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In a peaceful suburb of Dublin, a person stands outside his home, wearing a sleeveless jumper and sharing his thoughts. “I feel I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” states the main character, staring into the darkness. “Circumstances have evolved and currently I feel like unless I take action, my life will proceed in this minor, harmless existence.” Paul, his closest confidant, ponders the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his bathrobe swaying in the breeze. “Better than trying to make a mark only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone weary by the chaos and constant stimulation of current streaming landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes as a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its gentle leads, this comedy – a six-part show developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, based on Rónán Hession’s understated story – casts a critical eye at modern life; looking disapprovingly above its spectacles toward anything that involves disturbances, sudden movements or – goodness forbid – excessive aspiration. The series is, instead, an ode to introversion; a gentle tribute to people happy to pootle around away from attention. But. Leonard (one more uniquely quirky performance by the actor) is unsettled. He senses a growing “desire to unlock the entryways in my existence … just a bit.” The loss of his beloved mother has whisked the rug out from under him and this young man, a writer for others, now finds himself questioning the paths that directed him to this point (alone; sporting facial hair; creating a range of kids' reference books for an employer who concludes messages using the words “see you later”).

Therefore Leonard begins on a journey for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder Paul (the performer) functioning as his confidante, life coach and ally in a weekly game night functioning as both debate (“Is the pool warm because kids pee in it, or do children urinate as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? It's unclear. The origin of the nickname is shrouded in history. It could be that the postal worker once ate a snack very fast, or answered to a tense moment by hastily opening several snacks using his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world bursts a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a fresh energetic colleague who lightheartedly proposes to kill his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. The swift movement you can hear is Leonard’s gentle world experiencing a revolution.

In another part in the first episode of the comedy driven less by plot and centered around what younger viewers might call “mood”, we meet Paul's father (the consistently great Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who covertly observes, saves and reviews trivia competitions to dazzle his devoted partner through his fact recall.

Guiding us throughout this subtle warmth there is a voiceover that is unmistakably – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Yes, the celebrity. In case you're considering, “undoubtedly the inclusion of a big-name celebrity contradicts the program's low-key style and initially serves only as a diversion?” that's accurate. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and phrases like “Leonard’s problem is his absence of a look of sudden insight” assist in making sure that first reservations yield if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.

No more criticism currently. The show's core is well-intentioned: that place is “located on a seat alongside similar shows, indicating its preferred bird.” It’s a series that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up into space, at other times looking toward the ground, calmly assured that nothing is in the world as uplifting as being with dear pals.

Unlock the entryways within your world, just a bit, and let it in.