In a peaceful neighborhood of the Irish capital, an individual stands outside his home, sporting a tank top and voicing his concerns. “I feel myself getting quieter. More invisible,” says the protagonist, looking into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and currently I believe unless I take action, I’ll just carry on in this minor, harmless existence.” Paul, his closest confidant, ponders the idea. “Nothing wrong with that,” he responds, his bathrobe moving in the breeze. “Preferable to trying to make a mark only to wind up defacing it.”
For anyone tired by the noise and constant stimulation of modern television landscape, this series arrives similar to a warm cover and a comforting beverage of blackcurrant juice.
Like its harmless protagonists, this comedy – a half-dozen installment program created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by Rónán Hession’s quiet 2019 novel – takes a dim view at modern life; peering disapprovingly through its spectacles on everything that involves loud sounds, quick actions or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. The program on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute for those satisfied to pootle around away from attention. However. Leonard (a further sublimely idiosyncratic portrayal from the star) feels restless. He senses a creeping “need to open the doors and windows within my world … slightly.” The loss of his beloved mother has whisked the rug away from his feet and this young man, an anonymous author, now realizes doubting the decisions which led him to where he is (single; defensively moustached; creating a range of children’s encyclopedias for a boss who concludes messages using the words “see you later”).
And so Leonard begins himself on a quest for emotional fulfilment, alongside his more outgoing Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) functioning as his trusted friend, mentor and ally during their regular game night that serves both as symposium (“Is the water heated because kids pee in it, or do kids pee in it because it’s warm?”) and safe space.
(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The beginning of this name seems forgotten in mystery. It could be that he previously devoured some food very fast, or responded to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening several snacks using his teeth).
Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts Shelley (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent energetic co-worker who cheerily offers to kill the awful manager (the character) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.
In other scenes in the initial show of a series driven less by plot and more on what younger viewers could describe as “vibes”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who secretly watches, records then replays daytime quiz shows to amaze his adoring wife with his general knowledge.
Guiding viewers throughout this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover that is unmistakably – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Yes, the star. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the use of a major Hollywood star contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and starts off as just an interruption?” you would be correct. Nevertheless, the actress performs admirably, and lines like “Leonard's challenge is the missing a look of sudden insight” assist in making sure that first reservations fade if not quite to appreciation, then certainly understanding.
No more criticism for now. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is in the right place: the right place being “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, pointing out its preferred bird.” This is a show that strolls leisurely in comfortable attire, sometimes gazing upward into space, at other times looking toward the ground, calmly assured that there is nothing in life as heartening as being in the company of close companions.
Open the doors and windows in your existence, a little, and allow it entry.
