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue for example “Leonard’s problem is that he lacks a look of sudden insight” assist in making sure that early misgivings yield if not full admiration, then at least acceptance.

Enough complaining for now. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: that place is “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, pointing out its favourite duck.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely in comfortable attire, occasionally looking up at the stars, sometimes downward at its feet, calmly assured that nothing is in life as heartening as being with dear pals.

Throw open the portals within your world, a little, and welcome it inside.