'Kneecap' review: A loud Irish rap trio tells their own story

A pair of lads who take pride in speaking Irish campaign for their marginalised mother tongue when they become underground rappers in the fun, explosive “Kneecap.” That’s also the name of the real-life group from west Belfast whose origin story, pushed by writer-director Rich Peppiatt for maximum political energy and comedic verve, is a fun time to dance to and pump your fists to.

Sure, Naoise Ó Cairellain, Liam Óg Ó Hannaidh and JJ Ó Dochartaigh — known respectively under their rap monikers Móglaí Bap, Mo Chara and DJ Próvaí — could have opted to go the traditional documentary route, charting their rise from defiant West Belfasters to internationally recognised cultural heroes. But where’s the fun in yet another film of interviews and clips when they can instead play themselves and forge their own remix of “A Hard Day’s Night” or “The Harder They Come,” sprinkled with a bit of “The Commitments” for good measure?

Naoise (Ó Cairellain) and Liam Óg (Ó Hannaidh), childhood best friends who grew up as “ceasefire babies” in the wake of the Good Friday Agreement but still feel the youthful despair of oppressive Unionist rule, take to heart what Naoise's father, Arlo (Michael Fassbender), an IRA car bomb legend, used to instill in them: “Every word of Irish spoken is a bullet for Irish freedom.”

But Arlo is missing and presumed dead, and Naoise's mother (Simone Kirby) is housebound. And as the movement to legitimize the Irish language in Northern Ireland gains momentum, Naoise and Liam Óg are little more than nightclub thugs looking to score drugs to use or sell.

When Liam Óg is arrested and refuses to speak English to the interrogating officer, mild-mannered music teacher JJ (Ó Dochartaigh) reluctantly steps in to translate. What he finds in the detainee's rambling diary about his lifestyle of sex, drugs and expelling Brits is the kind of raw poetry that's just one beat track away from becoming a rebellious new form of hip-hop.

The two friends are drawn to the idea and JJ agrees to hide in plain sight as their tricolour balaclava-wearing DJ (there’s a wonderful irony in a militant mask helping this bloke keep his respectable day job), the newly formed trio going from brash oddity on a pub stage to a communal storm. While Kneecap’s outspoken music and ketamine-fuelled antics give their listeners a pulsating new reason to learn (and protect) their native tongue, the group also become a new target for the authorities – including the Republicans’ self-policing paramilitaries, who find their influence worrying.

“Kneecap,” heavy on music and rough on editing, finds a rough, stinging wit to underscore its morality; it’s remarkable that it maintains its level so exuberantly, especially considering how unpredictable such self-mythologizing projects tend to be. The performances are a forceful combination of talent and personality, and the engaging Ó Dochartaigh is the most likely candidate of the main trio to land more acting work. Overall, director Peppiatt (who, interestingly, is British) is an expert master of plot threads, acting styles, tones and stylistic flourishes, recalling the freewheeling enthusiasm of “Trainspotting”-era Danny Boyle.

It’s exhilarating and never tiring. Not only does Peppiatt make drug humor seem gleefully silly again, he treats Irish patriotism as a tantalizing euphoria worth celebrating; there’s satirical tough love at play. Within the beating rebel heart of “Kneecap” is a hard-hitting comedy of manners: It’s as emotionally attuned to the divisions between people on the same side as it is gloriously unabashed about Liam Óg’s perverted attraction to British Georgia (Jessica Reynolds).

In “Kneecap,” all Irish speakers want to be seen, felt and heard in their fight for freedom. This fun, funky riot of attention-seeking pain and pleasure, inspired by the pioneering voices of American hip-hop, makes for an uplifting and entertaining transatlantic tale.