🔗 Share this article

In a calm suburb of the city, an individual stands in his driveway, wearing a tank top and voicing his feelings. “I feel I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” says the main character, staring toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and at this point I feel like without a change, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” Hungry Paul, Leonard’s best and only friend, considers this statement. “Nothing wrong with that,” he replies, his robe moving with the wind. “Better than striving for recognition only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone exhausted by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of modern television landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul arrives similar to a foil blanket and a comforting beverage of blackcurrant juice.

Like its harmless protagonists, this comedy – a half-dozen installment show written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by the novelist’s quiet story – casts a critical eye toward today's world; looking critically over its eyewear at anything related to loud sounds, sudden movements or – perish the thought – too much drive. The series rather, a celebration of shyness; a gentle tribute of those content to wander below the parapet. And yet. Leonard (one more uniquely quirky portrayal from the star) feels restless. He feels a growing “desire to unlock the doors and windows of my life … a little.” The passing of his mother has yanked the floor from under his slippers and Leonard, an anonymous author, now realizes doubting the decisions which led him to where he is (unattached; with a protective mustache; writing several kids' reference books for an employer who ends emails with the phrase “ciao for now”).

And so Leonard begins on a journey for emotional fulfilment, alongside his more outgoing Hungry Paul (the performer) acting as his confidante, life coach and partner in a weekly game night functioning as both debate (“Does the pool feel warm from kids relieving themselves, or is it that kids pee because it’s warm?”) and refuge.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? No idea. The source of the nickname is shrouded in mystery. Perhaps the postal worker once ate some food very fast, or responded to a socially fraught incident by nervously peeling four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence comes a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent lively colleague who happily suggests to kill Leonard’s appalling boss (the character) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine experiencing a revolution.

Elsewhere during the opening installment of a series driven less by plot and centered around what younger viewers could describe as “mood”, we meet Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who secretly watches, saves and reviews television game programs to amaze his adoring wife with his general knowledge.

Shepherding viewers amidst this gentle kindness we hear a narrator that is unmistakably – and truly is – Julia Roberts. Truly, the star. In case you're considering, “surely the presence of a big-name celebrity is at odds with the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as an interruption?” you would be correct. However, Roberts does a good job, and lines such as “Leonard’s problem is the missing a look of sudden insight” assist in making sure that initial doubts fade if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining currently. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is in the right place: that place is “resting on a bench in the company of gentle comedies, pointing out the duck it loves.” The program that strolls leisurely wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up into space, sometimes downward toward the ground, serenely certain that nothing is on Earth as uplifting as passing time in the company of good friends.

Throw open the portals in your existence, slightly, and let it in.