It has taken an age for the fictionalised biopic of west Belfast’s best-known hip-hop disrupters to make its way from a triumphant Sundance premiere to wide domestic release. Impatient audiences could be forgiven for entertaining Public Enemy’s famous suspicion of “the hype”. After all, how good must a music flick be to exceed always-modest expectations?
Not nearly so good as this. Early reviews may, perhaps, have overreached when comparing the rambunctious picture, directed by the former journalist Rich Peppiatt, to Dick Lester’s A Hard Day’s Night, but the ingenious blend of self-mythology and self-deprecation really does recall that Beatles classic.
Obviously, the trio aren’t yet the most famous men in the world. (Give them a week or two.) The film-makers here do, however, have to juggle complex political sensitivities that did not trouble Lester. One can hardly think of a less likely trigger for a rap musical than the Identity and Language (Northern Ireland) Act 2022. The republican imagery is unashamedly provocative. Kneecap does not back away from the continuing sense of a city existing in the tensest equilibrium. Sometimes the strains do show – the odd dialogue inserted as balancing footnote – but the package holds together admirably as we clatter to a celebratory close.
Michael Fassbender, reminding us of his performance in Steve McQueen’s inexpressibly different Hunger, turns up as republican volunteer who, following the neopagan baptism of his son Móglaí Bap (Naoise Ó Cairealláin), is presumed to have gone where martyrs go but, in reality, waits elsewhere to inject dusty context towards the close. In the near present, Móglaí Bap and Mo Chara (Liam Óg Ó Hannaidh) are getting by as low-level drug dealers in postceasefire Belfast. When Mo Chara is arrested, he will answer only in Irish, causing a local teacher to be dragged in as interpreter. This is the future DJ Próvai (JJ Ó Dochartaigh), not yet in his trademark Tricolour balaclava, and, before too long the three are blasting out rhymes to the accompaniment of a vintage Roland 808 drum machine (a Proustian madeleine for ageing hip-hoppers).
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There are a few more plot strands hanging off that tree. As has been the case since Homo Ulsterus first put quill to vellum, we get a good-natured love-across-the-barricades story, here carried off with unsanctimonious vim, that argues for the equal ludicrousness of all prejudice. When Mo Chara and his Protestant girlfriend (given gravy-ring gusto by Jessica Reynolds) reach simultaneous sexual completion, one yells “Northern Ireland!” and the other bellows back “the North of Ireland!” Why, it’s almost as if they’re rival politicians composing tweets about recent successes in the Olympics. Some creaks are audible as Mo Chara seeks to explain why the phrase “Brits out!” is more selective than it sounds. “Yeah, sometimes,” a few northerners will respond.
For the most part, however, Kneecap adroitly manages the balance between provocation and reconciliation. Not for the first time, talented rappers confirm their gifts are useful for creating characters before the camera. All three prove flexible, charismatic actors, but Ó Dochartaigh in particular – convincing as homebody teacher and renegade knob-twiddler – looks to have the chops for work outside the Kneecap universe. Peppiatt’s treatment of Fassbender’s character demonstrates a maturity about the difficulties of processing what we are urged to call “legacy”. He is both a charismatic icon and a stand-in for the many who struggle to move on – like the stranded Japanese soldiers who continued to fight the second World War.
Kneecap, the first film yet selected by any country to compete for best international picture at the 2025 Oscars, offers practical evidence that progress is possible. And also that progress can be a blast.
Kneecap is in cinemas from Thursday, August 8th
