That performed self-consciousness is as charming here as ever, though it may be a good thing that it’s being served up in small doses a week apart. Goldblum is nearly impossible not to like, whether he’s watching a high-tech gizmo in operation and exclaiming “It’s doing something, it’s doing something!” or making interview subjects deeply uncomfortable with his soulful hugs or invitations to engage in public prancing.

Goldblum’s genius is for rendering a child’s overwhelming need for attention in a pure, nonirritating form, and there’s a theme running through “The World According to Jeff Goldblum” that relates to that. Looking at tattoos, sneakers and bluejeans and asking why each is so confoundingly popular, he arrives at variations of the same answer: They allow for both conformity and individuality; they’re uniforms that are also an inexhaustible means of self-expression.

The show’s means of expression, however, are quite finite. The formula is pretty ironclad: a statistic (half the world’s population wears denim; 45 million Americans have tattoos); a question (“How did that happen?” “Why do people get tattoos?”); mob-scene segments (sneaker and tattoo conventions) and magic-tech segments (at the Adidas and Levi-Strauss labs); sprightly animated summaries of rubber production and the history of denim. In keeping with both Jeff-as-artist and Jeff-as-center-of-attention, he helps design his own sneaker, ice cream flavor and pair of jeans.

It feels like a fairly extreme case of a star parachuting into the scenes his producers have set up, dispensing charisma and charming non sequiturs (twice in four episodes he declares he’s having the best time of his life) and not forgetting to find a backdrop for the 15-second philosophical wrap-up. When you get past the Goldblumishness of it, there’s probably nothing you need to go out of your way for.