🔗 Share this article

In a peaceful area of the city, an individual is standing on the pavement, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and sharing his feelings. “I notice my voice is fading. Less noticeable,” states Leonard, looking toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and now I feel like unless I take action, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” Paul, Leonard’s best and only friend, considers the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his robe moving in the breeze. “Superior to trying to make a mark and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone weary by the noise and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV offerings, the show comes similar to a foil blanket and a comforting beverage of Ribena.

In line with its harmless protagonists, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part comedy developed by the writing duo, inspired by Rónán Hession’s quiet book – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; looking skeptically through its eyewear at anything that involves disturbances, quick actions or – goodness forbid – too much drive. This show is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a subtle homage for those satisfied to pootle around away from attention. But. The character (one more uniquely quirky portrayal by the actor) feels restless. He notices a growing “urge to throw open the doors and windows in my existence … slightly.” The recent death of his beloved mother has whisked the rug from under his slippers and the 32-year-old, a ghost writer, now finds himself doubting the paths that directed him to his current situation (unattached; sporting facial hair; writing a range of educational volumes for an employer who concludes correspondence saying “see you later”).

And so Leonard starts an exploration for emotional fulfilment, with the slightly bolder Paul (the performer) acting as his trusted friend, life coach and ally in a recurring gaming session that serves both as symposium (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do children urinate as it's heated?”) and safe space.

(How did Paul get his nickname? The reason is unknown. The origin of the nickname is shrouded in history. Maybe the postal worker on one occasion consumed a sandwich very fast, or answered to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling some food items by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life bursts a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent spring-loaded associate who lightheartedly proposes to eliminate his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. That whooshing sound audible is Leonard’s gentle world being turned upside down.

Elsewhere during the opening installment of the comedy not heavily plotted and more by what younger viewers could describe as “atmosphere”, we are introduced to Hungry Paul’s dad (the consistently great Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who secretly watches, records then replays daytime quiz shows to dazzle his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Shepherding us amidst this subtle warmth we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “certainly the inclusion of a major Hollywood star is at odds with the show's modest approach and at first acts merely as an interruption?” you would be correct. Still, the actress performs admirably, and phrases like “The issue with Leonard is that he lacks a ‘eureka’ face” assist in making sure that initial doubts give way if not quite to appreciation, then at least acceptance.

No more criticism at this time. The series' spirit has good intentions: which is “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, indicating its preferred bird.” This is a show that moves gently in its sleeveless jumper, occasionally looking up into space, occasionally down at its slippers, calmly assured that there is nothing in the world as cheering as passing time with good friends.

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