Leonard & Hungry Paul Review: A Calming Comedy Featuring the Voice of Julia Roberts Offers an Ideal Antidote to Modern Life

In a quiet suburb of the Irish capital, a person is standing in his driveway, dressed in a vest and voicing his thoughts. “I feel I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” remarks Leonard, gazing up at the night sky. “Events have unfolded and at this point I believe unless I take action, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” His friend Paul, his closest and only friend, considers the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he replies, his bathrobe swaying in the breeze. “Superior to attempting to leave an impact and ending up damaging things.”

For viewers weary by the noise and rat-tat-tat of modern television terrain, the show steps in like a foil blanket and warming mug of Ribena.

Similar to its gentle leads, this comedy – a six-part program written by the writing duo, inspired by the author’s quiet story – takes a dim view toward today's world; gazing skeptically through its spectacles on everything related to unnecessary noise, quick actions or – perish the thought – excessive aspiration. The series rather, a tribute to quiet people; a subtle homage for those happy to wander away from attention. However. The character (another distinctly original turn from Alex Lawther) is uneasy. He senses a growing “desire to unlock the openings in my existence … just a bit.” The loss of his parent has pulled the carpet from under his slippers and the 32-year-old, a ghost writer, now feels doubting the decisions that have brought him to his current situation (alone; sporting facial hair; working on multiple kids' reference books for a boss who concludes messages saying “see you later”).

Thus Leonard starts himself on a quest for personal satisfaction, alongside his more outgoing friend Paul (the performer) functioning as his close companion, life coach and co-conspirator in a recurring board games evening which acts as discussion (“Is the pool warm because kids pee in it, or do kids pee in it as it's heated?”) and sanctuary.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The origin of this name appears lost in mystery. Maybe Paul on one occasion consumed a sandwich unusually quickly, or answered to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening some food items using his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts a new colleague (the actress), a new energetic associate who cheerily offers to kill his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. That whooshing sound you can hear signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

In another part in the first episode of the comedy driven less by plot and more by what a modern audience could describe as “atmosphere”, we meet Hungry Paul’s dad (the consistently great Lorcan Cranitch), a worn-out individual who covertly observes, tapes and rewatches daytime quiz shows to amaze his loving spouse using his trivia skills.

Leading viewers amidst this gentle kindness we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Yes, Julia Roberts. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the presence of a major Hollywood star is at odds with the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as a distraction?” you're right. Still, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue such as “The issue with Leonard is the missing a ‘eureka’ face” contribute to ensuring that initial doubts fade if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining at this time. The show's core has good intentions: the right place being “resting on a bench in the company of gentle comedies, pointing out its preferred bird.” The program that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, sometimes gazing upward at the stars, occasionally down at its feet, quietly confident that there is nothing on Earth as heartening as spending time alongside good friends.

Unlock the entryways of your life, just a bit, and let it in.

Christie Lutz
Christie Lutz

Automotive journalist with over a decade of experience covering luxury vehicles and industry innovations.