Poppy Cross is thirty years old. She is hopelessly single, sexually confused, and plain-looking. She is a mere schoolteacher and she doesn’t have her driver’s license. But Poppy is a hell of a lot happier than most NYU students, and she’s determined to keep it that way.

Such is the set-up of Mike Leigh’s latest film, Happy Go-Lucky. The film has a softcore Todd Solondz humor to it, featuring seemingly insignificant slices of Poppy’s mundane life, asking the audience, Should you be laughing?

Predictably, Poppy’s character is initially really annoying. But her persevering happiness becomes absurd and endearing—and thereby, funny. Thus, Happy Go-Lucky’s philosophical dialogue: what really makes us happy? And Happy Go-Lucky’s conflict: how long can she keep this up?

Poppy navigates a realistically cynical world, one cluttered with less-happy people: a stern flamenco dancer, a sexually frustrated and racist driver’s ed. teacher, and finally, Poppy’s married, pregnant younger sister. That sister, blown up and boring, takes a look at Poppy and begs her to buy a mortgage, find a man.

“I just want you to be happy,” she tells Poppy, ironically, even as she her own fits of misery. An easy critique, sure—suburban wives might be more secure than they are joyous, of course, of course—but a poignant one regardless. Poppy tells her sister that she is happy, and she’s “free.”

But Poppy is not an uncomplicated character. Her need to spread her mirth to all those around her becomes questionably immoral—around men, happiness is a sexual device. Around authority, it’s a defense mechanism. But when Poppy finds a man whose own bitterness is more stalwart than her happiness, she is forced to confront failure, and thereby battle with her happiness. Underneath Poppy’s cheerfulness, however, is a bold determination: can we make it through the day with a smile on? It becomes clear that happiness is by no means the easy way out—it’s a constant battle, but it’s Poppy’s cause.

Happy Go-Lucky is currently playing at Landmark Sunshine and Angelika Film Center.