In a calm neighborhood of the city, a man can be found in his driveway, sporting a tank top and expressing his concerns. “I notice myself getting quieter. More invisible,” remarks the main character, gazing toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and at this point it seems if I don’t do something, I’ll just carry on in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his only and only friend, ponders this statement. “There's no harm in that,” he replies, his robe swaying with the wind. “Superior to striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”
For viewers tired by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of current streaming offerings, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in like a cozy wrap with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.
Like its gentle leads, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a half-dozen installment comedy created by the writing duo, inspired by the author’s understated 2019 novel – takes a dim view toward today's world; peering critically over its eyewear at anything related to unnecessary noise, abrupt changes or – heaven forfend – too much drive. The program on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a subtle homage for those content to amble along below the parapet. However. The character (another sublimely idiosyncratic turn from Alex Lawther) is uneasy. He senses an increasing “desire to unlock the openings in my existence … just a bit.” The passing of his parent has whisked the rug from under his slippers and this young man, an anonymous author, now realizes doubting the choices that directed him to his current situation (single; defensively moustached; working on several educational volumes for a boss who signs off emails with the phrase “goodbye for now”).
And so Leonard begins himself on a quest for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder Paul (the performer) acting as his close companion, guide and partner during their regular board games evening which acts as symposium (“Does the pool feel warm due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it because it’s warm?”) and sanctuary.
(How did Paul get his nickname? The reason is unknown. The source of the nickname seems forgotten in mystery. Perhaps Paul on one occasion consumed a snack very fast, or responded to a socially fraught incident by nervously peeling several snacks with his teeth).
Entering Leonard's quiet life comes Shelley (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent lively co-worker who happily suggests to get rid of the awful manager (the actor) during the office fire drill. The swift movement noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.
In other scenes in the first episode of the comedy focused less on story and more by what the under-30s might call “atmosphere”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the brilliant the actor), a tired character who covertly observes, saves and reviews television game programs to impress his loving spouse through his fact recall.
Leading us throughout this minor-key niceness is a narrator that is unmistakably – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, Julia Roberts. In case you're considering, “undoubtedly the presence of a big-name celebrity clashes with the program's low-key style and starts off as just an interruption?” you're right. However, Roberts does a good job, and dialogue like “The issue with Leonard is his absence of an expression of discovery” help ensure that early misgivings give way if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.
But that’s enough grumbling at this time. The show's core is in the right place: which is “sitting on a park bench alongside similar shows, showing the duck it loves.” It’s a series that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, sometimes gazing upward toward the sky, occasionally down at its slippers, calmly assured that no experience is in the world as uplifting as passing time in the company of close companions.
Unlock the entryways within your world, just a bit, and welcome it inside.
Lena is a tech enthusiast and business strategist with a passion for digital innovation and entrepreneurship.