Kneecap

Sort of a true story, but also kind of bullshit, Kneecap is a dubious regaling of homegrown anarchic origins, yet it's nothing short of brilliant nonetheless.

Told as flashback, aside, and with a flair for the dramatic, Kneecap begins with a biblical retelling of christening that escalates into a righteous middle finger at an occupying force. It's a ballsy opener that sets the tone perfectly for what's to come. The whole thing feels like you're sharing it with friends in a pub. It has immediacy and warmth, the kind of authentic impishness you can't fake.

Like an epic tale that goes even more overboard with every telling, Kneecap is also a furiously funny and surprisingly poignant story of fighting for the right thing. Beyond the music, drugs, sex, and shenanigans, Kneecap speaks to the importance of keeping your roots alive and never letting others define you.

It's a surprising film in many ways. For one, I didn't know the band plays themselves in the movie; they're that good in their parts. Charismatic, honest, and magnetic, you can see why they draw audiences to them. Especially when they play up their scallywag personas both on and off stage. Their music slaps, too, which helps.

Directed with bravado and smarts, Kneecap is one of my favorite films of the year. Like Sing Street on ketamine, it reminds us that music biopics don't have to be drab, stodgy affairs. Nor do they have to follow stale traditions or even a linear structure. Why let things like truth or the passage of time get in the way of a good yarn?

Instead, Kneecap full of life, piss and vinegar. It serves as a call to action and reminds us how important culture really is. How it defines our past and future and, in fleeting, passionate moments, can unite people for a common cause.

Not bad for a couple of hoodlums.