In a calm area of the city, an individual stands in his driveway, sporting a sleeveless jumper and voicing his feelings. “I feel myself getting quieter. More invisible,” remarks the protagonist, looking toward the stars. “Circumstances have evolved and currently I believe if I don’t do something, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” Hungry Paul, his closest companion, reflects on this statement. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his robe moving with the wind. “Superior to attempting to leave an impact only to wind up defacing it.”
For viewers tired by the noise and constant stimulation of modern television offerings, the show arrives as a foil blanket and warming mug of a sweet cordial.
In line with its quiet characters, this comedy – a six-part show developed by its authors, inspired by Rónán Hession’s subtle 2019 novel – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; peering skeptically above its eyewear on everything in the way of unnecessary noise, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. The program on the contrary, a celebration of shyness; a gentle tribute for those content to pootle around below the parapet. And yet. Leonard (one more sublimely idiosyncratic turn from the star) is uneasy. He senses a growing “need to open the entryways within my world … just a bit.” The loss of his mother has pulled the carpet from under his slippers and the 32-year-old, an anonymous author, now finds himself doubting the choices that directed him to this point (alone; with a protective mustache; writing multiple children’s encyclopedias for a man who concludes messages using the words “goodbye for now”).
Therefore Leonard begins on a journey for personal satisfaction, accompanied by the somewhat braver Paul (Laurie Kynaston) functioning as his close companion, mentor and partner in a weekly gaming session which acts as debate (“Is the pool warm from kids relieving themselves, or do children urinate because it’s warm?”) and refuge.
(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? The reason is unknown. The source of the moniker appears lost in history. Maybe he previously devoured a sandwich in record time, or answered to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling several snacks with his teeth).
Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts a new colleague (the actress), a fresh lively co-worker who cheerily offers to eliminate his terrible supervisor (the character) during the office fire drill. The swift movement you can hear signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.
In another part in the initial show of a series driven less by plot and centered around what the under-30s could describe as “mood”, we meet Paul's father (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who secretly watches, tapes and rewatches daytime quiz shows to amaze his devoted partner through his fact recall.
Shepherding viewers through all this subtle warmth is a narrator who closely resembles – and, indeed, very much is – Julia Roberts. Truly, the star. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the use of such a famous actor is at odds with the series’ unshowy MO and starts off as just an interruption?” you would be correct. Still, Roberts does a good job, and lines such as “Leonard’s problem is the missing a look of sudden insight” help ensure that initial doubts fade if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.
No more criticism at this time. The show's core is in the right place: which is “sitting on a park bench in the company of gentle comedies, pointing out its preferred bird.” It’s a series that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring into space, sometimes downward at its feet, quietly confident that no experience is on Earth as heartening as spending time with good friends.
Throw open the portals in your existence, just a bit, and welcome it inside.
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