Remember that episode of The Simpsons in which Homer’s haphazard, well-meaning yet unintentionally boorish and undeservedly lucky demeanour provokes the fatal indignation of co-worker, Frank ‘Grimey’ Grimes? Grimey, whose lifetime of diligence has only paid off with parental abandonment and grain silo explosions, accidentally electrocutes himself while crazy with self-righteous anger and leaves the world perceived as a wacko Debbie Downer. Well, Poppy, the thirty-year-old primary school teacher around which Mike Leigh’s Happy-Go-Lucky revolves, kind of makes you feel like Grimes. She also makes you feel like a bad, bitter and jealous person for feeling like Grimes.
There aren’t any gaping chronological or perspective leaps in the narrative, but the film is essentially a series of vignettes of Poppy’s life, from the theft of her bike to her arts-and-crafts sessions with her kindergarten students, to her exploits in a flamenco class taught by a fiery, patriotic gypsy. Don’t get me wrong – in many of the scenes Poppy comes off as an everyday Princess Diana, unceasingly cheerful, loquacious and caring, even when dealing with a student who’s been spontaneously beating up his classmates.
Nonetheless, the scenes are anchored in Poppy’s weekly driving lessons with Scott, an unfriendly, anal-retentive social conservative with rotting teeth who constantly rails about his pupils and ‘multiculturalism’. Poppy teases him unceasingly about his teaching techniques, pushing the series of lessons to climax at a confrontation between the two. Their argument reveals just how important it is to be aware of the way one’s mood influences others – Poppy may have the internal positivity to smile, shriek and snort (often piercingly) in any situation, but her demeanour, unbending to the mood of others, often results in annoyance or even pain for those around her. Scott’s very real inability to be happy transforms Poppy’s self-conscious dismissal of a Roger Penrose’s The Road to Reality while browsing a bookshop from an endearing assertion of her whimsical detachment from the world into a foolish, inconsiderate disregard for the less, well, happy-go-lucky.
Yet the dialogue and aesthetics of the film make for an overall uplifting story. Despite filming in the often dreary, concrete-and-glass landscape of London, Leigh still manages to fit a spectrum of bright colours into nearly every frame by shirking the landmarks – the Houses of Parliament, the Gherkin, Buckingham, etc. are all conspicuously missing – and filming the parks, schools and markets instead. (Amazingly, he composes the background foot traffic in such a busy, elaborately sartorial way that lets you know its London without flashing the architectural icons.) Even when Poppy wanders into a railway wasteland in the dead of night, Leigh ensures colour by putting her in an even more flamboyant outfit than usual.
The dialogue gives off a similar flare, where Poppy’s conversations with her roommate, boyfriend and sister – often spiralling into a who’s-on-first cleverness and absurdity – attain the level of rapid-fire exchange, chemistry and endearment to which anyone who’s ever practiced the craft of just-sitting-around-and-talking aspires. Perhaps it’s just this absurdity of the film’s unceasing positivity that leaves you with an eerie aftertaste of waiting for the reality bomb to drop.

Stephanie Wu