As the third series of Derry Girls opens, Mo Mowlam is on the telly round at the Quinn household, the Good Friday Agreement is on the horizon and Erin (Saoirse-Monica Jackson) is in particularly portentous form.
“They told us we were young, yet we understood the enormity of it, we understood what was at stake”, she intones in her now-customary opening voiceover which, we soon learn, is also the narration for the short film that she and friends Clare (Nicola Coughlan), Michelle (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), Orla (Louisa Harland) and James (Dylan Llewellyn) have been making during their summer holiday respite from Our Lady Immaculate College.
A documentary about life against the backdrop of the Troubles and now the peace talks (“Our fear was replaced by something altogether more terrifying… Hope”), it’s all grainy, ‘arty’ shots of rosary beads and jump cuts switching from burning cars to Erin standing moodily by an underpass. But creative dissent is brewing. “I am so f**king sick of peace,” groans Michelle. “It’s all anyone ever bangs on about.”
And herein lies much of the charm of writer Lisa McGee’s gorgeous sitcom, now in its final season: against the backdrop of momentous, once-in-a-lifetime events, her teenage heroines (and token English boy) are allowed to be gloriously silly, stroppy and self-centred. Personal milestones are just as important as political ones: in this case, GCSE results day is looming, and the panicked glaze in Clare’s eyes is a tell-tale sign that she is gearing up for a trademark meltdown. Not because she’s worried about her results, mind, but out of fear for her friends’ presumably woeful academic performance.
It takes a cryptic encounter with headteacher Sister Michael (Siobhán McSweeney) at the video rental shop (“Just enjoy what time you have left, girls”) to make her start second-guessing her own grades - and, inevitably, start blaming her friends for leading her astray. “I was a scholar when I met you, a scholar!” she raves. Clare’s self-delusions are just as well observed as Erin’s, and Coughlan’s performance, with its incremental increases of hysteria, remains a delight. Not that there are weak links in this ensemble cast, where even the supporting characters are indelible (McSweeney’s deadpan nun is a case in point).
A bungled heist ensues which will eventually put the gang on the wrong side of the law (“We’ll be like the Guildford Four or the Birmingham Six,” shrieks - you guessed it - Clare). Cue a cameo from a Very Famous Star that underlines just how big a deal this Channel 4 comedy has become. There’s also a triumphant moment where Uncle Colm (Kevin McAleer), Derry’s most boring man who can reduce anyone to tears with his string of bungled anecdotes and non-sequiturs, comes into his own in spectacularly tedious fashion. There will doubtless be space over the course of the next five episodes for other fan favourites to get their time in the spotlight (please God, let there be more Father Peter).
McGee cleverly captures the gap between the teens’ dramatic versions of themselves and the reality, from Clare’s conviction that she would be a much better human being if she simply binned off all her friends in Machiavellian fashion to sweet James’ ongoing attempts to use skills learned from gangster movies in real life.
Her sillier, more slapstick gags (like the moment when recurring character Dennis is shown unmoored from the counter of his ‘wee shop’) are also perfectly calibrated, only enhanced by the group’s wonderfully malleable facial expressions. Indeed, the 25-minute sitcom feels effortless in her hands - and I can’t wait to see what she does next. It’ll be hard to say goodbye to these girls - and the wee English fella - who have come to feel like old friends, but it’s been a real ride.
