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In a calm area of the Irish capital, an individual stands outside his home, sporting a tank top and voicing his feelings. “It seems like my voice is fading. Harder to see,” remarks the main character, looking into the darkness. “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 minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, his closest and only friend, ponders this statement. “There's no harm in that,” he replies, his dressing gown swaying gently. “Better than attempting to leave an impact and causing harm instead.”

For viewers tired by the noise and rat-tat-tat of current streaming terrain, the show arrives like a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of Ribena.

Similar to its gentle leads, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a half-dozen installment show developed by the writing duo, inspired by Rónán Hession’s quiet book – looks disapprovingly on contemporary society; looking critically through its eyewear toward anything related to unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – perish the thought – too much drive. The program is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a subtle homage to people content to wander out of the spotlight. But. He (one more distinctly original turn from the star) feels restless. He notices a growing “urge to throw open the doors and windows within my world … just a bit.” The passing of his parent has pulled the carpet from under his slippers and the 32-year-old, a writer for others, now realizes reconsidering the choices that have brought him to where he is (unattached; defensively moustached; writing several educational volumes for a man who concludes correspondence using the words “ciao for now”).

Therefore Leonard starts an exploration for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver Paul (the actor) functioning as his confidante, guide and partner during their regular board games evening functioning as both debate (“Is the water heated due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? No idea. The source of this name appears lost in history. Perhaps the postal worker previously devoured a snack in record time, or responded to a tense moment by nervously peeling four scotch eggs with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence comes a new colleague (the performer), a new lively co-worker who cheerily offers to get rid of his terrible supervisor (the actor) at a fire practice. That whooshing sound audible represents Leonard's calm life undergoing a shake-up.

In another part in the first episode of a series focused less on story and more by what a modern audience might call “mood”, we are introduced to Hungry Paul’s dad (the brilliant the performer), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, records then replays television game programs to amaze his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Leading us amidst this subtle warmth is a narrator who closely resembles – and, indeed, very much is – the famous actress. Truly, Julia Roberts. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the use of such a famous actor contradicts the program's low-key style and initially serves only as an interruption?” that's accurate. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue for example “Leonard’s problem is his absence of a ‘eureka’ face” contribute to ensuring that first reservations give way if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. The show's core has good intentions: which is “resting on a bench alongside similar shows, showing its preferred bird.” It’s a series that moves gently in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring toward the sky, sometimes downward toward the ground, serenely certain that nothing is in the world as uplifting as passing time alongside good friends.

Throw open the portals within your world, slightly, and welcome it inside.