By Arthur Mills, Fourth Year, Liberal Arts
It’s not a jukebox musical like Bohemian Rhapsody, nor is it the underdog-by-numbers plot of 8 Mile. Far from both, Kneecap (2024) is anything but lazy.
Music biopics have a bad reputation. They’re either accused of a gross overgeneralization of the subject, or of being self-indulgent. Where these films mark the legacy of a late musical artist a certain glossiness seems unavoidable, but new problems arise for the films that involve the input of living figure(s). Firstly, they follow an open-ended narrative that is still being written by the individual and, secondly, isn’t it essentially an exercise in ego-stroking? From an outsider’s perspective all this may be decent criticism to hurl at Kneecap - a film which not only ticks the boxes above but is named after the very group it documents and even stars the members playing themselves. Except this one differs.
In his feature-film debut, Rich Peppiatt delivers sensational visuals - ‘sensational’ to mean both overblown and beautiful - with a script that crackles like gunpowder. The creative team takes full advantage of the film medium to tell the typical tale of three kindred spirits trying to make it big and live it large, et cetera, in 2010s Northern Ireland. It certainly carries the exuberant and sometimes self-destructive energy of Trainspotting into the 21st century, though never to a derivative extent. If anything, it attaches purpose to similar protagonists that deal with societal redundancy in different constituent countries of the UK. Edinburgh is swapped out for Belfast and with this comes an exploration of a separate subculture.
Liam Óg Ó Hannaidh, Naoise Ó Cairealláin and JJ Ó Dochartaigh (Mo Chara, Móglaí Bap and DJ Próvai in that order) visibly and lyrically flex their muscles as they enter the music industry and over the course of the film the newest chapters of their story unfold before us. Although there are the slightest sprinkles of fiction amongst the facts, it’s difficult to distinguish between the two when the realities are so incredible. Details such as Provaí’s progression from teacher, to translator, to disc jockey show how truly unique the situation is that our protagonists navigate.
Narratively, parallels could be drawn between the film’s almost diegetic approach and the methods of a music video. Such a stylistic comparison wouldn’t go amiss considering Peppiatt was responsible for the cinematographer of the group’s 2021 music video ‘Guilty Conscience’; this familiarity of director and band allows for a comfortable feature-length collaboration. Even their comments of criticism are somewhat bantering. In response to Peppiatt’s quip at Kneecap’s collective lack of acting credentials ([next to Michael Fassbender for example] ‘are they gonna look like they won their film roles in a raffle?’), the band hit back with a claim that ‘Peppiatt isn’t the first English bloke to profit off of our [Irish people’s] success.’ One thing is guaranteed: Kneecap has plenty of self-awareness to sustain superficial contradictions. They may be doing donuts in the car park of the ‘Arts’, but the car in question has had all of its mirrors duly checked.
That self-referential title should remind us of the importance of words, and how much Kneecap itself values that linguistic tool. In much the same way an eponymous album reasserts introspection, the film brings attention back to the band and in the turn the traditional wounding inflicted on drug-dealers by paramilitary Irish Republicans. This is a group that wants to remind audiences, at every turn, of the cyclical power of language - perhaps this is why so much of the script features Gaelic dialogue. Speech becomes weaponised in the film, for instance during the film’s beginning, as Liam / Mo Chara communicates only with his mother tongue in the face of a police officer that is unable to cooperate. Since only English is recognised as official in Northern Ireland it's no coincidence that the scene symbolises systemic resistance. As Naoise’s onscreen father Arlo Ó Cairealláin (Fassbender) repeatedly states: ‘Every word of Irish spoken is a bullet fired for Irish freedom.’
Though the trio occasionally land themselves in hot water away from the film for their remarks and the actions attached, their sentiments are undoubtable. In fact, it is often what they don’t do that defines them more. As explicit ‘ceasefire babies’ they appear to actively oppose war in all forms and take their appeals to a world stage (think the boycott of SXSW for its Israeli army sponsor earlier this year). So while the circumstances of their birth would otherwise fuel an identity crisis, Kneecap instead reflect them outwardly: their imaginative interpretation of internal struggle as having their own ‘fucking Troubles’ translates their context to the personal as well as political.
What is clearest is that Kneecap, both the musical project and cinematic offspring, are about getting recognition through literal and linguistic hedonism. ‘Riotous’ seems like a cliched catch-all, but it perfectly encapsulates various facets of the Kneecap attitude. To use this description is also to do a disservice to their direction as it suggests that their shock factor has no aim. But not a single Irish ‘bullet’ misses, and the film rewards viewers for feeling the full force of the final edit. 2024 has seen Kneecap’s fanbase grow exponentially as they continue capitalising on an amazing season of acclaim, reaching audiences as far as Sundance whilst spotlighting a civil rights movement in action. If the clout received 7 years ago for their first song ‘C.E.A.R.T.A’ was accidental, then the praise for Kneecap in 2024 is perfectly placed.
Did you think Kneecap was a refreshing take on the musical biopic, or more of the same?
Featured Image: - Courtesy of IMDb
