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In a calm area of the Irish capital, a man stands on the pavement, sporting a tank top and sharing his feelings. “I feel myself getting quieter. More invisible,” says the protagonist, looking up at the night sky. “Events have unfolded and at this point I believe without a change, my life will proceed in this minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, his closest and only friend, reflects on these words. “There's no harm in that,” he replies, his dressing gown swaying gently. “Better than striving for recognition only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone tired by the noise and constant stimulation of modern television offerings, Leonard and Hungry Paul arrives similar to a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part program written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by the novelist’s subtle story – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; peering disapprovingly above its eyewear on everything in the way of disturbances, sudden movements or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. This show rather, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration for those happy to wander away from attention. But. Leonard (one more distinctly original performance by the actor) is unsettled. He notices a growing “need to open the openings within my world … just a bit.” The passing of his parent has yanked the floor from under his slippers and this young man, a ghost writer, now realizes reconsidering the paths that have brought him to his current situation (alone; with a protective mustache; writing multiple kids' reference books for an employer who ends correspondence using the words “ciao for now”).

Therefore Leonard begins himself on a quest to find happiness, accompanied by the somewhat braver Hungry Paul (the actor) functioning as his close companion, life coach and ally in a weekly gaming session that serves both as discussion (“Is the water heated because kids pee in it, or do children urinate as it's heated?”) and safe space.

(How did Paul get his nickname? The reason is unknown. The beginning of the nickname appears lost in mystery. It could be that the postal worker on one occasion consumed a sandwich very fast, or responded to a tense moment by panic-peeling some food items by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world cartwheels a new colleague (the actress), a new lively associate who cheerily offers to kill the awful manager (the actor) at a fire practice. The swift movement you can hear represents Leonard's calm life being turned upside down.

Elsewhere in the first episode of a series driven less by plot and more on what a modern audience might call “mood”, viewers encounter Paul's father (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, saves and reviews daytime quiz shows to dazzle his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Leading us through all this gentle kindness there is a voiceover that is unmistakably – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Indeed, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “certainly the use of such a famous actor is at odds with the show's modest approach and initially serves only as a distraction?” you would be correct. However, the actress performs admirably, and lines like “Leonard's challenge is that he lacks a look of sudden insight” contribute to ensuring that early misgivings yield if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining at this time. The series' spirit is in the right place: that place is “resting on a bench in the company of gentle comedies, pointing out the duck it loves.” The program that strolls leisurely in its sleeveless jumper, sometimes gazing upward toward the sky, at other times looking toward the ground, calmly assured that nothing is in the world as cheering as spending time in the company of close companions.

Unlock the entryways of your life, just a bit, and let it in.