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In a calm suburb of the city, an individual can be found on the pavement, dressed in a tank top and voicing his concerns. “I notice I'm becoming more silent. Less noticeable,” remarks the main character, gazing toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and now it seems unless I take action, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” Paul, his only confidant, reflects on these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his bathrobe flapping with the wind. “Better than trying to make a mark and ending up damaging things.”

For those tired by the noise and constant stimulation of modern television terrain, the show arrives as a cozy wrap and warming mug of a sweet cordial.

In line with its gentle leads, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a half-dozen installment program developed by the writing duo, adapted from the author’s understated 2019 novel – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; gazing disapprovingly above its eyewear toward anything in the way of disturbances, sudden movements or – heaven forfend – an abundance of ambition. The program on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a quiet celebration for those content to pootle around out of the spotlight. But. He (one more sublimely idiosyncratic turn from the star) is unsettled. He notices a growing “desire to unlock the doors and windows in my existence … just a bit.” The recent death of his beloved mother has yanked the floor from under his slippers and the 32-year-old, a ghost writer, now realizes questioning the decisions which led him to this point (single; with a protective mustache; working on several children’s encyclopedias for a boss who ends correspondence saying “see you later”).

And so Leonard begins himself on a quest to find happiness, with the slightly bolder Hungry Paul (the performer) serving as his close companion, life coach and partner in a recurring gaming session that serves both as symposium (“Does the pool feel warm due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it since it's warm?”) and safe space.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? No idea. The source of the nickname is shrouded in history. Maybe Paul once ate a sandwich in record time, or responded to an awkward situation by panic-peeling some food items with his teeth).

Entering Leonard's quiet life cartwheels Shelley (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent lively associate who cheerily offers to kill his terrible supervisor (the actor) at a fire practice. That whooshing sound noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

Elsewhere in the first episode of a series focused less on story and more on what a modern audience could describe as “atmosphere”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the consistently great the performer), a worn-out individual who covertly observes, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to amaze his loving spouse using his trivia skills.

Guiding viewers throughout this gentle kindness we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Indeed, the celebrity. If you are thinking, “certainly the inclusion of such a famous actor clashes with the show's modest approach and at first acts merely as a diversion?” you would be correct. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines such as “Leonard’s problem is that he lacks a ‘eureka’ face” help ensure that first reservations give way if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

No more criticism at this time. The series' spirit is in the right place: the right place being “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, showing the duck it loves.” The program that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring at the stars, occasionally down toward the ground, calmly assured that nothing is in the world as heartening as passing time alongside close companions.

Throw open the portals within your world, slightly, and allow it entry.