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(Liam) D'you know what?
Every fuckin' story about Belfast starts like this.
(series of explosions)
But not this one and don't be acting the fuckin' balloon,
that's not the start.
This is the start.
With my best mate, Naoise, when he was a wee baby,
and his ma, Dolores, out in ma nature...
This wasn't his ma's idea at all.
Naoise's da, Arlo,
well, he wanted his firstborn baptised here
at this secret Mass Rock.
It was a tribute to the Irish Catholics who,
just a few generations ago,
gave the middle finger to British rule by sneaking here
to practise their own religion and speak their own language.
(helicopter blades whirring)
Except the peelers went and thought
they'd uncovered themselves an IRA training camp.
(helicopter grows louder)
So on the day wee baby Naoise was supposed to be taken
by the light of Christ,
instead he got the full beams of an RUC chopper.
(muffled shrieks)
Fuck off!!!
(music fades in)
(helicopter fading)
I mean, what fucking chance did the wee boy have?
(techno music)
? Powerful ?
Me and Naoise, we got our first taste for drugs
at Ireland's most infamous criminal finishing school.
? Powerful ?
(sirens wailing)
Stop! Stop there!
? Powerful ?
(congregation coughing)
(coughing)
Next Sunday, that congregation doubled.
? Powerful, powerful ?
That's drugs for you - they bring you closer to God.
For Naoise and me, they were our fucking calling.
And as Mass Rocks proved,
nothing gets between us Taigs and our religion.
(dogs barking)
(sirens wailing)
You run! Go!
(loud bellow)
Didn't matter what community in the north of Ireland you came from,
we could always find common ground
in a love for throwin' shit at the Peelers.
And as for Naoise, he was off learning
that public transport doesn't mix well...
with ketamine.
(eerie music)
As for myself, tonight I learnt what it's like
getting bitten by a dog wiped on MDMA.
It feels... (dog snarls) ...fucking mental.
(sirens wailing)
Okay.
Repeat after me.
'The man walked to market with his sow.'
'The girl cut turf in the rain.'
How do you cut turf?
With misery and despair, I'd say.
(school bell)
(chairs scrape back)
Not used to seeing you up here.
I'm covering.
Everything okay?
I think you need new Irish textbooks.
(sighs)
They are the new textbooks.
I'm not sure shovelling shite
is going to inspire these kids to learn Irish.
Turn it up.
(news) Northern Ireland's government has in the last hour collapsed
over failure to agree on an Irish Language Act
which would give the minority language equal legal status to English.
Many republicans see the language as an expression
of their political identity.
They say it's a matter of civil rights.
(interviewee) The Irish language is my heart and soul.
If it was the colour of my skin and you could easily identify me
as being of a different colour, and the DUP were saying,
'We can't give equal rights to this guy',
I think the issue would be clearer.
Friends, what a momentous day.
So we'll be ramping up our campaign,
and counting on your support in the coming months.
We're only asking for the same language rights as the Scots
and the Welsh.
A country without a language is only half a nation.
(cheering and applause)
(phone buzzing)
Hello.
Yes, it is.
What, now?
That was the police.
The peelers? What do they want?
An Irish translator.
I can't go, I was drinking.
It's translating, not driving a HGV.
But I'd still have to drive there.
Then why did you say...?
No!
No.
There's an Irish speaker in need.
Bullshit! If they speak Irish they speak English.
It's not the fucking Potato Famine.
Don't joke about the Famine.
Too soon?
With everything that happened today,
someone is probably taking a principled stand
for their language rights.
We need to...
We must support them.
Nothing but a hood.
H double O D.
Lowlife scum.
Waste of fucking space.
Do I look like I want to read fucking subtitles?
If you could read,
you wouldn't be a fucking peeler now, would you?
Why don't you just speak the Queen's English?
(Liam) This was a fair question, though rudely asked.
For me to respond to this sectarian prick in Irish,
I'd have to say something along the lines of...
An chloch is íochtaraí san fharraige go raibh sé ar bharr do cheann.
Which means:
'May the lowest stone in the sea be on top of your head'.
You do get there a lot quicker with...
(water splashing)
Again.
- Hear. - Listen.
- Do. - Get.
- See. - Eat.
Give.
Again.
Stop that, they'll catch a cold!
I'm making Irish-speakers of them!
Irish-speakers... Prison Irish, more like!
I'm proud to have learnt my irregular verbs on a wall covered in shite!
- Aye, your own shite! - Aye.
And you know what that shite smelt like?
Freedom.
Not when I've been in the toilet after you it doesn't.
What'll the next class be, Grade 1 tunnelling?
Yoga actually, Ma.
Leave them be to get on with their real homework.
Aye. Curriculum of the coloniser.
Catch yourself on!
Pity your ma, Naoise. Born with Irish in her mouth, she was.
Now disowns her own mother tongue...
Only one thing here getting disowned.
Quit your slabbering!
I'll show you some slabbering...
Get away to fuck!
Get you home or your mammy will think we've kidnapped you.
A wee operation for youse.
