Kneecap Hits Hard to the Head and Heart
A meta biopic as moving as it is arresting – in both senses of the word
There are two things that inspire restless youth: rebellion and music. As far as hip hop movies go, I’ve only really seen and enjoyed 8 Mile (2002) and Straight Outta Compton (2015). At least, that was until I saw Kneecap (2024). This self-referential biopic tells the story of the titular controversial rap group from Belfast who fought back against the authoritarian Irish government by blending traditional Gaelic with English in their republican rhymes.
Starring the artists as themselves, it follows Kneecap – a trio comprised of young emcees Mo Chara and Móglaí Bap and former high school music teacher DJ Próvaí – from their humble beginnings as unemployed delinquents to their meteoric rise as Northern Ireland’s leading hip hop act. Named after a traditional method of brutality against drug dealers in Belfast, the film explores their chaotic lives as dissident underdogs using music to create a movement in a whirlwind of sex, drugs, and violence.
Written and directed by Rich Peppiatt, Kneecap is largely narrated by Liam (Mo Chara) as he explains the country’s troubled history and how a minority’s resistance to British rule influenced their modus operandi. It features Michael Fassbender in a brilliant supporting role as Naoise’s (Móglaí Bap) estranged father Arló, a former paramilitary who faked his death to escape conviction, in one of his most compelling roles that I’ve seen. The film possesses a razor-sharp wit and striking tenderness that grounds the arrogance of defiant stardom.
Though the devious but lovable Liam carries the film, it frequently changes perspective to show each member’s complicated personal lives as they grapple with their sudden success. Naoise lives with and cares for his debilitated mother who suffers from agoraphobia, revealing a softer side to the audacious front often adopted by the rapper in social situations. A conflicted JJ (DJ Próvaí) must navigate a world of hedonism after discovering Liam’s notebook of Gaelic lyrics as an Irish translator and offering to record them at his home studio.
Most of the film’s comic relief comes from Mo Chara, who disregards police, steals the baton from a marching band, sleeps with countless women, and is almost always high. The way that he clambers over his flat’s neighbouring balcony to retrieve the drugs that he orders online and has delivered next door to avoid detection is hilariously genius. Some of the funniest moments, however, feature DJ Próvaí attempting to live a double life as a school teacher by day and a drug-crazed, balaclava-wearing, arse-baring turntablist by night. Not to mention the numerous occasions when they have a bad trip after accidentally mixing ketamine with cocaine.
But at the heart of Kneecap is, well, heart. It has some of the best screenwriting that I’ve seen in recent memory. The poetic, almost abstract dialogue at times brilliantly encompasses the passion and talent of the group’s music. Whether it’s DJ Próvaí’s offhandedly insightful “No one is anyone until they are,” or Arló’s recurring motto “Every word of Irish spoken is a bullet fired for Irish freedom,” there’s a subtle depth to the film that I wasn’t expecting from a biopic about an emerging rap crew. One particular scene involving a confrontation between parents even had me swallowing a lump in my throat.
The docudrama style allows the filmmakers to distil Kneecap’s journey down to a few valuable lessons, with core themes of rebellion, perseverance, and integrity. It has an underlying message of living fearlessly, with one character criticising DJ Próvaí’s motives as a mid-life crisis, and following your dreams in the face of adversity. This notion of standing up for what you believe in to catalyse progress is evident in the real-life example of how it was the government and media’s politicisation and prohibition of their music that led to its wide recognition. As they say, any publicity is good publicity.
It also demonstrates the importance of support from family, which is ironically wholesome for a movie with explicit themes. When Móglaí Bap is tasked with organising a 10-year anniversary memorial for his father’s “death”, it shows how much of an impact Arló had on the community – the man responsible for teaching Kneecap Gaelic as children. Móglaí Bap is angered by his father’s refusal to speak Irish when they reconnect and Arló condemns him for dealing drugs. Arló then secretly attends Kneecap’s biggest show to date before it gets shut down by police, finally realising that his son is now carrying the torch that he himself had lit.
Not only does the film have great screenwriting, it looks unusual too. There are sketch animations throughout that give a visual representation to what’s being said and remind you that you’re watching a movie. Claymation was even used in one scene for the perspective of the artists during one of their bad trips, in which Mo Chara delivers a fantastic monologue about the decline of the music industry. (This is the second time that I’ve seen claymation in a 2024 film, the other being Beetlejuice Beetlejuice. Is it coming back?) I also love the one-shot of the phone booths that transports a forlorn Móglaí Bap back to boyhood with a sense of neglect.
I really enjoy watching the journey of a struggling artist (sadistic, I know, but I am one myself). The choppy sequence of Kneecap recording their debut single “C.E.A.R.T.A.” in DJ Próvaí’s garage is eye-opening. It’s like that bus scene in 8 Mile where Eminem is jotting rhymes on loose scraps of paper that would later become “Lose Yourself”. I’m reminded of a line in The Creative Act by Rick Rubin that stuck with me: “Do what you can with what you have. Nothing more is needed.” This rings true when the trio break into the school after hours and use a Roland 808 drum machine to record a single for radio after their studio is bombed.
It’s no surprise that Kneecap was selected as the Irish entry for the Academy Award for Best International Feature Film at the 97th Academy Awards. The group encourages people all over the world to embrace their native tongue and challenge their oppressors through the universal language of music. They even donate a large chunk of their earnings to refugee camps, so you know that they walk the talk. What isn’t inspirational about that?
P.S. I’ve been obsessed with their music ever since I saw this film. I recommend the song “Better Way to Live” from their latest album Fine Art if you want to check them out – which you should!