🔗 Share this article

In a calm area of the city, an individual stands in his driveway, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and voicing his thoughts. “I notice myself getting quieter. More invisible,” remarks the protagonist, looking into the darkness. “Events have unfolded and at this point I believe if I don’t do something, I will continue in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Hungry Paul, his closest and only friend, reflects on these words. “Nothing wrong with that,” he answers, his robe swaying with the wind. “Better than trying to make a mark and ending up damaging things.”

For those tired by the noise and fast pace of current streaming terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in like a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its quiet characters, the series – a half-dozen installment program developed by its authors, inspired by the novelist’s quiet 2019 novel – takes a dim view on contemporary society; looking critically over its prematurely middle-aged glasses toward anything that involves disturbances, sudden movements or – heaven forfend – too much drive. This show on the contrary, an ode to introversion; a subtle homage of those satisfied to amble along out of the spotlight. And yet. He (a further distinctly original portrayal from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He notices an increasing “need to open the doors and windows in my existence … a little.” The passing of his parent has pulled the carpet out from under him and this young man, an anonymous author, now realizes doubting the choices that have brought him to where he is (alone; defensively moustached; creating a range of educational volumes for a man who signs off emails saying “see you later”).

Therefore Leonard launches himself on a quest to find happiness, alongside his more outgoing friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) functioning as his confidante, mentor and co-conspirator during their regular board games evening which acts as debate (“Does the pool feel warm from kids relieving themselves, or do children urinate since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The source of the moniker seems forgotten to the mists of time. Perhaps Paul previously devoured some food in record time, or answered to an awkward situation by hastily opening several snacks using his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world cartwheels Shelley (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent spring-loaded co-worker who happily suggests to eliminate Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. That whooshing sound noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine experiencing a revolution.

In other scenes in the initial show of this program focused less on story and centered around what younger viewers could describe as “vibes”, we meet Hungry Paul’s dad (the consistently great Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who secretly watches, records then replays daytime quiz shows to dazzle his loving spouse through his fact recall.

Leading viewers through all this minor-key niceness we hear a narrator who closely resembles – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the star. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the inclusion of a big-name celebrity is at odds with the show's modest approach and initially serves only as an interruption?” you're right. Nevertheless, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines for example “Leonard’s problem is that he lacks a ‘eureka’ face” assist in making sure that first reservations yield if not quite to appreciation, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. The show's core is well-intentioned: the right place being “sitting on a park bench in the company of gentle comedies, showing its favourite duck.” This is a show that moves gently wearing its simple clothes, sometimes gazing upward into space, sometimes downward at its slippers, serenely certain that no experience is on Earth as cheering as passing time in the company of dear pals.

Open the doors and windows within your world, slightly, and welcome it inside.