The Irish language is often relegated to the past—a relic of rural idylls or historical dramas. Kneecap, directed by Rich Peppiatt, smashes this notion with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, delivering a brash, hilarious, and poignant quasi-biopic of Belfast’s working-class Irish-language leftwing rap trio, Kneecap. Mo Chara (Liam Óg Ó Hannaidh), Móglaí Bap (Naoise Ó Cairealláin), and DJ Próvaí (JJ Ó Dochartaigh) star as fictionalized versions of themselves, portraying their riotous rise in a city grappling with its post-Troubles identity. Following their award-winning debut at Sundance and nominated for an Oscar, they’re now poised for an international breakthrough.
At its core, Kneecap is a film about language—how it defines, constrains, and liberates. Its title— the band’s name—is a word play, referring on the one hand to paramilitary punishment shootings (in the kneecaps, a scene included in the film) as well as the Irish phrase for “I don’t think so”: ní cheapaim.
The film is set in 2019 in West Belfast, against the backdrop of growing advocacy for the Irish language, a movement deeply rooted in resistance to systemic suppression under British rule. Since the inception of this entity, Irish culture and language in Northern Ireland were marginalized, excluded from education and government, and policed during The Troubles, with public displays often resulting in legal or violent repercussions. Community efforts, such as the establishment of Irish-language schools and cultural centers, played a vital role in preserving the language as a symbol of defiance.
By 2022, these efforts culminated in the passage of the Identity and Language Act, which granted Irish equal status with English, lifted the ban on its use in Northern Ireland courts, and allowed its use in the Stormont Assembly. The band’s formation in 2017 and its rebellious ethos are closely linked to this movement. When Mo Chara refuses to speak English during a police arrest, it sparks a chain of events that highlight the trio’s defiance. The film portrays Irish not just as a language of history but as a vibrant expression of modern subcultures, youth, and urban life, with its use as both weapon and sanctuary forming the narrative’s backbone.
Peppiatt’s direction is kinetic and inventive, seamlessly blending styles to reflect Kneecap’s anarchic energy. From claymation drug binges to stark documentary-style realism, the film mirrors the chaos of its protagonists’ lives. Cinematographer Ryan Kernaghan’s meticulous storyboarding pays off, with every frame charged with purpose and wit. One standout scene—set to Kneecap’s single “Sick in the Head”—sees DJ Próvaí balancing his double life as a schoolteacher and a hard-partying DJ, encapsulating the film’s tension between societal expectations and self-expression. It could, however, have done with a more differentiated portrayal of the effects of drug taking and the consequences thereof — particularly in working-class communities. However, it is a reflection of reality and includes challenging moments like bad trips. Ultimately, the film conveys a positive message of language and community renewal—capturing Belfast in all its rawness and authenticity.
The performances are rough and unpolished in the best way. Kneecap’s members are not professional actors, but their truthfulness shines through. Mo Chara’s arc, centered on his relationship with a Protestant girlfriend, with a satirical nod to Romeo and Juliet, explores the delicate interplay between love and identity in a divided city. DJ Próvaí’s transformation from a reserved language teacher to a coke-fueled party icon is both hilarious and tragic, winning over audiences for his sheer relatability. Móglaí Bap’s fraught dynamic with his father, Arló (Michael Fassbender—known among other roles for his representation of Bobby Sands in Hunger, here he is humorously called Bobbly Sandals)—anchors the film’s exploration of generational conflict within Irish republicanism, a history the “ceasefire generation” expressly wish to leave behind. The band’s view of the old Republicanism is represented in Arló and the suffering of Dolores, his wife and mother of Bap, but also in the close-to-life portrayal of the dissident Republicans, who have sworn to continue the armed struggle. It is further reflected on another level by the band’s rejection of Arló’s old adage: “Every word of Irish spoken is a bullet fired for Irish freedom”—one that has outlived its time and, as Arló himself moves on, so does his acceptance of the young’s new approach.
Yet, the film is no boys’ club. The women in Kneecap are its emotional linchpins. From Caitlín (Fionnula Flaherty), DJ Próvaí’ s law-abiding partner, to Dolores (Simone Kirby), Georgia (Jessica Reynolds) as well as Detective Ellis (Josie Walker), these characters bring depth and nuance. A special mention of the role played by Catholic-community women in past resistance—in addition to the film’s dedication to Móglaí Bap’s mother, who died by suicide—is a heartfelt tribute to the often overlooked contributions of women to Irish republicanism.
Kneecap is unapologetically political, with its Belfast setting bristling with murals, a Palestinian flag, and the scars of imperialist British rule. But the film’s genius lies in its insistence that Irish identity transcends sectarian lines. The trio’s commitment to making Irish accessible to all, including Protestants, underscores the language’s potential as a unifying force rather than a divisive one. The band has emphasized in word and deed that they resent sectarianism and strive for an all-inclusive society. In the film, this is underscored in several ways, not least in Mo Chara’s relationship with Georgia.
The soundtrack is, unsurprisingly, stellar. Tracks like “Get Your Brits Out” exemplify Kneecap’s irreverent humor and political bite, while the inclusion of modern Irish slang and neologisms for substances like cocaine and MDMA reflects the band’s belief that language must evolve to remain relevant.
Beyond the laughs and the chaos, Kneecap is deeply rooted in solidarity. The band’s activism spans from raising funds for a Palestinian gym to addressing Irish-American complicity in systemic oppression of minorities elsewhere. This global awareness adds layers to the film, connecting local struggles to broader movements for justice.
Kneecap is more than just a film about a band; it is a declaration of love for Belfast, a rallying cry for the Irish language, and a celebration of working-class resilience and creativity. Amidst the turmoil, the message shines through: A brighter future is possible. This is Irish-language cinema as it has never been seen before: urban, modern, and unapologetically alive.
Kneecap was the big winner at Bifas, the British Independent Film Awards, gaining seven prizes, including the namesake award. If it’s not or no longer in U.S. movie houses, it is available on various online platforms. The trailer can be viewed here.
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