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In a peaceful suburb of Dublin, a person stands outside his home, sporting a sleeveless jumper and sharing his feelings. “I notice myself getting quieter. More invisible,” states the main character, looking up at the night sky. “Circumstances have evolved and at this point I feel like without a change, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, Leonard’s best companion, considers these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his robe flapping gently. “Better than attempting to leave an impact and ending up damaging things.”

For those weary by the bluster and constant stimulation of current streaming terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes similar to a warm cover and warming mug of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its quiet characters, this comedy – a six-episode comedy developed by its authors, inspired by Rónán Hession’s understated story – takes a dim view on contemporary society; gazing disapprovingly through its eyewear toward anything related to disturbances, sudden movements or – perish the thought – excessive aspiration. This show rather, a tribute to quiet people; a subtle homage of those content to amble along away from attention. And yet. Leonard (a further distinctly original turn from the star) is uneasy. He feels a creeping “desire to unlock the entryways within my world … just a bit.” The passing of his parent has yanked the floor out from under him and the 32-year-old, an anonymous author, now realizes questioning the paths that have brought him to this point (unattached; with a protective mustache; writing several kids' reference books for an employer who signs off emails using the words “goodbye for now”).

Therefore Leonard launches himself on a quest to find happiness, with the slightly bolder Paul (the performer) serving as his close companion, mentor and co-conspirator in a recurring game night that serves both as symposium (“Is the pool warm from kids relieving themselves, or do children urinate because it’s warm?”) and sanctuary.

(How did Paul get his nickname? No idea. The origin of this name appears lost in history. Perhaps the postal worker previously devoured a sandwich very fast, or reacted to an awkward situation by hastily opening some food items with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence cartwheels Shelley (the actress), a new energetic colleague who cheerily offers to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound you can hear signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

Elsewhere in the initial show of this program driven less by plot and more by what a modern audience may refer to as “atmosphere”, we meet Paul's father (the consistently great Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who secretly watches, saves and reviews television game programs to dazzle his loving spouse through his fact recall.

Shepherding viewers throughout this gentle kindness we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the star. Should you wonder, “surely the presence of a major Hollywood star clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and starts off as just a diversion?” that's accurate. Nevertheless, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue such as “The issue with Leonard is his absence of an expression of discovery” help ensure that early misgivings fade if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.

No more criticism at this time. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: that place is “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, showing the duck it loves.” The program that moves gently wearing its simple clothes, at times staring at the stars, at other times looking at its slippers, serenely certain that there is nothing in the world as heartening as spending time alongside good friends.

Unlock the entryways of your life, slightly, and welcome it inside.