Euronews Culture's Film of the Week: 'Kneecap' - Fun, raucous and heartfelt
They’ve already released one of our favourite albums of the year so far... Now, Belfast rappers Kneecap are the subject of their very own biopic, and it's one of 2024’s most energising and heartfelt films.
For those who haven’t yet had the pleasure, Kneecap are two MCs, Móglaí Bap and Mo Chara, and one MC, DJ Próvái. Fond of merging Gaelic Irish with English, balaclava-wearing satire with socially conscious lyrics, and plenty of drug and sex references, the band have been active since 2017.
They quickly became an underground hit and made a name for themselves as one of the UK’s most controversial bands since the Sex Pistols, since many accused them of flirting with violent imagery and IRA slogans. Naomi Long, the minister of justice for Northern Ireland, even accused them of fueling sectarian tensions. However, their dominance on the worldwide cultural scene shifted into gear this year, with the release of their second album ‘Fine Art’, a funny, unruly and engaged LP that’s unlike anything you’ll hear all year. And now their eponymous “mostly true” biopic hits theatres, with the trio playing themselves – and you won’t want to miss it.
This raucous origin story sees two twenty-something drug dealers (Liam óg ó Hannaidh and Naoise ó Cairealláin) join forces with a music teacher (JJ ó Dochartaigh) to start an Irish-language hip-hop trio. Their paths cross when the teacher stumbles onto Naoise’s book of lyrics during a police interrogation where the latter refuses to speak “the Queen’s English” to the police. Or should we say “peelers”.
JJ sees potential and convinces the duo to let him create some beats. And thus begins Kneecap.
Not that there aren’t obstacles to contend with... Mostly conflicting relationships.
Naoise’s father Arlo (Michael Fassbender), a member of the IRA who faked his own death to avoid prison, left his son and his ‘widow’ (Simone Kirby) in an agoraphobic state. Then there are Liam’s routinely hook ups with Protestant Georgia (Jessica Reynolds), who gets her kink on when political slogans feature during sex - with "Tiocfaidh ár lá" ("Our day will come") being a particular favourite.
Meanwhile, JJ has to hide his extracurricular activities not only from the school but from his partner Caitlin (Fionnuala Flaherty), whose mission to get Irish recognised as the official language of Northern Ireland could end up being undermined by Kneecap’s growing success. He ends up wearing the now iconic tricolour balaclava to become DJ Próvái - who emblazons his arse with the words “Brits Out” during a gig. But will the knitted headwear do the trick?
As if that wasn’t enough, there’s the fact that “no cunt who listens to hip-hop speaks Irish”, and in becoming unexpected political activists who rap about drugs, the lads are faced with the ire of not only law enforcement but also the paramilitary group Radical Republicans Against Drugs - who would be Pythonesque if they weren’t carrying.
Brass tacks: Kneecap is an absolute blast, a high-energy and frequently hilarious feature which appropriately mirrors the outfit’s music and ethos, in the sense it is rebellious, boisterous, and crucially never forgets to get its point across. The fact that the three leads are musicians with no acting experience is nothing short of extraordinary.
To call the film Trainspotting-meets-8 Mile seems a bit obvious, but the comparisons are apt – even if Kneecap traces its own hedonistic path. British-Irish writer-director Rich Peppiatt bottles what makes the band so damn irresistible to begin with, utilising playful camera tricks, onscreen lyric translations, and even a hilarious claymation scene to call out the evils of streaming for recording artists’ profits. That and to convey what happens when coke and ketamine get mixed up. And not for the first time.
The electric verve is matched by the script’s ability to avoid clichés, chiefly by calling them out. Whether it’s the opening sequence, featuring cars exploding with the voiceover announcing “Every fucking story about Belfast starts like this”, or quips about concert tickets “selling out like Michael Collins” and a perfectly delivered “Too soon?” when a joke is made about the potato famine, the tone is perfectly calibrated between confidently flippant and deadly serious.
This is where Kneecap soars. As entertaining and loaded with irreverent wit as it is, it’s a potent portrait of disenfranchised “The Ceasefire Babies” generation - and ultimately a film about identity.
“Every word of Irish spoken is a bullet fired for Irish freedom,” says Arlo to his young son during a brief flashback sequence, reminding that there are serious undertones throughout - ones which become particularly poignant when the film deals with father-son dynamics.
By the time we're reminded that “an indigenous language dies every 40 days” across the globe, Kneecap morphs into something more than an unapologetically brash rags-to-riches music biopic; it’s a thought-provoking call to arms about the importance of native tongues. Especially those people try to silence. Language is not only about cultural heritage, but an act of defiance. In Ireland’s case, the language once banned by the British – and only recognized as an official language in 2022 – is inherently bound to the ills of colonization and British imperialism.
Kneecap’s remedy? Understand that smarts and laughs needn’t be mutually exclusive; get hotboxed in a garage studio; embrace your midlife crisis by joining a Republican rap group to give the middle finger to the Brits and better fight for the salvation of your language.
And crucially, “fuck up” ye shall not.
Kneecap is out in theatres now.
