Rough Draft On Happiness

I recently rewatched “The Happiness Patrol.” Whereas all incarnations of the Doctor are my favorite, Sylvester McCoy is one of my favorite favorites. Though his stories are full of great ideas, there’s often a want for more development, and yet, even though there’s an unavoidably goofy aspect to the show, there is always something meaningful in the menagerie.

The perfect phrase eludes me. I want to say there is a depth there, almost a sense of danger, especially after Ace boards the Tardis. A dimension I would almost call sadness, a melancholy. To me, it tastes very similar to David Suchet’s portrayal of Poirot; something seemingly a worn out trope that, nonetheless, has a sinister undercurrent, like someone fighting a lost cause. This element is on full display throughout these three episodes, almost to the point where I wonder how intentional the writers were. It was as if they took whatever flavor makes the 7th Doctor unique and distilled it into an unnatural intensity—thankfully not as deadly a product as the Candyman’s sweets.

This adventure, on the face of it, is nonsensical, but only in the manner of a fairytale. So, once upon a time, there was a queen who wanted people to be happy. She wanted people to be so very happy so very, very badly that she would do anything. So, she decreed that people should be happy, and she would torture anyone who wouldn’t comply. If torture didn’t help, and it never seemed to, she would kill them. After all, there were too many people anyway. Then one day, one magic day, a great wizard came to her kingdom and turned her whole world upside-down. The people deposed their tyrant and, strangely enough, were finally happy.