🔗 Share this article

In a quiet area of Dublin, a person can be found outside his home, dressed in a tank top and voicing his feelings. “I notice I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” remarks Leonard, staring into the darkness. “Events have unfolded and currently I feel like unless I take action, my life will proceed in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, his only and only friend, reflects on these words. “Nothing wrong with that,” he answers, his robe moving in the breeze. “Better than trying to make a mark and causing harm instead.”

For anyone tired by the noise and fast pace of today’s TV landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul arrives like a warm cover with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its harmless protagonists, this comedy – a six-part comedy created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, based on the novelist’s understated 2019 novel – looks disapprovingly on contemporary society; looking skeptically above its eyewear on everything in the way of unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – heaven forfend – too much drive. The program rather, a celebration of shyness; a gentle tribute of those content to amble along below the parapet. However. The character (a further distinctly original turn from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He notices a growing “need to open the entryways in my existence … just a bit.” The recent death of his parent has whisked the rug away from his feet and this young man, a ghost writer, now realizes questioning the paths which led him to his current situation (unattached; defensively moustached; writing multiple kids' reference books for a boss who ends emails saying “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard starts an exploration to find happiness, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (the performer) serving as his close companion, guide and partner in a weekly game night that serves both as debate (“Is the pool warm because kids pee in it, or do kids pee in it since it's warm?”) and safe space.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? No idea. The beginning of this name seems forgotten in mystery. It could be that the postal worker previously devoured some food very fast, or answered to a tense moment by nervously peeling four scotch eggs with his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world cartwheels a new colleague (the performer), a recent energetic colleague who cheerily offers to kill his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. That whooshing sound audible represents Leonard's calm life experiencing a revolution.

Elsewhere in the initial show of the comedy focused less on story and centered around what the under-30s might call “mood”, we are introduced to the older generation (the ever-wonderful the actor), a battered sofa of a man who secretly watches, saves and reviews trivia competitions to dazzle his devoted partner with his general knowledge.

Guiding the audience amidst this subtle warmth is a narrator that is unmistakably – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Indeed, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “certainly the inclusion of such a famous actor clashes with the show's modest approach and initially serves only as an interruption?” you would be correct. Nevertheless, Roberts does a good job, and phrases like “Leonard's challenge is that he lacks an expression of discovery” help ensure that first reservations yield if not full admiration, then at least acceptance.

No more criticism currently. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is in the right place: that place is “resting on a bench alongside similar shows, pointing out its favourite duck.” The program that strolls leisurely in its sleeveless jumper, sometimes gazing upward at the stars, occasionally down at its feet, calmly assured that nothing is in life as cheering as passing time in the company of dear pals.

Unlock the entryways of your life, a little, and allow it entry.