Why I'm a Proud Member of the Derry Lobby
A disarmingly hilarious and empathetic portrait of a "troubled" adolescence in Northern Ireland
Half a dozen friends had recommend Derry Girls to me for close to five years before I finally watched it. This has much more to do with my own stubbornness and skepticism about new content than it does with the caliber of the show. In a world that’s saturated with “must-see” prestige TV on multiple “must-have” paid streaming platforms, I wondered what could possibly be so good about a teen comedy set in Northern Ireland during The Troubles. If this premise works, then I might have to remove my armor and consider other ones that felt like a stretch. What’s next, a heart-warming soccer sitcom successfully spun off of an ad for the Premier League on NBC? We have all seen what happens when a premise like this fails, managing to simultaneously soil its pants and self-immolate like that mercifully short-lived Geico Caveman show. As a millennial, I stand by my constitutional right to remain skeptical. Anyway, as a 32 year old American man in 2023 how could I possibly possibly relate to this light-hearted coming-of-age tale about adolescent Northern Irish girls set in the 90s?
Well, I absolutely adored Derry Girls, finishing the entire series in a week. I selfishly wish there was more of it to watch and also respect the show runners for crafting a perfect 3 season arc that truly needs to follow up or spinoffs as much as ravenous fans might clamor for them.
I think the unassuming appeal of this show has at least three things in common with Parks & Recreation. The first is that the episodes are delightful snacks at an approachable 20ish minutes long. The second is that while there are larger character arcs and plot threads, it’s a very episodic series featuring engrossing yet light-hearted adventures that resolve by the end credits. The third is that you leave each one having had a hearty belly laugh and feeling reassured about the goodness of your fellow humans.
Writing for The LA Times, Mary McNamara delightfully summed up Derry Girls as “ ‘jewel-box television,’ short and often-but-not-always sweet series that focus more on exquisitely rendering an actual story arc than creating a long-running joke machine.”
I agree with this assessment and would add that the jewels that make Derry Girls sparkle are its characters. Show creator Lisa McGee’s writing comes to life so joyfully because her protagonists are believable and multi-dimensional. Their power comes from how they are well-observed archetypes that are hyperbolic enough to be funny but plausible enough to be relatable, making both the comedy and drama that much more incisive.
The protagonist, Erin, is brought to life by Saoirse-Monica Jackson, a Northern Irish actor who captures her insecurities, ambitions, and delusions of grandeur brilliantly. Her expressive facial acting alone speaks volumes. Brainy and hyper-anxious Clare is played wonderfully by Nicola Coughlan, who Bridgerton fans will recognize as Penelope Featherington. While her apocalyptic outlook on exams is funny to us now, it’s also a cleverly rendered shorthand for how dramatic everything feels in high school. Michelle, portrayed by Jamie-Lee O'Donnell is the confident, promiscuous one, and the self-proclaimed leader of the group most consistently getting them into trouble. Yet her brash exterior may be a defense mechanism for how The Troubles has broken apart her family. Orla, played by Luisa Harland, is Alexis’s favorite character. She’s the space cadet of the group—perpetually out of the loop, not because she’s dumb, but because she’s just vibing on her own charming planet.
James, played by Dylan Llewellyn, is the token guy— a fish out of water English lad forced to attend an all girls Catholic school. Yet while he shows up as a comedic punching bag, his role in the group gains emotional weight with each season. One of the most touching moments in the whole series is when, after being given a chance to return to England with his mom, James decides to stay in Derry because that’s where his best friends are, declaring proudly that “I’m a Derry girl!” James is the heart-warming epitome of the show’s depiction of the friend clique as a kind of chosen family essential to surviving high school.
As a teen-centric sitcom, Derry Girls distinguishes itself in how it depicts both the teens and their parents. The adolescent characters don’t look unrealistically beautiful or old, a cardinal sin of shows and movies about high school. While some of the actors are close to a decade older than the characters they’re playing, the costumes and performances cleverly hide this fact. The adult characters are also just as charming and essential to the symmetry of the show as their children are. The parent-child dynamics are believable thanks again to the marvelous characterization. Seldom do we see multiple intergenerational relationships so subtly and heart-warmingly brought to life. The parents aren’t only there as opposition to power the plot or as fodder for their childrens’ jokes. They’re three dimensionally depicted as mired in the same kind of rivalries, insecurities, and petty frustrations and fascinations that spin their kids round and round each episode.
This is a show where even the secondary and tertiary characters are a joy to watch. Many have rightfully raved about Siobhan McSweeney, who steals the show as sister Michael, the head nun of the Catholic school the girls attend. Yet one of my favorite adult characters is an uncle named Colm, whose whole deal is that he tells agonizingly long-winded stories. In a manner befitting his archetype, his arc takes two seasons to bear fruit, but when it does in an interrogation scene opposite none other than Liam Neeson guest starring as a cop, it’s pure comedic gold.
Each episode and season is powered by the girls trying to meet and impress their crushes, go to concerts, and generally survive high school while getting in their own way via an escalating comedy of errors that is somewhat formulaic yet never wears out its welcome. The dialogue is fast-paced and witty, bouncing between friends, family members, and generations in a delightfully recognizable manner for those of us that are so good at bickering we could go pro.
While Lisa McGee’s most visible writing skill is her mastery of wit, she never goes for a joke at the expense of the humanity of a character. This is a world where even the long-winded uncle has a key role to play. We laugh at him but still love him because he too is part of the family. The biggest triumph of this show is not its machine gun fire of jokes but the compassion and empathy built in between the banter.
