🔗 Share this article

In a quiet area of the city, a man can be found on the pavement, sporting a vest and expressing his feelings. “I feel myself getting quieter. More invisible,” remarks Leonard, looking toward the stars. “Circumstances have evolved and currently it seems unless I take action, I will continue in this simple, peaceful routine.” Hungry Paul, Leonard’s best confidant, considers these words. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his robe swaying in the breeze. “Preferable to trying to make a mark and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone weary by the noise and rat-tat-tat of current streaming landscape, this series steps in as a cozy wrap with a hot drink of blackcurrant juice.

In line with its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part comedy developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by the author’s understated 2019 novel – casts a critical eye at modern life; looking disapprovingly through its prematurely middle-aged glasses at anything related to loud sounds, abrupt changes or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. The series on the contrary, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration of those happy to pootle around below the parapet. However. The character (another distinctly original performance by the actor) is unsettled. He notices a creeping “urge to throw open the entryways in my existence … just a bit.” The passing of his parent has yanked the floor from under his slippers and this young man, a writer for others, now feels reconsidering the choices that have brought him to his current situation (single; with a protective mustache; creating a range of educational volumes for a boss who ends correspondence with the phrase “ciao for now”).

Therefore Leonard starts on a journey for personal satisfaction, alongside his more outgoing Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his close companion, life coach and ally in a recurring board games evening that serves both as debate (“Is the water heated because kids pee in it, or is it that kids pee since it's warm?”) and sanctuary.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? It's unclear. The beginning of the nickname appears lost in history. Perhaps he once ate a sandwich unusually quickly, or reacted to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling some food items by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life bursts Shelley (the performer), a recent lively colleague who happily suggests to get rid of his terrible supervisor (the actor) in a workplace safety exercise. That whooshing sound audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

In other scenes in the initial show of a series driven less by plot and more by what the under-30s could describe as “atmosphere”, we meet Hungry Paul’s dad (the brilliant Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, saves and reviews daytime quiz shows to impress his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Shepherding us throughout this minor-key niceness we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and actually is – the famous actress. Yes, the star. If you are thinking, “certainly the inclusion of a major Hollywood star clashes with the show's modest approach and initially serves only as a diversion?” you would be correct. Still, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue such as “The issue with Leonard is the missing an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that early misgivings give way though not complete approval, then at least acceptance.

Enough complaining currently. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: that place is “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, indicating its favourite duck.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up into space, at other times looking at its feet, calmly assured that there is nothing on Earth as heartening as spending time in the company of close companions.

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