🔗 Share this article

In a quiet neighborhood of the city, a person can be found in his driveway, wearing a sleeveless jumper and expressing his concerns. “It seems like my voice is fading. Less noticeable,” states the protagonist, gazing into the darkness. “Circumstances have evolved and currently it seems unless I take action, I’ll just carry on in this simple, peaceful routine.” Hungry Paul, his closest and only friend, reflects on the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he replies, his dressing gown swaying in the breeze. “Superior to attempting to leave an impact and ending up damaging things.”

For those exhausted by the noise and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes similar to a warm cover and warming mug of Ribena.

Like its gentle leads, this comedy – a six-episode comedy written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from Rónán Hession’s subtle story – takes a dim view on contemporary society; looking disapprovingly above its spectacles toward anything related to loud sounds, quick actions or – heaven forfend – too much drive. The program on the contrary, an ode to introversion; a quiet celebration to people happy to wander below the parapet. However. He (one more uniquely quirky performance from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He feels a growing “desire to unlock the openings of my life … just a bit.” The passing of his beloved mother has whisked the rug from under his slippers and Leonard, a writer for others, now finds himself questioning the paths which led him to his current situation (alone; sporting facial hair; working on a range of educational volumes for a boss who concludes correspondence saying “goodbye for now”).

Thus Leonard starts on a journey to find happiness, accompanied by the somewhat braver Hungry Paul (the performer) functioning as his close companion, guide and co-conspirator in a recurring gaming session which acts as symposium (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it because it’s warm?”) and safe space.

(How did Paul get his nickname? No idea. The origin of the nickname is shrouded to the mists of time. Perhaps the postal worker on one occasion consumed some food very fast, or reacted to a socially fraught incident by nervously peeling several snacks by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life comes a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent energetic colleague who happily suggests to kill the awful manager (the character) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise noticeable represents Leonard's calm life undergoing a shake-up.

In another part during the opening installment of a series focused less on story and more by what a modern audience might call “vibes”, we are introduced to the older generation (the consistently great the actor), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, records then replays daytime quiz shows to impress his devoted partner with his general knowledge.

Leading us throughout this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover that is unmistakably – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, Julia Roberts. In case you're considering, “certainly the presence of a major Hollywood star is at odds with the program's low-key style and initially serves only as a diversion?” you would be correct. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines like “Leonard's challenge is his absence of a look of sudden insight” help ensure that early misgivings fade though not complete approval, then certainly understanding.

No more criticism currently. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is in the right place: that place is “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, indicating its favourite duck.” It’s a series that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, sometimes gazing upward toward the sky, at other times looking at its feet, calmly assured that no experience is in the world as cheering as passing time in the company of close companions.

Open the doors and windows in your existence, a little, and welcome it inside.