🔗 Share this article

In a peaceful area of the Irish capital, a person can be found on the pavement, dressed in a tank top and sharing his thoughts. “I notice I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” says Leonard, staring up at the night sky. “One thing’s led to another and now I believe without a change, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, his only confidant, considers the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he answers, his bathrobe moving with the wind. “Better than striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”

For viewers weary by the noise and rat-tat-tat of modern television terrain, this series steps in as a foil blanket and warming mug of a sweet cordial.

Like its harmless protagonists, this comedy – a half-dozen installment program written by the writing duo, adapted from the author’s quiet book – takes a dim view at modern life; peering critically over its prematurely middle-aged glasses on everything that involves disturbances, quick actions or – perish the thought – too much drive. This show on the contrary, a celebration of shyness; a subtle homage to people happy to wander away from attention. However. He (one more sublimely idiosyncratic portrayal by the actor) feels restless. He feels a creeping “desire to unlock the doors and windows within my world … a little.” The loss of his parent has yanked the floor from under his slippers and this young man, a ghost writer, now feels reconsidering the paths that directed him to this point (alone; with a protective mustache; writing several children’s encyclopedias for a man who signs off messages saying “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard begins on a journey for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (the actor) serving as his confidante, life coach and ally during their regular gaming session that serves both as symposium (“Is the pool warm from kids relieving themselves, or do kids pee in it because it’s warm?”) and safe space.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? The reason is unknown. The origin of the moniker seems forgotten in mystery. It could be that the postal worker previously devoured a sandwich very fast, or reacted to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence cartwheels a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent energetic colleague who happily suggests to kill his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. That whooshing sound audible is Leonard’s gentle world experiencing a revolution.

In other scenes in the initial show of a series driven less by plot and more on what a modern audience may refer to as “mood”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the consistently great the actor), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, saves and reviews television game programs to dazzle his adoring wife with his general knowledge.

Shepherding us amidst this minor-key niceness we hear a narrator that is unmistakably – and actually is – Julia Roberts. Indeed, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the inclusion of a big-name celebrity contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as an interruption?” that's accurate. Nevertheless, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue such as “The issue with Leonard is that he lacks an expression of discovery” contribute to ensuring that early misgivings fade if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. The show's core is well-intentioned: that place is “resting on a bench in the company of gentle comedies, showing its favourite duck.” This is a show that moves gently in comfortable attire, at times staring toward the sky, sometimes downward toward the ground, calmly assured that there is nothing in the world as heartening as spending time alongside close companions.

Throw open the portals within your world, slightly, and allow it entry.