Television has become an awfully depressing place lately. Everybody is murdering somebody, betraying somebody, investigating somebody or generally behaving like spending 45 minutes in their company would be an excellent reason to seek professional help. Which makes North of North something of a small-screen miracle.

Here is a show that actually likes its characters. It wants them to succeed, wants them to be happy, and seems genuinely delighted when they manage to accomplish something without accidentally setting fire to the community center. That's not to suggest that life in Ice Cove is particularly easy. It's just that the people who live there haven't entirely surrendered to the notion that being miserable is somehow the same thing as being interesting.

Created by Stacey Aglok MacDonald and Alethea Arnaquq-Baril, the Canadian comedy returns on Netflix for its second season with eight half-hour episodes and a renewed sense of confidence. Set in the fictional Arctic community of Ice Cove, Nunavut, the series follows Siaja Kudlak (Anna Lambe), a 27-year-old Inuk mother who has escaped an unhappy marriage and is determined to build something better for herself and her young daughter, Bun.

Of course, Siaja has one small problem: She's spectacularly talented at making things more complicated than they need to be.

Season Two finds her attempting to establish herself professionally at the community center, where she continues to work under the frequently clueless Helen (Mary Lynn Rajskub). She's also trying to improve life in Ice Cove, navigating her complicated romantic relationship with Kuuk (Braeden Clarke), raising Bun, and attempting to build a more independent life.

Her latest schemes include promoting Ice Cove as a tourist destination, organizing community activities and generally trying to convince people that her ideas are worth taking seriously. Unfortunately, enthusiasm and competence are not always traveling companions. A well-intentioned community outreach project goes spectacularly wrong, a surprise party becomes an exercise in criminal logistics, and her attempts to make the town more exciting occasionally produce exactly the opposite result.

Watching Siaja enthusiastically charge into these disasters is one of the show's greatest pleasures. Lambe has an extraordinary ability to make the character's optimism feel genuine without turning her into an insufferable motivational poster. Siaja isn't especially sophisticated, and she doesn't always think things through, but she genuinely wants to make things better. Even when she's making an enormous mess, it's difficult not to root for her.

Lambe also gives the character more room to grow this season. Siaja is beginning to understand that independence isn't simply about making bold declarations or having big ideas. Sometimes it means taking responsibility, accepting criticism and recognizing that the people around you might have a little experience worth listening to.

But if Lambe is the show's beating heart, Maika Harper's Neevee is increasingly becoming its emotional center.

Siaja's mother has always been a fascinating combination of prickly, stubborn and deeply caring. Beneath that tough exterior is a woman carrying decades of pain, including the trauma of Canada's residential school system and the loss of a daughter she gave up for adoption long before Siaja was born.

The search for that long-lost daughter becomes one of the season's most affecting storylines, forcing Neevee to confront things she'd much rather leave buried. Her relationship with Siaja becomes increasingly complicated as the younger woman pushes for answers that her mother isn't necessarily ready to provide.

Harper is terrific, finding tremendous depth in a character who might otherwise have been relegated to the familiar role of the grumpy sitcom mother. There's something particularly satisfying about watching Neevee gradually recognize that her life doesn't have to remain defined by everything she's lost.

Her relationship with Alistair (Jay Ryan), Siaja's previously absent father, also provides some welcome romantic complications. Ryan and Harper have terrific chemistry, and their scenes together offer some of the season's most entertaining exchanges. Alistair's attempts to establish himself as part of the family while making up for years of missed fatherhood provide a nice counterbalance to the mother-daughter drama.

The supporting cast deserves plenty of credit, too. Zorga Qaunaq and Bailey Poching remain terrific as Siaja's friends Millie and Colin, providing a steady supply of questionable advice and enthusiastic participation in her various schemes. Nutaaq Doreen Simmonds is another standout as community elder Elisapee, whose combination of sharp observations and wonderfully deadpan humor makes her a welcome presence whenever she appears.

Even Mary Lynn Rajskub's Helen, who frequently seems determined to misunderstand whatever Siaja is attempting to accomplish, develops into a more interesting character as the series explores the motivations behind her behavior.

One of the most impressive things about North of North is how naturally it incorporates Inuit culture and history into its storytelling. This isn't a conventional sitcom with a few Indigenous characters added for variety. The community, its traditions, its relationships and its particular challenges are fundamental to the show's identity.

The series can move from a ridiculous comedy routine to a discussion of colonialism, family separation, economic challenges or the legacy of residential schools without making the transition feel artificial. It understands that these things are part of everyday life, not separate subjects that need to be introduced with a dramatic change in music and a Very Important Message.

The visual presentation is equally distinctive. The Arctic landscape provides a spectacular backdrop, but the production is smart enough not to turn everything into an endless collection of white snow and gray skies. The costumes are wonderfully expressive, with vibrant reds, purples, oranges and elaborate accessories giving the characters an unmistakable visual personality. The clothing isn't simply decoration; it helps communicate who these people are and how they're feeling.

The production also deserves credit for its commitment to authenticity. The series is filmed in Iqaluit, Nunavut, the hometown of Lambe, and was developed by two Inuk creators who wanted the fictional community to reflect the diversity and personality of Inuit life. The involvement of local performers and production trainees adds another important dimension to that effort.

There are a few imperfections. Some of the romantic storylines move at a leisurely pace, and the recurring formula of Siaja developing a big idea only to watch it collapse before she finds a solution occasionally becomes predictable. The show isn't exactly operating at the breakneck comedic speed of 30 Rock, and viewers looking for wall-to-wall punchlines might find its more gentle approach a little understated.

But that's also part of its appeal. North of North understands that comedy doesn't always require somebody to deliver a killer one-liner every 15 seconds. Sometimes the funniest thing is simply watching a group of people trying to accomplish something perfectly ordinary under exceptionally ridiculous circumstances.

And when the series moves toward its season-ending winter celebration, bringing together the various characters and their increasingly complicated relationships, it delivers exactly the kind of emotional payoff that makes spending time in Ice Cove so rewarding.

What makes North of North special isn't simply that it's funny, or that it offers a perspective rarely seen in mainstream television. It's that the series has created an entire community that feels lived-in, complicated and wonderfully human. Its characters have histories, grudges, ambitions, insecurities and occasionally terrible judgment. They also have an extraordinary capacity to show up for one another.

In a television universe seemingly populated by people who would happily murder their own relatives for a better streaming deal, that's practically a revolutionary act.

North of North is warm without being sentimental, culturally specific without being exclusionary, and genuinely funny without having to shout about it. Lambe is a terrific leading lady, Harper is a revelation, and the ensemble continues to develop into one of television's most appealing casts.

I don't know that Ice Cove would be the easiest place to live. The winters look brutal, the beer supply requires advance planning, and apparently even organizing a party can land you in jail.

But spending another eight episodes with these people? That's an invitation I'd happily accept.