Resistance in Gaelic: In the raunchy hip-hop biopic "Kneecap," naked butts are held up to the camera and British brass bands have their drumsticks stolen

"Tiocfaidh ár lá", translated as "Our day will come", is a famous slogan of the Irish republican movement. It longs for the reunification of Ireland and freedom from British interference. The young rapper Mo Chara screams these words to bring himself to climax during sex with his girlfriend, who worships the English crown.

Somehow it's crazy and agitating at the same time, a hedonistic middle finger raised towards Great Britain, absurd and vulgar. You could say that's just typically Irish, which is true. But it's at least atypical for a music biopic.

This is about the formation of the hip-hop trio Kneecap, which has been causing a stir for several years. Named after the shooting in the kneecaps that Irish liberation fighters used as a punishment, the musicians fight to preserve the Gaelic language.

Mo Chara, Móglaí Bap and DJ Próvai, who rap in Gaelic, became famous when they performed their song "Get Your Brits Out" at the Empire Music Hall in Belfast in 2019, one day after Prince William and Kate performed at the same venue. In the film, this kind of dissidence is dramatically portrayed, for example by holding bare butts in front of the camera or by IRA icons believed to be dead standing in the concert halls.

The film maintains the fine line between activism and antagonism primarily through a pleasantly inconsequential self-irony, by showing the three artists as drifters living in precarious conditions and, in the narrator's voice, saying of the images of exploding cars that these are the usual shots that films about Northern Ireland usually begin with. Apart from that, there are drug dealers jumping over balconies and drumsticks being stolen from British brass bands.

Without completely leaving these usual images of Northern Ireland behind, "Kneecap" is nevertheless a film that is set in a different, progressive reality. It does not show the Irish resistance as historicism, but rather makes nuanced references to various currents and countercurrents that arose from republican ideas and are still active today. These include nostalgia, trauma, turning away from politics, continuing the fight with new means, and conservative currents within the resistance.

The fact that director Rich Peppiatt tells all of this in an otherwise fairly light film is quite remarkable. Supported by a star performance by Michael Fassbender, who as a father figure provides something like the moral justification for this fight for Irish identity, the three musicians surprise with their astonishing acting talent. Especially JJ Ó Dochartaigh alias DJ Próvai, who works as a music teacher and becomes aware of the lyrics of the two brothers Mo Chara and Móglaí Bap through a job as an interpreter for the police: He shines with his timing for the comic moments between bourgeoisness and outbursts.

The three secretly produce their first pieces in his garage, which they then perform in front of a few old drinkers. Later, thousands come, mostly young people, waving Irish flags. In keeping with the spirit of the times, this music justifies itself through its political mission. The joy of the sound of Gaelic or the virtuosity of the beats hardly plays a role.

The film's drug-glorifying impetus degenerates into a cliché here and there, especially when the protagonists stagger through Belfast, stoned, in distorted, oversaturated images. We know this from films by Guy Ritchie or Danny Boyle, just as everything in "Kneecap" is reminiscent of British gangster films from the early noughties. You can't order a cult film, and the film's attempt to be likeable and casual is a bit too on display. But behind the fooling around lies a serious concern, namely the fight to preserve the Gaelic language.

The band not only performs Gaelic lyrics, they are also at the forefront of the fight to preserve it. The subtitles that are therefore necessary are commented on with snotty irony as a statement against British colonization, and a title at the end of the film refers to the ongoing extinction of indigenous languages.

You feel that it is crucial in Belfast whether you speak English or Gaelic. In a film, this almost seems twice as much, as we are so used to the dominance of English. Unfortunately, the rowdy story increasingly loses itself in a sweet pathos that takes away much of the rebellious force of this stirring music.

Nevertheless, a feeling is conveyed that is also familiar from musical movements such as American hip-hop or punk: a defiance that comes from the lower classes of a society and that therefore does not have to play by the rules that otherwise bury any form of resistance.