In a quiet suburb of Dublin, a person can be found in his driveway, dressed in a tank top and sharing his feelings. “I feel my voice is fading. More invisible,” says Leonard, gazing into the darkness. “Circumstances have evolved and now it seems if I don’t do something, I will continue in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, Leonard’s best confidant, ponders these words. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his bathrobe moving in the breeze. “Preferable to trying to make a mark and ending up damaging things.”
For those tired by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of current streaming terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes like a foil blanket and a comforting beverage of blackcurrant juice.
Like its gentle leads, the series – a half-dozen installment show written by its authors, adapted from the author’s quiet story – takes a dim view at modern life; peering skeptically over its prematurely middle-aged glasses toward anything that involves loud sounds, quick actions or – heaven forfend – too much drive. The series rather, an ode to introversion; a quiet celebration to people satisfied to amble along away from attention. But. Leonard (a further sublimely idiosyncratic portrayal from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He notices an increasing “urge to throw open the entryways of my life … slightly.” The passing of his beloved mother has pulled the carpet out from under him and Leonard, an anonymous author, now realizes reconsidering the decisions which led him to where he is (unattached; defensively moustached; creating multiple kids' reference books for an employer who concludes correspondence using the words “see you later”).
Therefore Leonard launches on a journey for personal satisfaction, alongside his more outgoing Paul (the performer) functioning as his trusted friend, life coach and co-conspirator during their regular gaming session functioning as both debate (“Is the water heated due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee since it's warm?”) and safe space.
(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? It's unclear. The beginning of the nickname is shrouded in history. Perhaps he on one occasion consumed some food very fast, or responded to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling some food items with his teeth).
Arriving in Leonard's calm existence comes a new colleague (the performer), a recent energetic associate who lightheartedly proposes to kill the awful manager (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound audible is Leonard’s gentle world experiencing a revolution.
In other scenes during the opening installment of a series driven less by plot and centered around what the under-30s could describe as “vibes”, we are introduced to Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who covertly observes, tapes and rewatches daytime quiz shows to dazzle his loving spouse through his fact recall.
Leading the audience amidst this gentle kindness there is a voiceover that is unmistakably – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Yes, the star. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the presence of a major Hollywood star is at odds with the series’ unshowy MO and at first acts merely as an interruption?” you would be correct. However, the actress performs admirably, and dialogue for example “Leonard’s problem is that he lacks a look of sudden insight” contribute to ensuring that early misgivings give way if not quite to appreciation, then at least acceptance.
Enough complaining at this time. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is in the right place: which is “located on a seat alongside similar shows, showing the duck it loves.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely in comfortable attire, occasionally looking up toward the sky, sometimes downward at its slippers, serenely certain that no experience is in the world as cheering as being alongside good friends.
Throw open the portals in your existence, slightly, and welcome it inside.