There is a place where people from all walks of life come together and overcome their differences through hard work and laughter. According to the sitcom “Kim’s Convenience,” this place is Canada. The show, which streams on Netflix, chronicles the day-to-day micro-dramas encountered by a Korean immigrant family that runs a corner grocery store. The archetypes are obvious and rigid. The blustery Mr. Kim (Paul Sun-Hyung Lee) and the subtly sardonic Mrs. Kim (Jean Yoon) are set in their ways; naturally, they are much savvier than their theatrically accented English initially suggests. The rebellious Jung (Simu Liu) and the dutiful, constantly exasperated Janet (Andrea Bang) are their kids, caught between filial piety and following their dreams. The villains in their lives are small-time: the vain entrepreneur from down the block, the overly chatty air-conditioning guy, the pastor who never pays for his snacks.

“Kim’s Convenience” débuted in Canada in 2016. It was originally a play by Ins Choi, who continues to write and direct the TV version. Though it only arrived on Netflix last year, its audience will likely grow. A fourth season is on the way, and Liu has recently been cast as Shang-Chi, a new addition to the Marvel Comics film universe. At first, I found “Kim’s Convenience” breathtakingly corny. Even for someone who grew up on soft-lit eighties sitcoms, there’s almost nothing edgy about the show, the occasional frictions of multicultural Toronto notwithstanding. The parents learn to see beyond their prejudices, and each new, eccentric customer expands their world view; meanwhile, the children begin to decipher their largely affectionless household as a space of love and support. In the end, everyone more or less gets along. And yet this quality is precisely why I kept watching. The show’s sense of conviviality and community seemed impossible. Our most prestigious television series often double as commentaries on modern life. Though “Kim’s Convenience” is set in the present, it feels like watching an alternate time line.

On the edges, of course, there are familiar social tensions, which become the show’s most absurd (and effective) jokes. Mr. Kim profiles his customers according to a matrix of race, gender, and shoe color, showing a baffling, cheerful genius. A well-meaning, liberal professor projects refugee trauma onto Janet’s home life. Mrs. Kim is forever trying to find a “cool Christian Korean boy” for Janet, and the description of this rare species becomes its own kind of punch line. Despite criticisms from native Korean speakers over the show’s accents, I appreciate that it doesn’t bother overexplaining itself to non-Asian audiences. It’s a caricature, but, in its best moments, you forget who is laughing at whom.