Set in a tiny and tight-knit Arctic village, the series follows a 20something Inuit woman trying to rebuild her life after exiting her marriage.

‘North of North’ Jasper Savage/Netflix

Cold is never far from mind in Netflix’s North of North, set in a remote village deep in the Arctic region of Canada. Snow blankets the ground in every single episode, as icy grey waters lap the shore. Even in summer, the characters remain bundled up in woolen hats and puffy coats.

And yet “warm” was one of the words that came most readily to mind as I made my way through the eight-episode first season, along with “likable.” Ice Cove, Nunavut, might be nestled in a literal tundra. But the comedy’s affection for its characters, and the community they call home, make it feel as cozy as a hot bath after a long day.

Anna Lambe leads the cast as Siaja, a plucky civil servant in the mold of Parks and Recreation’s Leslie Knope or Rutherford Falls’ Reagan Wells. Or, at least, that’s what she aspires to be. As the series starts, she’s the stay-at-home wife to Ting (Kelly William), the town “golden boy,” and mother to a seven-year-old named Bun (Keira Belle Cooper, a TV child who manages to stay on the right side of the balance between funny and cutesy). But at 26, she’s starting to long for something of her own, outside the roles prescribed to her as a good Inuk woman.

In quick succession, she dumps Ting and moves in with her mother, Neevee (Maika Harper). She talks her way into a probationary job as the assistant to Helen (Mary Lynn Rajskub), the town manager whose white-savior tendencies are mostly counterbalanced by her clearly genuine love for her adopted home. She even, eventually, starts trying to date again, ignoring the whispers of neighbors who cannot believe she’d let go of a catch like Ting

Like most comedies, North of North takes a few episodes to click into its fullest potential. The premiere ends with a twist that’s a hair too awkward for my taste, and Ting’s callousness toward Siaja initially lands a shade too cruel to be amusing. But those are minor quibbles to take with a show that comes out of the gate with an undeniably fresh perspective — as acknowledged in Siaja’s opening monologue, most “Southerners” probably think of Inuit only as a historical population, when we think about them at all — and that by its third or fourth episode has settled into a reliably pleasant rhythm.

Lambe is thoroughly winning as Siaja, who can’t seem to stop herself from wearing her heart on her sleeve — even when, as in her very public breakup with Ting, she’d probably be better off if she could. Harper’s Neevee is her opposite, sarcastic and prickly and more likely to set a guy’s car on fire than to talk through her feelings about him. The actors share a complex chemistry that speaks to the unwavering love between mother and daughter, but also the rocky history between them.

The rest of the ensemble includes Jay Ryan as Alistair, a handsome and kindly environmental consultant who has a surprisingly complicated history with Ice Cove, and Braeden Clarke as his assistant Kuuk, a handsome “city boy” whose endearing, low-key dorkiness and perfect comic timing make him an ideal match for Siaja. In fact, my biggest complaint about North of North might really be a compliment: It seemed a shame there wasn’t more time for characters like Millie (Zorga Qaunaq) and Colin (Bailey Poching), Siaja’s friends who seem fun but whom we never actually get to know very well.

Plot-wise, North of North isn’t exactly out to reinvent the wheel. Storylines about Siaja’s efforts to liven up the weekly “elders’ night” by bribing the town youth with slushies, or to raise money by challenging a better-funded rival town to a baseball game, seem in broad strokes like they could be borrowed from any number of sitcoms, and it’s rarely a big shock where any of them end up.

But North of North draws strength from the specificity of its unusual-for-TV setting. So that game, for example, isn’t anything the Los Angeles Dodgers might recognize. Instead, it’s an Alaskan variant that uses a giant bone as a bat, because wood has traditionally been harder to come by in frozen northern climes and also because it’s fun for the characters to keep saying the phrase “walrus dick baseball.”

The costumes, courtesy of designers Debra Hanson and Nooks Lindell, were frequently sourced from or created by Inuit artisans — including the characters’ enviable parkas, trimmed in lush fur or bordered with vibrant patterns. The upbeat soundtrack is a mix of pop hits, Inuktitut-language covers of pop hits and original pop music by Inuit artists.

And while North of North never blows too far from its sweet, sunny vibe, it gradually layers in some more somber notes as well. An especially moving late-season storyline taps into the lingering trauma of residential schools and child-family separations, foregrounding the characters’ difficult emotions without losing sight of the devotion and pleasure also integral to their relationships.

In combination, all of these choices add up to a vividly detailed portrait of a place — and one constructed by creators Stacey Agloc MacDonald and Alethea Arnaquq-Baril, both Inuit women who live in the Arctic, with the tender and knowing perspective of an insider, rather than one designed by and for gawking outsiders. (You know a non-local character sucks when she starts going on about how Ice Cove is a “perfect blank slate” for her lofty civic ambitions.) North of North distinguishes itself in large part through its details, even as it scratches a similar itch as other quirky small-town comedies like Letterkenny or Schitt’s Creek.

In the fourth episode, an elder, Lazarus (Solomon Awa), approaches Siaja with feedback about a recent party that spiraled out of control. But instead of the dressing-down she expects, he begins by reflecting on how it is their people have managed to endure through so many millennia under such harsh and unforgiving conditions. “Yes, practical skills are important,” he tells her, “but so are the little joys in life.”

North of North is unassuming in its humor, only occasionally provoking full-on belly laughs or delivering memorably quotable lines. But I found, as I kept watching, that what was near-constant was the smile on my face. In the sweet intergenerational moments of bonding between Siaja and Neevee and Bun, or the sillier beats about Helen’s cluelessness or Millie and Colin’s snarkiness, or the sheer and simple pleasure of getting to spend time in such likable company, North of North makes itself one of Lazarus’ little joys.