Still from Kneecap
Michaela Owens sings the praises of the new, acclaimed quasi-biopic of the Irish hip-hop group Kneecap.
It isn’t controversial to say that the musical biopic isn’t exactly the freshest genre out there. It’s easy enough to guess what the story beats will be, what songs will be highlighted, and what “fateful” moments will be inorganically spotlighted, but every now and then, you come across an example of the genre that reminds you why filmmakers can’t resist this type of narrative. The (somewhat fictionalized) origin story of the Belfast hip-hop trio of the same name, Kneecap has the comedic energy of an absurdist mockumentary like Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping but is smartly laced with a political urgency and dramatic turns that emphasize what the band endured as they fought to keep the endangered Irish language alive in their music.
Set in the late 2010s in West Belfast, drug dealers Liam and Naoise find themselves thrown together with music teacher J.J. after he acts as the Irish-speaking Liam’s interpreter during an arrest. Inspired by the hoods’ gift for lyric-writing, J.J. convinces them to make hip-hop in order to bring the Irish language to younger generations, but their odyssey is soon riddled with obstacles like the police, the local paramilitary, politicians, and Naoise’s disapproving father (Michael Fassbender).
Playing themselves, the trio are naturals onscreen, their swaggering charisma and serene confidence ably carrying the film everywhere it goes. Matching the group’s irreverence is writer/director Rich Peppiatt, who just won the BAFTA for Outstanding Debut by a British Writer, Director or Producer for this film. With claymation demonstrating one especially bad drug trip and text and illustrations playfully appearing on the screen to embellish everything from spoken dialogue to a song’s lyrics to a button on an 808 being pressed, there is a vibrancy to Peppiatt’s visuals that keeps the plot from becoming too morose to instead conjure up the joy that Kneecap embodies.
Peppiatt’s stylish direction further impresses during the film’s musical moments with sharp edits like cross-cutting during “Amach Anocht” as J.J. first puts Liam’s lyrics to music; unexpected choices such as Liam and Naoise sliding around the stage in a ketamine-induced haze while performing “Thart Agus Thart” as if they’re in N*SYNC’s “Bye Bye Bye” music video (listen, it’s a masterpiece of a video for a reason); and the neon-drenched photography of “Sick in the Head” that transforms a shoddy classroom into a slick recording studio. The film’s cinematography in general is part of what makes Kneecap so enjoyable to watch. Regardless of the drab Belfast surroundings, Ryan Kernaghan’s work with color imbues almost every frame with a dynamism that is missing from so many movies nowadays.
The film also expertly balances its spot-on humor and fantastic music with a more serious tone that sheds light on what makes Kneecap such a radical force. The scenarios can admittedly become a little heavy-handed — for example, one particularly terrifying cop character screams “Speak English!” at Liam while brandishing a nightstick — but they fittingly raise the stakes of what the group was trying to accomplish. Naoise’s father repeats throughout the film, “Every word spoken in Irish is a bullet fired for Irish freedom,” a mantra he slowly comes to amend when he reveals to Naoise, “What you’re doing, you’re that bullet, son.” With today’s political hellscape in the U.S., Kneecap is affirmation that embattled cultures have a right to exist and that we must continue to fight against those who are determined to erase any shred of basic humanity in this country. Resistance isn’t futile, the film tells us — it’s the only way to survive.
Kneecap will be screened at IU Cinema on February 21 as part of the Not-Quite Midnights series.