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In general, the bastardization of genre TV — popularized by “Only Murders in the Building” and its charming blend of comedy, drama, and mystery — is a bad thing. Too many shows act like being an OK version of a lot of things is better (or, at least, safer) than being a really good version of one thing.
Your satire of suburban malaise doesn’t also have to be a hangout comedy with a murderer on the loose. Your sci-fi I.P. play doesn’t also have to be a soapy teen drama. Your superhero origin story doesn’t also have to a meta Hollywood buddy-comedy preaching The Thespian’s Gospel.
But hey, with that last example very much included, some of these algorithm-pleasing combo meals actually work, and “How to Get to Heaven from Belfast” is one such exception.
It would be easy to believe Lisa McGee‘s latest Netflix series stemmed from a contentious meeting with the streaming giant: “What if,” the suits might’ve said after hearing her initial pitch, “instead of making another exquisite ensemble comedy like ‘Derry Girls,’ you made an hourlong murder-mystery with at least one cast member from your hit show? It can still be funny if you want. Just, you know, not only funny.“
In this entirely speculative scenario, McGee may have reacted to such advice by writing herself into the series — perhaps as Saoirse, the frustrated TV writer played by Roisin Gallagher in “How to Get to Heaven from Belfast.” Saoirse is the creator and showrunner of a popular and respected series, but when we first meet her, she’s being politely instructed to make some changes. Saoirse’s leading lady (a TV executive would be too obvious) has ideas for the next season — self-serving ideas. Instead of a crime show, why not a character study with no crime at all?
“What if we shine a light on the personal cost of [her] career?,” the actress says. “What it’s done to her family, her relationships, her sex life. … It’s feminist! It’s a journey of self-discovery!”
Saoirse walks out of that meeting, threatening to quit. The stupidity she has to put up with, not to mention the ensuing stress of incorporating said stupidity into her writing, isn’t worth it anymore. “You entertain a lot of people,” her agent begs. “So do crimes!,” she counters. But before she can formally resign, life gets in the way — or, more accurately, death.
From there, Saoirse and her two lifelong friends head home to mourn the premature passing of their former classmate. But instead of a simple overnight stay in Belfast, the trio gets caught up in a mystery rooted in their past and more dangerous than anything they’ve faced before (including angry actors). There are biblical storms, creepy family members, Dolly Parton impersonators, a motel clerk named Norman, a hearty side plot involving a suffragist hit squad, and multiple houses on fire.
Saoirse-Monica Jackson in ‘How to Get to Heaven from Belfast’Courtesy of NetflixThe mystery itself can wind down so many weird roads you may feel a bit lost, especially when McGree keeps adding to the frenzied story with bits of relevant Irish history, meaningful character drama, and even a touch of romance. But throughout it all, there are laughs. Quality jokes. Solid physical comedy. Pitch-perfect performances from the rich ensemble, especially Sinéad Keenan and Caoilfhionn Dunne as Saoirse’s best friends, Robyn and Dara (respectively), plus a magnetic, late-arriving turn from “Derry Girls” veteran Saoirse-Monica Jackson (whose character I’m barred from so much as describing.)
Making the meal of a season even more savory is how McGee meets her own daunting challenge. Nearly everything said at that fateful brunch comes true — they do embark on a feminist journey of self-discovery, it’s just so much stranger, harder-earned, and more specific than those buzzwords imply.
The meta touches — like centering a TV murder-mystery around a TV murder-mystery writer — work beyond a “Psycho” joke here and a “Derry Girls” mural there. Sure, acknowledging its own artifice allows the show to wink at some of its sillier choices (the local mechanic who helps the trio get back on the road is also the local cop who may upend their less-than-legal investigation), but it’s also used to slyly confront the stories we tell about ourselves, as well as what’s left when they fall apart.
“We should be able to mourn the life we didn’t have without feeling guilty (for the life we do have),” Dara says in her opening monologue — a speech that lingers despite being tossed aside in the moment. Much of “How to Get to Heaven from Belfast” does the same: immediately paying off with a sharp chuckle, while nestling into your bones in a way that resonates later.
Not every show should trust it can do both, let alone everything else McGee’s series covers. But where those lesser stories paper over deficits in quality with a surplus of quantity, the “Derry Girls” creator strives to make every expression as satisfying as the rest — and turns out another great series in the process.
Grade: B+
“How to Get to Heaven from Belfast” Season 1 premieres Thursday, February 12 on Netflix. All eight episodes will be released at once.
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