Kneecap
Kneecap is an exercise in myth-making for a new generation in political protest and musical sacrilege
Rich Peppiatt’s ferocious feature Kneecap is rarely concerned with the specifics, nor a balanced argument for that matter. Its fuel is the power of audacious storytelling. “Nations are built from stories,” and in turn, “stories are built from language,” says one of the characters, signifying the film’s anchorage to the Gaelic language and its innate yet overlooked importance in Irish identity. Making the sullying point that every story about Belfast starts with ‘The Troubles’, Peppiatt’s brazen-faced biopic chooses to follow a different path, in the myth-making of a new generation in political protest and musical sacrilege.
Set in modern Belfast, we see the – sometimes fictitious – rise of Irish hip-hop band Kneecap through the eyes of best friends and local Belfast drug dealers Liam and Naoise (also known as Mo Chara and Móglaí Bap), as they battle increasing conflicts with the ‘peelers’ (Belfast slang for the police), the Orange Order and local gang men. When arrested, Liam pretends he can’t speak English, only Gaelic, causing the police to rope in local music teacher and Irish speaker JJ (also known as DJ Próvai) to translate.
Quickly deciding “which side of the table” he’s on, JJ proceeds to help Liam out of a barrage of scrapes and discovers the youngster’s Gaelic lyric book, eventually convincing him to make music together. With Naoise now in tow, the trio go from playing empty rooms to pubs of angsty youths to a warehouse full of fans, preaching the ‘good’ word of sex, drugs and vengeful humour.
A significant theme of oppression is concealed tightly within the narrative. Whether it be JJ masked in a Celtic balaclava or Naoise's fugitive father Arló (Michael Fassbender) on the run from the police, the generational trauma of Belfast’s past remains in force. More than a satisfying nod to his role in Steve McQueen’s Hunger, Fassbender’s absent terrorist father is the catalyst for Liam and Naoise’s Gaelic speaking, which is presented to them by Arló as “the light that guides [them] to [their] freedom.” As such, their story is told through a mash-up of Gaelic and hip-hop composition, giving an accessible mouthpiece to their idle rage alongside surrealist cinematography and multi-substance multimedia. On each trip we take with the band, the film descends deeper into hyper-saturated, drug-fuelled chaos not far from the depths of YouTube hell. It's an innovative style that drives the narrative without losing sight of its very real morals (Whether the boys have any left by the end of Kneecap, though, is highly debatable).
At its core, Peppiatt’s film indicates the importance of culture, community and the increasing necessity of protest. Decidedly about more than just daft wee lads doing drugs and making music, Kneecap is a statement of freedom and independence in its mother tongue: something as important now as it’s ever been. Whether you like their music or not, the band’s anarchic voice and perceptive wit are hard to ignore, providing a masterclass in taboo smashing and a radical take on the tiresome biopic formula.
Released 23 Aug by Curzon; certificate 18
GFT hosts a preview of Kneecap followed by a Q&A with the band on 20 Aug