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In a quiet area of Dublin, a person can be found on the pavement, wearing a vest and voicing his concerns. “I notice myself getting quieter. Harder to see,” remarks the main character, gazing toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and now I believe unless I take action, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” His friend Paul, his closest companion, ponders this statement. “There's no harm in that,” he replies, his robe moving in the breeze. “Better than trying to make a mark and causing harm instead.”

For viewers weary by the noise and rat-tat-tat of modern television landscape, the show steps in as a cozy wrap and warming mug of blackcurrant juice.

Similar to its gentle leads, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part comedy developed by its authors, adapted from the author’s subtle story – takes a dim view on contemporary society; looking critically through its prematurely middle-aged glasses toward anything that involves unnecessary noise, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – too much drive. The program on the contrary, a celebration of shyness; a gentle tribute for those happy to amble along away from attention. But. The character (a further uniquely quirky performance by the actor) is unsettled. He senses a growing “urge to throw open the doors and windows of my life … slightly.” The loss of his parent has whisked the rug out from under him and this young man, a writer for others, now realizes reconsidering the paths which led him to where he is (unattached; sporting facial hair; working on multiple educational volumes for a man who concludes emails saying “see you later”).

Thus Leonard begins himself on a quest for personal satisfaction, accompanied by the somewhat braver Hungry Paul (the performer) acting as his confidante, mentor and partner during their regular board games evening which acts as discussion (“Does the pool feel warm because kids pee in it, or do kids pee in it because it’s warm?”) and safe space.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The source of this name seems forgotten in history. Perhaps he on one occasion consumed some food very fast, or answered to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening four scotch eggs using his teeth).

Entering Leonard's quiet life bursts a vibrant character (the performer), a fresh energetic colleague who lightheartedly proposes to get rid of his terrible supervisor (the character) at a fire practice. The rushing noise noticeable is Leonard’s gentle world experiencing a revolution.

In another part in the initial show of a series not heavily plotted and centered around what younger viewers may refer to as “atmosphere”, we meet Paul's father (the consistently great Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who privately views, saves and reviews television game programs to amaze his devoted partner using his trivia skills.

Guiding viewers through all this subtle warmth we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, Julia Roberts. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the presence of a big-name celebrity clashes with the show's modest approach and at first acts merely as a diversion?” that's accurate. However, Roberts does a good job, and lines such as “Leonard's challenge is his absence of a ‘eureka’ face” help ensure that first reservations fade though not complete approval, then certainly understanding.

No more criticism currently. The show's core is in the right place: which is “resting on a bench in the company of gentle comedies, indicating the duck it loves.” This is a show that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring toward the sky, sometimes downward toward the ground, serenely certain that no experience is in life as uplifting as passing time with close companions.

Throw open the portals of your life, just a bit, and let it in.