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In a peaceful neighborhood of Dublin, a man is standing on the pavement, wearing a sleeveless jumper and sharing his thoughts. “I feel I'm becoming more silent. Less noticeable,” remarks the main character, staring into the darkness. “Circumstances have evolved and at this point I feel like unless I take action, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his only confidant, considers this statement. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his dressing gown flapping gently. “Superior to attempting to leave an impact only to wind up defacing it.”

For those tired by the chaos and fast pace of current streaming landscape, this series comes similar to a cozy wrap and warming mug of blackcurrant juice.

Similar to its harmless protagonists, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part show created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, based on the novelist’s understated 2019 novel – casts a critical eye toward today's world; peering critically above its eyewear on everything in the way of disturbances, abrupt changes or – heaven forfend – an abundance of ambition. The series on the contrary, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration of those happy to pootle around out of the spotlight. However. The character (a further distinctly original portrayal from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He senses an increasing “need to open the doors and windows of my life … a little.” The passing of his mother has pulled the carpet away from his feet and this young man, a ghost writer, now feels doubting the choices that directed him to where he is (unattached; sporting facial hair; writing a range of educational volumes for a man who concludes emails saying “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard launches himself on a quest to find happiness, alongside his more outgoing friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) functioning as his confidante, life coach and ally during their regular game night which acts as discussion (“Is the water heated due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The origin of the moniker seems forgotten in mystery. It could be that he previously devoured a sandwich unusually quickly, or reacted to an awkward situation by hastily opening four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life bursts Shelley (the performer), a fresh lively associate who happily suggests to get rid of the awful manager (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. The swift movement audible is Leonard’s gentle world experiencing a revolution.

In other scenes during the opening installment of this program focused less on story and more by what younger viewers might call “mood”, viewers encounter Paul's father (the brilliant the actor), a tired character who secretly watches, tapes and rewatches daytime quiz shows to impress his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Shepherding viewers amidst this minor-key niceness is a narrator that sounds very much like – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the star. If you are thinking, “certainly the presence of a major Hollywood star clashes with the program's low-key style and starts off as just a distraction?” you're right. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines such as “Leonard’s problem is his absence of an expression of discovery” contribute to ensuring that initial doubts fade if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. The series' spirit has good intentions: the right place being “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, pointing out the duck it loves.” The program that moves gently wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up toward the sky, occasionally down at its feet, serenely certain that there is nothing in life as heartening as being with dear pals.

Open the doors and windows within your world, slightly, and let it in.