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In a calm suburb of the Irish capital, a man is standing on the pavement, wearing a sleeveless jumper and expressing his thoughts. “It seems like myself getting quieter. More invisible,” says the main character, staring toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and currently I believe unless I take action, I’ll just carry on in this minor, harmless existence.” Paul, his closest confidant, reflects on these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he answers, his bathrobe flapping gently. “Better than attempting to leave an impact and causing harm instead.”

For those exhausted by the noise and rat-tat-tat of modern television offerings, the show steps in like a warm cover and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its harmless protagonists, the series – a half-dozen installment show written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by the novelist’s quiet 2019 novel – looks disapprovingly at modern life; gazing critically through its prematurely middle-aged glasses toward anything related to unnecessary noise, quick actions or – heaven forfend – too much drive. The program is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a quiet celebration of those content to wander out of the spotlight. However. He (another uniquely quirky performance from the star) feels restless. He feels a creeping “need to open the entryways in my existence … just a bit.” The loss of his beloved mother has yanked the floor out from under him and this young man, a ghost writer, now finds himself doubting the decisions that have brought him to where he is (single; with a protective mustache; working on a range of kids' reference books for a man who signs off correspondence using the words “ciao for now”).

Thus Leonard starts himself on a quest for personal satisfaction, accompanied by the somewhat braver Paul (Laurie Kynaston) functioning as his close companion, life coach and partner in a recurring gaming session which acts as debate (“Is the water heated due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? It's unclear. The beginning of the nickname is shrouded in mystery. Maybe the postal worker on one occasion consumed some food in record time, or responded to an awkward situation by panic-peeling some food items using his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts a new colleague (the performer), a fresh energetic colleague who happily suggests to get rid of the awful manager (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise noticeable is Leonard’s gentle world being turned upside down.

In another part during the opening installment of a series not heavily plotted and centered around what a modern audience may refer to as “mood”, we meet Hungry Paul’s dad (the brilliant Lorcan Cranitch), a worn-out individual who covertly observes, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to amaze his loving spouse through his fact recall.

Shepherding us through all this subtle warmth is a narrator that sounds very much like – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Indeed, the star. In case you're considering, “undoubtedly the presence of such a famous actor contradicts the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as a diversion?” that's accurate. However, Roberts does a good job, and dialogue such as “Leonard’s problem is the missing a ‘eureka’ face” assist in making sure that early misgivings give way if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining currently. The series' spirit is well-intentioned: the right place being “located on a seat alongside similar shows, showing the duck it loves.” The program that strolls leisurely in comfortable attire, at times staring at the stars, at other times looking toward the ground, serenely certain that no experience is in life as heartening as spending time with close companions.

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