Kneecap band members Mo Chara, D.J. Próvaí and Móglaí Bap in Kneecap (2024)
- Reviewed from the 2024 Sundance Film Festival
Not many musicians have their biopic made one album into their career – but then not many are like the members of Kneecap, who grasp this early opportunity for myth-making with both hands. Rich Peppiatt’s film sees the Belfast-based, Irish-language rapping threesome (stage names Mo Chara, Móglaí Bap and DJ Próvaí) journey through an exhilarating, exaggerated tale of ketamine binges, PSNI run-ins and raucous sell-out gigs, deftly managing a tonal tightrope that keeps the story grounded in reality, despite its outlandish elements.
From a first single banned from Irish radio for “drug references and cursing” to riling up unionist politicians with their ‘Brits Out’ slogan, Kneecap are as unapologetically brash as they are unapologetically republican. And so is the film, which provokes the audiences with gleeful chants of ‘Tiocfaidh ár lá’ (‘Our day will come’) – the only phrase mentioned more often may be ‘Fenian cunts’, howled back at the trio by the police, shown to be variously feckless and sadistic. This isn’t a film remotely concerned with ‘balance’, but the appearance of a hypocritical anti-drug republican cell does show that the group, and co-writer/director Peppiatt, aren’t afraid of a bit of self-deprecating humour.
The cross-community mudslinging reaches absurd heights in Mo Chara’s subplot (each member has their own side-story here to accompany the group narrative), which details his habit of exalting the republican cause during sex with Protestant women. More grounded in the film’s political message are Móglaí Bap’s strained dynamic with his father (Michael Fassbender), a dissident republican who has faked his own death to avoid the law, and DJ Próvaí’s faltering relationship with his partner, a campaigner for the recognition of Irish as an official language in Northern Ireland.
The fight to recognise their language is Kneecap’s raison d’etre; the film ends on a worthy note, referencing the death of indigenous languages worldwide, before this solemn moment is playfully shrugged aside for a montage of real Kneecap gig footage. This ‘encore’ shows Mo Chara, Móglaí Bap and DJ Próvai in their element, hyping up crowds in venues small and large. Such is the strength of the three non-professionals’ performance, it may be the moment where it clicks for some viewers that the band have been playing themselves. As for the music, it speaks to the consistent catchiness of Kneecap’s output that a film can comfortably be soundtracked by a band who have released less than two dozen songs.
It’s no surprise that Kneecap has rubbed unionist politicians and right-wing newspapers up the wrong way, but this will only make the band and their fans more defiant. As the film ends you get the sense that, for a band like Kneecap – a biopic is only the beginning.