How to Get to Heaven from Belfast review – if you see nothing else this year, watch this
Lisa McGee returns with how to get to heaven from belfast, a razor-sharp, fast-moving murder-mystery that blends broad comedy with genuine menace. When three middle-aged schoolfriends gather for the funeral of their estranged fourth, small-town whispers and a missing occult tattoo set off a hunt that reveals tangled loyalties, old secrets and startlingly dark undercurrents. The result is a show that feels at once comfortingly familiar and thrillingly new.
A breathless, female-led caper
At the heart of the series are three women — Robyn, Saoirse and Dara — who reunite to attend the funeral of Greta, their childhood friend. A brief flashback to a burning forest shack and sinister symbols anchors the mystery: something happened between the four of them two decades earlier. At the wake, Saoirse, a crime writer by trade, spots a disturbing detail — the body in the coffin lacks the tattoo that tied the girls together. That discrepancy turns quiet suspicion into full-blown investigation.
McGee’s plotting moves at a galloping pace. What begins as a closet-corner inquiry becomes a chaotic, often hilarious caper that repeatedly refuses to pause. The story stitches together present-day domestic frustrations and the lingering weight of youth; it uses small-town routines and contemporary absurdities to broaden the mystery while never losing focus on the central friendship. Where the tone leans comic, it does so with a sharpness that keeps the thriller elements credible and the stakes high.
Standout performances and tonal balance
The cast supplies much of the show’s propulsion. The lead turns in a sensational performance, combining comic timing with a brittle intensity that anchors the series emotionally. Her co-stars complement that energy: one delivers dry acerbic humor as a stressed parent slipping between resilience and vulnerability, while another counters with deadpan observational wit. The actor playing the local police chief brings an almost primal menace to otherwise placid rural authority, and the presence of a hardened matriarch adds another, quieter layer of threat.
McGee’s skills as a writer are on full display. She fuses the buoyant, anarchic spirit fans will recognise from her earlier work with an intricate mystery that rewards attention. The screenplay leans into character-driven comedy — domestic irritations, social rituals, absurd border moments — and sprinkles in genuinely unsettling beats: cult-like imagery, shadowy men in the woods and the slow bloom of suspicion among lifelong friends. That blend of levity and darkness is what keeps the series unpredictable and gripping.
Why this matters
How to Get to Heaven from Belfast is more than a clever genre pastiche. It insists on three things at once: that female friendships can form the backbone of a gripping thriller, that comedy can sharpen rather than undercut tension, and that contemporary portrayals of a city long viewed through a narrow lens must include stories that are messy, diverse and unexpectedly funny. The show sidesteps tired stereotypes and populates its world with complex, modern characters whose lives don’t reduce to postcards.
For viewers craving a mystery with heart and humour — and for anyone who loved the creator’s previous work — this series is likely to rank as one of the year’s most entertaining offerings. It’s noisy, clever and frequently surprising, with performances that linger long after episodes end. If you pick up only one new show this season, this one makes a strong case for why it should be the one.
