How to Get to Heaven from Belfast Review – If you don’t see anything else this year, watch this | television

TThree middle-aged women might be all you need for anything. To run a business, build a village, end a war, retool a civilization, or empty out a loft. What’s even more rewarding is that you can make a great murder mystery with them, as Lisa McGee (Fourth Woman! If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it) has done in her new series How to Get to Heaven from Belfast.

McGee, of course, made her name with Derry Girls – a quintessential sitcom that followed the trials and tribulations of a group of Catholic schoolgirls in Northern Ireland (and a beleaguered English cousin) as they juggled the messy business of growing up in the mid-90s at the end of the Troubles. The main characters in the new show don’t fit neatly into the previous show but the DNA of the Derry Girls as an entity remains gloriously alive (is the DNA alive? I’m curious to consult Sister Michael). How to Get to Heaven has all the verve, intensity, and chaos dancing above the immaculate plot you find in McGee’s masterpiece. The only difference is that one of the students died. probably. maybe. Maybe not.

To illustrate: Dara (Caoilfhyun Dunne), Saoirse (Roisin Gallagher), and Robin (Sinead Keenan) are old school friends who gather for Greta’s (Natasha O’Keefe) funeral – “We’re dying now, aren’t we?” says Robin, rightly exasperated by the relentless march of time – who has completed his teenage gang of four. That is until something went wrong for Greta one night 20 years ago, and the other three came to her aid. We get a flashback to a burning cabin in the woods, a menacing looking man and demonic looking symbols on the wall…. The three kept in touch, had a friendship and a secret, but lost touch with Greta.

According to local sources, Greta was killed after falling down the stairs. Saoirse, a television crime writer (who wanted to write plays but whose ambition was stymied by the need to buy things), immediately suspects foul play and then a crime of a different kind when she notices in the aftermath that the body in the coffin lacks the mysterious tattoo (yes, it matches the one on the flashback wall) that the four friends have. We all suspect the ugliest play when we see that Greta’s husband, Owen, the local police chief, is played by Emmett J. Scanlan, the scariest actor in history, who makes me want to hide behind the sofa as if I were once again a child convulsing with terror in Doctor Who. Her mother, Margot (Michelle Fairley), is an almost equally unholy presence.

Something is wrong. Robyn, a highly stressed wife and mother of four, thinks she might have an insight because things have recently taken a turn for the worse with Patrick, who has become “very controlling… good at lighting, all that kind of stuff.” “It’s only one,” Dara says skeptically. “He’s a year and a half old,” Robyn says through gritted teeth about her little boy. “And he knows what he’s doing.”

She and Dara are reluctant to get involved, but the teens’ loyalty—and fear that Greta’s death/disappearance is connected to the secret in the woods—runs deep. Severus soon has them on their side and investigating, and the proper mission begins. It takes a lot, at a frenetic pace, and the energy never flags. So much so that you may sometimes wish it would stop for a moment to let everyone catch their breath and give moments of time to calm down. But overall, the experience is a rush of joy, and you’d have to be a very fickle soul and/or a professional critic to mention it as a flaw in the midst of so much fun.

There’s ill-advised drinking, mysterious hand-delivered letters, and an attractive young guard called Liam (Darragh Hand) who’s willing to brave the investigation with his boss. There’s a car accident, clues culled from a teenage diary and buried memories, a trip to Portugal, a possible killer (Bronagh Gallagher), twists, turns, complications, revelations, and much more – including Ardal O’Hanlon as an eccentric hotel owner and Saoirse-Monica Jackson in a completely wild and pitch-perfect performance in a few episodes. The latter is impossible to describe and would reveal a lot if you did, but it’s a must-see if you haven’t seen anything else this year.

And it’s all written with McGee’s usual wit, brutality and sensitivity. The actors (including the young men playing teenage versions of the adult heroes) keep the whole thing cohesive and emotionally believable, though the silliness of the plot increases at an almost geometric rate — as do questions of conscience (“She’s under attack by Catholics”), loyalty and what’s owed to whomever begins to emerge through the chaos and laughter. Buckle up, and enjoy.