“Ready for a story about superheroes? Ugh. More TV superheroes, just what the world needs. Be honest, have you hung yourself yet? Or, what if I told you this was actually a story about super-zeroes? Losers, achingly pathetic meta-human goose eggs. How about it? Ready to feel better about your own miserable lives for the next hour or so? Follow me.” — Mr. Nobody, Doom Patrol Episode 1

In Doom Patrol (Max, née HBO Max), a group of ordinary people have accidents that hideously deform their bodies but give them superpowers (after a fashion). Do they become heroes? No. They do not deal with it very well at all.

A self-important ’40s B-list movie star who trades on her looks becomes a giant fleshy blob, able to stretch her limbs and grow to enormous size, but who loses her human form when she becomes anxious or frustrated. A closeted test pilot flies into the stratosphere, but runs into an energy field that causes him to crash violently to earth. He emerges from the wreckage horribly burned and highly radioactive, but with an energized second self that can emerge from his body capable of flying high into the sky. A child is brutally abused and develops dissociative identity disorder, fragmenting over the years into 64 distinct personalities. An unscrupulous doctor tests a drug on her that causes each of those identities to form their own superpower, but she is constantly at war with herself for control, and incapable of healing. And a hedonistic race car driver smashes his car into a truck, destroying all of his body except for his brain; that is transplanted in a crude metal robot body. Sure, he’s incredibly strong and bulletproof, but he can no longer taste, or touch, or feel anything but his emotional anguish.

So yes, this is a show about superheroes, more or less. Oh, it leans hard into the weirdness and ridiculous nature of comic book stories, and our protagonists roll with it. The world doesn’t make any sense to them, either — they suffered terrible accidents and all they got to show for it were powers that illuminate their own failings as human beings. But — and here’s the important bit — they learn. For all of the four-color stupidity they encounter dragging them out of their black hole of self-pity, they slowly learn about themselves. They discover than no matter how ludicrous the opposition — a league of dadaists, a fouth-wall breaking villain, a disco master of time, disembodied carnivorous asses — their deadliest enemies are their own psychological traumas and their refusal to address them.

These are our “heroes,” although none of them were very nice people before their accidents, and years of isolating themselves from the world have only further embittered them, sinking them deeper into self-loathing and anger. But unlike a great many “straight” dramas, there is real, earned character growth here. It’s a good thing, too, because the acting on this show is top-notch, and it would be a shame to have wasted the skills of this cast on lifeless scripts. Brendan Fraser gets top honors for the invisible role of the voice of a brain trapped in a brass can. He makes you cry, and then has you holding your sides with laughter. His hollow robotic voice shouting “What the fuck?!” at each new bit of weirdness falls just short of becoming a catch-phrase.

The villains are often similarly pitiable. They have made poor choices and ended up in untenable circumstances, but unlike our protagonists, they almost always follow the path of self-interest, even when it keeps them trapped in their circumstances.

In reality, though, it isn’t a show about superheroes, no matter what Mr. Nobody said in the early moments of the first episode. It’s a show about a group of deeply, deeply damaged people who find themselves thrown together into a family. They learn to lean on each other, love each other, and — in spite of themselves — accept themselves. The world is a strange and fucked-up place, it reminds us, but we are all strange and fucked-up people in our own ways. We can find our way through it together.

Last night (October 12, 2023) the final six episodes of Doom Patrol began airing. For a show I love as much as this — and it is one of my three favorite television programs ever — it sounds strange to hear that I’m glad it’s coming to a close. Not because I wouldn’t love to see it entering its 20th season, because I would, and not because I think it’s run its course. No, I’m glad it’s ending because I trust the writers, actors, and creators to give the characters a proper send-off. I feel certain that the important character arcs will reach satisfactory conclusions, and while it may end with tears, it’s just as likely to end with a cosmic donkey fart. It’s only proper.