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In a quiet suburb of the Irish capital, a man is standing on the pavement, sporting a vest and expressing his concerns. “I notice my voice is fading. Harder to see,” remarks the protagonist, looking into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and at this point I believe unless I take action, my life will proceed in this minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, his closest and only friend, reflects on these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he replies, his robe moving gently. “Superior to striving for recognition and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone weary by the chaos and fast pace of modern television offerings, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in as a foil blanket and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

In line with its quiet characters, the series – a half-dozen installment program written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from Rónán Hession’s understated book – casts a critical eye toward today's world; peering critically above its spectacles at anything that involves disturbances, sudden movements or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. This show is, instead, an ode to introversion; a gentle tribute of those content to pootle around out of the spotlight. But. Leonard (one more sublimely idiosyncratic portrayal from the star) is uneasy. He notices an increasing “urge to throw open the doors and windows in my existence … a little.” The loss of his beloved mother has whisked the rug out from under him and Leonard, an anonymous author, now finds himself questioning the decisions that have brought him to this point (unattached; with a protective mustache; working on multiple children’s encyclopedias for an employer who signs off emails using the words “goodbye for now”).

Therefore Leonard launches an exploration for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver Paul (the performer) serving as his close companion, life coach and ally in a weekly game night functioning as both debate (“Is the pool warm from kids relieving themselves, or do kids pee in it as it's heated?”) and sanctuary.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? It's unclear. The origin of the moniker is shrouded to the mists of time. It could be that he once ate a snack unusually quickly, or answered to an awkward situation by nervously peeling four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world cartwheels Shelley (the performer), a fresh energetic co-worker who cheerily offers to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

Elsewhere in the first episode of a series focused less on story and more by what a modern audience may refer to as “vibes”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the brilliant Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who secretly watches, records then replays television game programs to amaze his loving spouse using his trivia skills.

Shepherding the audience amidst this subtle warmth is a narrator that sounds very much like – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the presence of such a famous actor is at odds with the program's low-key style and starts off as just a diversion?” that's accurate. Nevertheless, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines for example “Leonard's challenge is the missing a look of sudden insight” help ensure that initial doubts give way if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is in the right place: the right place being “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, showing its favourite duck.” It’s a series that moves gently in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring toward the sky, at other times looking toward the ground, quietly confident that there is nothing in life as heartening as being with good friends.

Unlock the entryways within your world, a little, and allow it entry.