how to get to heaven from belfast review — a frenetic, female-led caper you shouldn’t miss
When three old schoolfriends reunite at the funeral of the fourth, a simple wake spirals into a knotty, darkly comic investigation. Lisa McGee has taken her knack for explosive ensemble comedy and strapped it to a murder-mystery engine, producing a series that is equal parts chaotic, witty and emotionally sharp.
A brisk plot with a combustible centre
The premise is disarmingly straightforward: Dara, Saoirse and Robyn reconnect to mourn their absent friend Greta, whose death is explained locally as a tragic fall. But a mismatch at the wake — namely the absence of a distinctive tattoo that binds the four friends — triggers suspicion and the creeping conviction that something more sinister has happened. Flashbacks to a forest shack, satanic imagery and a menacing figure from the past deepen the mystery and suggest a secret that has lurked for two decades.
The show wastes no time. What begins as an exercise in curiosity becomes an escalating caper driven by teenage loyalty and adult resentments. One of the strengths here is the way ordinary domestic anxieties are folded into the detective work: a mother stretched thin, a woman navigating a controlling partner, and the everyday compromises of middle age all feed into why these characters decide to take risks and pry open old wounds. Meanwhile, the local police presence — embodied by an unnerving chief and an imposing family matriarch — keeps viewers on edge about how far danger reaches in this tight-knit community.
McGee’s voice: comedic DNA meets murder mystery
This series feels unmistakably shaped by its creator. The same verbal snap, observational bite and chaotic warmth that animated McGee’s previous work shows up here, but it’s been repurposed for a very different genre. The writer’s long-standing affection for classic cozy mysteries and television sleuths is apparent: she wanted to build something female-led that could be messy, funny and smart about how secrets warp lives. Those ambitions pay off in a script that balances intricate plotting with comedic set-pieces and frank emotional moments.
At times the pace is breathless — the narrative careens from scene to scene with a relish that can leave you wanting a brief pause to catch your breath — but that momentum also keeps the stakes feeling immediate. McGee’s choice to center the story on middle-aged women — not as side characters but as the drivers of action and curiosity — gives the show a fresh axis of energy. It’s a reminder that friendship, history and shared guilt make for compelling detective material.
Performances that anchor the chaos
The cast is uniformly committed, converting sharp dialogue and twisting beats into characters who feel lived-in. The four women at the heart of the story carry a layered mix of humour, regret and ferocity. Supporting players who populate the town contribute menace and texture, turning plot beats into lived threats rather than mere devices on a board. There are moments of real tonal dexterity — comedic interludes sliding into darker revelations — and the actors lean into those shifts without missing a beat.
Production design and pacing also deserve a mention: the visual contrasts between the claustrophobic domestic interiors and the flashback wilderness scenes help sell the idea that the past is never truly gone. A carefully placed prop or a small gesture often yields more information than an expository line, and that trust in craft elevates the writing.
In short, this is a series that understands how to juggle tone. It is at once entertaining, unnerving and emotionally resonant. If you are looking for something that combines sharp comedic instincts with the pleasures of a well-constructed mystery, this is essential viewing. See it for the plotting, stay for the performances — and watch as a long-buried secret finally begins to reshape a group of women who thought they had left their past behind.
