In a quiet neighborhood of Dublin, a person can be found in his driveway, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and voicing his concerns. “I notice I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” remarks the protagonist, looking toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and at this point I feel like if I don’t do something, my life will proceed in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, his only confidant, considers the idea. “Nothing wrong with that,” he replies, his bathrobe swaying gently. “Preferable to attempting to leave an impact only to wind up defacing it.”
For viewers exhausted by the chaos and fast pace of current streaming offerings, the show arrives as a foil blanket and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.
Similar to its gentle leads, this comedy – a six-part show created by the writing duo, adapted from the novelist’s subtle story – looks disapprovingly on contemporary society; peering disapprovingly through its eyewear at anything that involves loud sounds, quick actions or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. This show rather, a tribute to quiet people; a quiet celebration to people content to amble along below the parapet. And yet. Leonard (a further sublimely idiosyncratic turn by the actor) feels restless. He feels an increasing “urge to throw open the entryways within my world … just a bit.” The loss of his parent has pulled the carpet from under his slippers and this young man, a writer for others, now finds himself reconsidering the paths that directed him to this point (single; sporting facial hair; writing several children’s encyclopedias for a boss who signs off messages with the phrase “ciao for now”).
Therefore Leonard begins himself on a quest for emotional fulfilment, alongside his more outgoing Paul (the performer) serving as his trusted friend, life coach and ally in a weekly game night which acts as symposium (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it as it's heated?”) and safe space.
(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The source of the moniker seems forgotten in mystery. Maybe he once ate a snack unusually quickly, or responded to an awkward situation by hastily opening some food items by biting into them).
Arriving in Leonard's calm existence cartwheels Shelley (the actress), a recent spring-loaded co-worker who happily suggests to kill Leonard’s appalling boss (the actor) during the office fire drill. The rushing noise audible is Leonard’s gentle world experiencing a revolution.
Elsewhere during the opening installment of this program not heavily plotted and more by what a modern audience may refer to as “mood”, we are introduced to the older generation (the brilliant Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who secretly watches, records then replays television game programs to impress his devoted partner with his general knowledge.
Guiding viewers through all this subtle warmth we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, Julia Roberts. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the use of such a famous actor contradicts the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as a distraction?” that's accurate. Nevertheless, Roberts does a good job, and lines like “Leonard’s problem is that he lacks a ‘eureka’ face” contribute to ensuring that early misgivings give way if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.
But that’s enough grumbling currently. The series' spirit is well-intentioned: which is “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, showing its favourite duck.” It’s a series that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, sometimes gazing upward toward the sky, at other times looking at its slippers, calmly assured that no experience is on Earth as cheering as passing time with close companions.
Open the doors and windows of your life, a little, and welcome it inside.
