Review: How to Get to Heaven from Belfast. As good as Derry Girls?

Who doesn’t love Derry Girls? Perhaps the only downside for its creator, Lisa McGee, was that one day she would have to follow it, at which point the inevitable response in some quarters would be, “It’s fine … but it’s no Derry Girls.”

How to Get to Heaven from Belfast is indeed no Derry Girls, despite the main characters being female and the story set in Northern Ireland. McGee has traded up in the world, going from Channel 4 to big bucks Netflix. And instead of a half-hour sitcom about four girls navigating adolescence and The Troubles, she has written a long-form twisty crime caper populated by those dangerous beings, middle-aged women with regrets.  

In short, McGee is all grown up now. But is she still funny?

The tale starts with three pals since school days: geeky Dara, who is something in computers; Robyn, busy bringing up three boys; and Saoirse, a screenwriter. Each receives an email saying their friend, Greta, has died. While they had not seen her in decades, there is a tie that binds them enough to attend the funeral. In any case, it’s a chance for a road trip and maybe a cheeky spa visit. “You can be in bits and have your highlights done,” says multitasking Robyn.

Once they reach Greta’s village, driving down memory lane no longer seems a good idea. Much as they might want to go home and forget about her, events and their consciences won’t let them.   

Dara (Caoilfhionn Dunree, Industry), Robyn (Sinead Keenan, Unforgotten) and Saoirse (Roisin Gallagher, The Dry) make utterly convincing “ride or die” friends, the kind who slag each other mercilessly but will never be parted.

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Just as Braveheart employed every Scottish actor in the world, so How to Get to Heaven finds a spot for plenty of well-kent faces, including Ardal O’Hanlon (Father Ted) as a hotel receptionist, Emmett J Scanlan (Kin) as Greta’s intense husband,  and Bronagh Gallagher (The Commitments).

There are some lovely moments, including the women dancing beside their younger selves at the hotel’s retro disco. The music throughout is spot on, spanning The Pogues to The Undertones by way of Bad Bunny.

How to Get to Heaven is not without its flaws, mind. Like many Netflix productions, the story is stretched too thin. With eight 45-minute episodes to fill, McGee tries to compensate by cramming in more action, but there’s only so much wackiness a tale can bear. Still, the frenetic pace gives the piece an endearing Carl Hiaasen vibe.  Also on the debit side, the story has holes big enough to drive a furniture van through. 

Such bumps in the road hardly matter in the end. More importantly, does it raise a laugh? Yes, and plenty of them. Sharon Horgan aside, no one writes smart, funny, believable women like McGee. Here’s to her next creation, whatever road it takes her.