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 left-wing rap trio, Kneecap. 

Mo Chara (Liam Og O Hannaidh), Moglai Bap (Naoise O Caireallain), and DJ Provai (JJ O Dochartaigh) star as fictionalised versions of themselves, portraying their riotous rise in a city grappling with its post-Troubles identity. 

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”: ni 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 marginalised, 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 centres, 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 their 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. 

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. 

The performances are raw and unpolished in the best way. Kneecap’s members are not professional actors, but their authenticity shines through. Mo Chara’s arc, centred 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 Provai’s transformation from a reserved language teacher to a coke-fuelled party icon is both hilarious and tragic, winning over audiences for his sheer relatability. 

Moglai Bap’s fraught dynamic with his father, Arlo (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. 

It is further reflected on another level by the band’s rejection of Arlo’s old adage: “Every word of Irish spoken is a bullet fired for Irish freedom” — one that has outlived its time and as Arlo 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 Caitlin (Fionnula Flaherty), Dolores (Simone Kirby) and Georgia (Jessica Reynolds) to 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 Moglai 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 soundtrack is, unsurprisingly, stellar. 

Beyond the laughs and the chaos, Kneecap is deeply rooted in solidarity. It 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. Amid 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 is available to watch in the UK on all major streaming platforms.