Belfast rapper Móglaí Bap was baptized under the searchlight of a British military helicopter. That’s how the movie Kneecap, a semi-dramatized biopic about the Gaelic rap group of the same name, begins. Bap’s father tells the young boy that “every word of Irish spoken is a bullet fired for Irish freedom,” and the movie initially seems like it will play that theme straight.
The rappers use their language to outwit and snub British authority in Northern Ireland—or “the occupied six counties,” as they call it. Detective Ellis, a policewoman out to silence the rappers, makes the perfect villain. Even the name Kneecap is a reference to Irish guerrillas punishing enemies with a shot to the knee.
As their music gains popularity, Kneecap finds a new enemy. Irish nationalist prudes think that songs about “antisocial behavior” give Gaelic a bad name. Washed-up Irish Republican Army guerrillas, rebranded as antidrug crusaders, threaten to kneecap the members of Kneecap for promoting ecstasy and hallucinogens.
Meanwhile, sound mixer DJ Próvaí has to hide his role from his girlfriend, a pro-Gaelic activist who can’t afford any political scandals, and from the stodgy Catholic school where he teaches music. Kneecap shows how liberation is a two-front battle: The state may be the most heavily armed threat to freedom, but it’s not the only one.
