Ian Fitzgibbon (2025)

The question of fidelity to the original is never far away when it comes to a film or TV adaptation. In the case of The Walsh Sisters, the publicity for this new series – co-produced by RTÉ, BBC, Cuba Pictures and Metropolitan Films International – went to considerable lengths to emphasise how faithful the dramatisation would be to the original novels by Marian Keyes. In interviews before the series premiered on RTÉ, Keyes along with writer/actor/producer Stephanie Preissner (she plays Maggie, the second eldest sister) were emphatic about how closely the series kept to the books. Interviews with cast members also backed this up with tales of Keyes visiting the set and being on hand to answer questions about the characters as well as describing a party that she gave for the cast in her home. While, in respect of the series, Keyes was “the source of the Nile”, it was also made clear that she had no desire to adapt her own books for a different medium. Indeed, much was made of the fact that Keyes chose Preissner to undertake the adaptation, giving the sense that a mantle had been passed. In fact, Keyes and Preissner ran a podcast to accompany every episode which was available after each broadcast. Thus, the fidelity of the adaptation to the original was energetically established before the series began. However, little is made of how this fidelity will be impacted by the switching of the setting of the novels from the 1990s and 2000s to the present. The interviews indicate that this choice was made to update and modernise the stories, with Keyes apologising for aspects of the novels that were “fatphobic, white and heteronormative” – elements understandably corrected in the reincarnations and, for contemporary viewers, most certainly laudable alterations.

There are seven novels published that tell the stories of the five Walsh Sisters, and one complementary A-Z “compendium”. The television series focuses on two of these novels – Rachel’s Holiday (1997) and Anybody Out There (2006) – respectively, the second and fourth novels in the series. The dramatisations tell the story of Rachel (Caroline Menton), whose near-death experience as a result of her addiction to alcohol and drugs lead to her “holiday” at a rehab centre, and almost inconsolable grief suffered by Anna (Louisa Harland) following the death of her fiancé Aidan (Samuel Anderson) in a car crash. With necessary narrative contrivance, that disaster happens when the partners are on their way to collect Rachel to bring her to rehab. The series follows the impact of these events on the relationship of Anna and Rachel, their three sisters, parents, and Rachel’s boyfriend Luke (Jay Duffy). Moving the setting to the present time makes for some awkward moments, and the intention to be true to the novels compromises credibility in situations that are incongruous in 2025. Perhaps the biggest adjustment made with the change in time periods is that the most recent novel in the series – My Favourite Mistake (published in 2024 as a sequel to Rachel’s Holiday and Again, Rachel published in 2022) – and the latter presents the Walsh sisters middle-aged, having matured on a chronological timeline with the books. For fans of the novels, whom it is reasonable to imagine are the target audience of the series, it is demanding to reimagine the sisters as young on screen when they have already witnessed them age on the page.

To have a new series, based on books by a female writer, with a female showrunner, telling the stories of five women, is a welcome piece of television programming. This series has strong predecessors in Derry Girls, This Way Up and Sharon Horgan’s Bad Sisters (all written by Irish women and dealing with relationships between sisters or, in the case of Derry Girls, a ‘non-blood’ sorority). The Walsh Sisters female-dominated set up is very persuasive in part due to the number of women’s voices we hear. The successful drawing of five individuals as compellingly empowered characters is a credit to both Keyes and the production team who judiciously ensure that there is no overlap, no imitation, and no shadowing with any of the sisters. Each is a unique voice and character, and all are well developed and credibly poised to figure out her own way in the world. They epitomise the best of strong independent twenty-first-century women. They are outspoken, verbal, incredibly articulate, funny, complicated and kind; while their life-paths are pre-determined by their birth family, they are trying honourable and realistically to live with and escape from this. These are familiar Irish women. Performances by Máiréad Tyers as Helen, and Caroline Menton as Rachel are excellent, and Louisa Harland as Anna and Carrie Crowley as Mammy Walsh also give great performances, fully realised in spite of storylines that are less nuanced.

