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In a quiet suburb of Dublin, a man can be found outside his home, sporting a sleeveless jumper and voicing his feelings. “I feel my voice is fading. Harder to see,” states the main character, gazing toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and at this point it seems if I don’t do something, I will continue in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, his only and only friend, considers these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he answers, his robe moving in the breeze. “Better than striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”

For those exhausted by the chaos and constant stimulation of current streaming landscape, this series arrives similar to a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of Ribena.

Like its quiet characters, this comedy – a six-part comedy created by its authors, based on Rónán Hession’s subtle 2019 novel – casts a critical eye at modern life; gazing skeptically above its eyewear on everything that involves loud sounds, sudden movements or – goodness forbid – excessive aspiration. The series rather, an ode to introversion; a subtle homage of those happy to pootle around out of the spotlight. But. The character (another distinctly original portrayal by the actor) is unsettled. He feels an increasing “desire to unlock the entryways of my life … slightly.” The passing of his beloved mother has whisked the rug from under his slippers and the 32-year-old, a writer for others, now realizes doubting the paths that directed him to this point (single; with a protective mustache; writing a range of children’s encyclopedias for an employer who signs off correspondence using the words “see you later”).

Therefore Leonard launches an exploration to find happiness, with the slightly bolder Paul (the actor) serving as his confidante, life coach and partner in a weekly gaming session that serves both as debate (“Is the water heated because kids pee in it, or do children urinate as it's heated?”) and sanctuary.

(How did Paul get his nickname? The reason is unknown. The beginning of the moniker seems forgotten to the mists of time. Perhaps he once ate a sandwich in record time, or responded to an awkward situation by hastily opening some food items with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts a vibrant character (the performer), a fresh spring-loaded colleague who cheerily offers to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise audible is Leonard’s gentle world being turned upside down.

Elsewhere in the initial show of a series driven less by plot and more on what a modern audience may refer to as “vibes”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, tapes and rewatches television game programs to impress his loving spouse through his fact recall.

Guiding viewers throughout this gentle kindness there is a voiceover that is unmistakably – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Indeed, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the inclusion of a major Hollywood star clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and starts off as just a diversion?” you're right. Nevertheless, Roberts does a good job, and dialogue for example “Leonard’s problem is his absence of a ‘eureka’ face” help ensure that early misgivings give way though not complete approval, then at least acceptance.

No more criticism for now. The series' spirit is well-intentioned: the right place being “resting on a bench alongside similar shows, pointing out its preferred bird.” The program that strolls leisurely in comfortable attire, occasionally looking up into space, sometimes downward toward the ground, serenely certain that there is nothing on Earth as cheering as being alongside good friends.

Throw open the portals in your existence, slightly, and let it in.