Derry Girls gets us to understand The Troubles empathetically by doing so indirectly. We see and feel this from the opening frames of the pilot, with roadblocks and heavily armed police checkpoints presented as a quotidian, almost boring part of life for these girls. The texture of the conflict mostly shows up as background and subtext. The Troubles are depicted as an inconvenience or even fodder for a joke as often as they are shown to be deadly serious. This stylistic choice is effective and ends up being more immersive than the hyper-dramatic “ripped from the history books” plot points you see in shows like Peter Morgan’s historical drama The Crown, whose writing is evocative but has the emotional subtlety of artillery fire at times. I honestly shudder to think what Derry Girls would look like if Peter Morgan got his hands on it— likely as cheerful as a graveyard and would surely shoehorn in the gravitas of a made-up conversation between Queen Elizabeth II and Tony Blair somehow.
Instead of this kind of heavy-handed approach, some of the most touching scenes in Derry Girls are built around little moments of human connection in between the laughter that speak volumes: a hand on a shoulder, an unexpected kiss, the most tear-jerking depiction of a group hug I’ve ever seen on screen.
By focusing primarily on the melodrama of adolescence in Northern Ireland, we see the humanity of the protagonists in a way you rarely do in a news report or documentary about an historical event like The Troubles. The girls, after all, are just teenagers. They have crushes, hopes, dreams, anxieties, and petty disagreements just like we all did. The show teaches you that dark times aren’t homogeneously dark. Even when the evening news is full of confusion, repression, and violence, there is still boredom, routine, and laughter filling the days. The way the plot punctuates teen banter & bickering with moments of genuine tragedy and historical significance makes it all much more immersive, so you feel it that much more intensely. McGee’s mastery of contrasting emotional textures adds an unassuming realism to what in lesser hands would feel contrived, hyper-stylized, or tonally dissonant.
The true genius of Derry Girls in these contrasts, perhaps most noticeably its mastery of specificity and universality. On the one hand it’s an unapologetically specific show., from the 90s music and fashion to the Northern Irish slang and accents as thick as molasses. The music, featuring needle drops from The Spice Girls, Salt & Pepa, Fatboy Slim, and of course Ireland’s gift to indie rock, the Cranberries, is both nostalgic and effective as a narrative device for immersing you in this particular chunk of the 90s. Each episode functions as a lesson on what life was like in Northern Ireland in the 90s in a charming and down-to-earth way that’s almost impossible to experience short of sitting in a pub with someone who grew up then. On the other hand, it’s a remarkably universal viewing experience. Its three seasons build a generous bridge to viewers of all ages and backgrounds through charisma, humor, and well-observed truths about family, friendship, and growing up.
The final episode comes way too soon but feels like a moving and satisfying graduation ceremony after the journey you’ve taken through high school with the girls. An ebullient opening montage powered by the juicy steel drum synths of certified banger “Sunchyme” by Dario G paints a vibrant picture of Northern Ireland on the precipice of peace. We see the girls getting ready to vote on the Good Friday Agreement in 1998 and get the sense that the conflict that has been going on since their parents were their age might finally take a turn for the better.
The teens and their parents pour over the comically dense peace proposal in front of them and debate what the heck it means, how they ought to vote, and if a more peaceful future is even imaginable after so much violence and hurt. In this tender moment we can all recall the vibrancy and fragility of being young and optimistic. Graduating from high school truly feels like stepping out into the beautiful and terrifying unknown. Like the girls, we had zero evidence anything would work out. We’re reminded that growing up anywhere is a leap of faith.
As the finale heads towards its teary last minutes, Erin, finally blossoming as an aspiring writer, remarks to James: “We need to be brave. If our dreams get broken along the way. We need to make new ones from the pieces.”
In the hilarious and surprisingly tender arc of Derry Girls, we see how beautiful art can emerge from truly dark chapters of our history. We understand how friendship and humor don’t just exist in spite of hardship; they often take powerful new forms because of it. Perhaps most importantly, we’re reminded to not be so quick to define one country or region by the most extreme stories we've heard about it on the news. American viewers would do well to look at our own neighbors and remember that, like Northern Ireland, Mexico is inhabited by people whose lives are defined by much more than violence between warring factions.
I am hopeful that the success of Derry Girls can lead to more nuanced and generous portrayals of other polarizing, glossed over, or misunderstood parts of history. Shows like this just might be the antidote to the 24 hour news cycle. My soul certainly felt soothed after three sweet seasons of this kind of story. I can already see myself rewatching episodes after a tough day or sad week.
In addition to picking up some Northern Irish slang that’s just cracker, jaded old me learned a few lessons, too. Erin and her friends taught me that we can’t stop having hilarious adventures just because the stakes feel high and tomorrow is uncertain. That’s actually the precise reason why we need to be kind, be creative, and show up for our friends every single day. While suffering and death, like family bickering and taxes, are inevitable parts of our lives, we don’t have to let our fear and resentment filter out joy. Daring to live a joyful life in a troubled world is an underrated form of bravery. Hoping for a better future, McGee shows us, isn’t just youthful naïveté; it’s an essential ingredient of individual resiliency and social progress.
And yes, I also learned not be so dismissive of TV premises that sound odd. I just might have to borrow a friend’s Apple TV login, hop across the Irish Sea, and finally watch Ted Lasso next. Or maybe I’ll just start rewatching Derry Girls.