The series gets a lot right when it comes to the intimacy between sisters, particularly the dramatic and sometimes swift situational changes from contented intimate connections to bitter disagreements. The relationships are drawn compellingly but credibly as they are charted through details like the easy body familiarity and irritability that comes with growing up with four siblings. These are represented in minor moments such as the borrowing of clothes (with and without permission), the popping of spots, the physical interactions of holding, amicable the patting, and the delicate touches or subtle looks that indicate a deeper connection and bond. It is exemplified in one scene in the final episode where all the sisters join Anna on the bed and talk and argue. In an unforced way, Fitzgibbon shows us the shifting moods and allegiances between them, the way they have developed an arm scratching similarity that keeps them linked to each other physically when words fail: a meaningful moment that becomes both a point of humour and argument.

The Keyes books are frequently hilarious, and always humorous, but the series leans into the serious topics and gives them more prominence. The first episode ends with a dramatic and horrific car crash, the second episode features the death of Aidan, and from these events develop the two main stories: Anna’s grief and Rachel’s battle with addiction. Maggie’s struggles to get pregnant and Helen’s anxiety, along with Claire’s (Danielle Galligan) ambiguous feelings about motherhood also feature. While there are comic moments, a serious tone is maintained throughout. This is especially true for episodes three and four, which were written by Kefi Chadwick, and are the darkest and the most intense of all the programmes.

Much of the humour that does break through comes from Mammy Walsh, although most of this is laughing at her and there is a touch of cruelty in her being the brunt of the jokes. Again, this is one of the most disjointed aspects of moving the timeframe. It was more believable for a woman of Mammy Walsh’s age to be disconnected from the modern world in the 1990s, it is much more difficult to believe that a fifty-something year old woman with five daughters would be so out of touch in 2025. A lot of the time Mammy Walsh is portrayed as being angry and as someone who must be humoured, or worse still managed. At the same time, she is given some of the funniest lines: “A bit of physical work seems to help”, she comments in a deadpan aside to Luke when his visit to Anna after Aidan’s death coincides with her power-washing the patio. There is a sense of an individual here, of a woman who has raised and is still raising five girls capable of using acerbic humour to help her get through.

The setting and tone of the series are noteworthy in their complementing the books’ prosaic creations. The choice of songs played over the cold openings of the first episode and over the title credits throughout are interesting. Aimee Carty’s song Sister is the first piece we hear. The lyrics refer to how little sisters look up to older sisters when they are both young, and how this can lead to problematic relationships as they age. This is thematically apt and could have been written especially to depict the bonding between Rachel and Anna. Over the opening credits we hear Cathy Davey’s song Little Red, this initially seems to be referring to the relationship between Rachel and Luke, with lyrics stating “Hey, I wouldn’t let him in” apparently indicating Rachel’s reluctance to open up emotionally and acknowledge her vulnerability. In fact, the song refers to male predatory behaviour and acts as a warning to other women not to fall for that kind of character. It is an odd choice as none of the men in this series is especially threatening. Notably, in a reversal of the fate that often befalls women in television dramas, the men are rather thinly drawn characters with little psychological breadth or depth. Jay Duffy, who plays Luke, went as far as to question Marian Keyes about what makes his character tick in order to gain a greater insight into his motivation. Luke, Daddy Walsh, (Aidan Quinn) and, to a lesser extent, Aidan are cyphers: strategically positioned to reflect the emotions of the female characters. This can lead to their appearance as solid, reliable, dependable and rational. However, this kind of characterisation does not necessarily guarantee agency. Rather, it becomes more relevant because it provides a counterfoil to the female characters whose emotional lives are the definitive focus of the series. We do not hear or need to relate to the emotional ups and downs of the male characters: we are not granted access to their desires and needs as we are with their female counterparts. It is a strength of this series that the emotional lives of the women form its backbone: it is the series’ characterisation and not its novelistic plot that affords greater insight into the fictional family presented.

It is good to see Keyes’ work being adapted for television and great that Preissner was chosen as showrunner for the series. Caveats about updating the series aside, the characters are well written and well acted and they work together very well to form a convincing family.