There are few spectacles more ripe for comedy than teenagers causing havoc, but Derry Girls has got it down to a fine art. Channel 4’s new sitcom is set in “a place called Derry, or Londonderry, depending on your persuasion – a troubled little corner in the north-west of Ireland,” the melodramatic diarist Erin declares in the opening episode. Or rather, her cousin Orla declares it, by reading aloud excerpts from Erin’s diary. (She’s doing it for her book report.)
The action, and there is plenty of it, takes place in the 90s, a time when teenagers could aspire to be famous like the Corrs, and against a backdrop of the Troubles, which, for our heroines, means a bomb scare on the bridge delaying their school bus because it has to go the long way around.
The Derry Girls – and “the wee English fella” James – are a brilliant ensemble, each bringing their own comedic flare together to form a very funny collective. As the closest thing to a straight man in a very wonky bunch, the writerly Erin steers the ship, and Saoirse-Monica Jackson’s rubbery-jawed expressions of confusion and horror are a sight to behold.
There’s the high-energy, well-meaning Clare, who fasts for Ethiopia and is in a constant state of panic, and the pathologically dopey Orla: who makes Phoebe from Friends look grounded. But it’s Jamie Lee O’Donnell who steals every scene she’s in as the foul-mouthed Michelle. She loves a Pernod, has a brief phase of saying “motherfucker” after she watches a knockoff Pulp Fiction VHS, and cuts through the chaos she’s responsible for causing with an air of unmistakeable cool-girl nonchalance.
Despite all the references ripped straight from any 90s bedroom wall – there’s a Macaulay Culkin-based misunderstanding, and a sweet Reservoir Dogs recreation in the second episode – its nostalgia is affectionate, but not cloying or sentimental. There’s not much in the way of sentimentality anywhere, in fact, and it’s all the better for it. The family scenes are deliciously tart, and any concern that it might collapse under the weight of its historical and political setting is swept away with a deft hand, as the girls put their minds to more pressing matters, such as wondering whether they would consider a British soldier to be shaggable.
Derry Girls is reckless, joyful and celebratory, whether they’re explaining why they almost burned down a chip shop, or why they definitely did not kill a nun. Partly, that’s because its jokes come thick and fast. Each episode unspools into madness by the time we get to the ad break; the second half is an attempt to somehow put the toothpaste back into the tube.
Writer and creator Lisa McGee, who divided opinion with her 2013 comedy London Irish, manages to make almost every line a gag. Early in the first episode, Erin’s mother forbids her from asserting her independence by wearing a denim jacket to school. When she turns up in a blazer, Clare, also sporting a denim jacket, is quick to get the hump: “I’m not being an individual on me own,” she huffs. It’s as silly as it is quick-witted, but the balance of the two is perfect.
The programme is a delight, too, because there is a particular kind of energy to be harnessed by teenagers who are simultaneously self-conscious to the point of pain, and yet totally unwilling to bend to any form of decorum or propriety. The gang here remind me of the tearaways on a school trip in Alan Warner’s wonderful and under-loved 1997 novel The Sopranos, which has recently been turned into a musical (Our Ladies of Perpetual Succour) by Lee Hall. More accidentally rebellious than deliberately so, these girls are all a nightmare, and you can’t help but be entertained by them. Soon after the first episode of Derry Girls aired, Channel 4 announced that it had already commissioned a second series. If you aren’t already watching, then catch yourself on.
- Derry Girls continues Thursday, Channel 4 at 10pm; episodes are also available on All4
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