I want you to sit down tonight
and watch an American Western on the telly.
But here's the thing:
I want you to watch it from the Indian's point of view, okay?
And remember:
Every word of Irish spoken...
...is a bullet fired for Irish freedom.
(bluesy music)
(Liam) And then Naoise's da was gone.
Like, gone gone.
Turns out since leaving jail,
Arlo had been having a full-blown affair with blowing up anything British.
He blew this up.
And this.
And...
Well, alright, that one didn't go off.
Anyway, three years after going on the run,
Arlo fell to his death from a fishing boat.
(splash)
Or, if you believe the peelers, he didn't.
With his dead body never found,
Arlo couldn't be proved dead,
and with his alive body never found,
Arlo couldn't be proved alive.
The dead Arlo had his funeral.
And the alive Arlo remained on the run.
And to this day, just having met the man
was enough to have some lump spitting in your beak about it.
I mean, Arlo was right about one thing:
Cowboys... were proper cunts.
(door opens)
Move!
- This is Mr ó Dochartaigh. - (door closes)
He is an Irish interpreter.
- I'm not... - Do you speak Irish?
Aye.
That'll do.
Tell her.
I'm not talking to anyone who works for the fucking peelers.
I don't work for them.
Look which side of the table you're on.
It's where the chair is.
Aye.
And why do you think that's where the chair was?
What's he saying?
Just discussing the furniture.
So, eh, what are we doing here?
Resisting arrest, public nuisance,
and unless he can somehow prove
he can't speak the language of his home country,
then we can throw in obstructing the police
in the execution of their duty.
Am I supposed to translate that?
I think he understood just fine.
So why you doing this, with the Irish?
(suspenseful music)
I hate the peelers.
So nothing to do with today's news?
What news?
Listen, I want out of here just as much as you.
I doubt that.
(voices on TV, door closes)
Well?
Well.
How are you feeling?
Aye.
- Did you take...? - I need a new prescription.
Why haven't you? It's two minutes...
You get it for me tomorrow, okay, hen?
You need to get out...
Just this time.
You have to get out. Outside.
Quit lecturing me under my own roof!
You're never out from under your own roof!
That's the problem.
Will I make you something?
Aye, roast lamb with all the trimmings.
Fuck up!
(door slamming)
What's this mean?
Er... 'I got up this morning,
well, at the end of the day.
Before I leave the bed, a spliff and a cup of tea.
Now I have a big night ahead of me because of yesterday,
I spent all my DLA on MDMA.'
Tell her it flows a lot better in Irish.
- Poetry? - Scribbles.
And I really need you to stop turning...
I want you to look for any reference to an Arlo...
...ó Cairealláin.
(tense music)
Time for you to decide
what side of the table you're on.
What's he saying?
(loud smack)
Er... She's asking you to prove a negative.
What?
By asking you to prove you can't speak English,
she's placing the burden of proof onto you, not her.
That's what I just said, right?
Aye... Er... He says he doesn't have to prove
that Irish is his only language because
absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.
It's just a basic principle of modern justice.
- He said that? - Mm. Yeah.
And he says that, furthermore,
and notwithstanding the aforementioned,
he sees no reason to prove that he cannot speak English
because he's here asserting his right to speak Irish.
(loud smack) Hmm!
Here, have you got anything for...
...resisting arrest?
(suspenseful music)
(beat rising to crescendo)
Sit down!
(door opens)
(guttural cry)
(Liam grunts)
So...
are you going tomorrow?
Where?
Aye.
Will I say hello for you?
No, fuck.
Aye.
'Night.
'Night, love.
Go to bed.
I'm saving myself for the big sleep.
(voices on TV)
(reflective music)
(traffic sounds)
(rap beat)
(rustling)
(beat stops)
(electronic sounds)
(beat resumes)
(beat stops)
(loud rap beat)
(crackling)
(music fades)
(Liam) What d'you call a Provo that's become a yoga instructor?
Bobby Sandals.
You bring a stolen car here? Here?
It's not...
So you bought this, did you?
You're putting the whole operation at risk...
What operation?
Every day I am not captured
is a psychological victory against the occupiers,
that's the operation.
Speak Irish to me.
What's this?
Drugs?
It's a rollie. Speak Irish to me.
'Think I don't have eyes in Belfast? I hear things.
You taught me Irish.
- I know where you'll end up. - Fucking speak it!
You'll end up face down in an alley.
You don't speak Irish.
You might know the words
but you don't understand the language.
It is the light that guides us towards our freedom.
Those who see it, stand up for it.
You don't stand for fuck all.
(waves crashing)
Mam is getting worse.
She was asking about you.
No, she wasn't.
No. She wasn't.
I need you to do something for me.
What?
Arrange a memorial service.
For who?
For me. It's ten years next month since, y'know...
These peelers won't let me rest in peace.
I need something to remind our community I'm dead,
make it harder for these RUC bastards
to keep behaving like I'm alive.
I thought maybe you'd be doing something anyway, but...
Aye.
I'd love to organise a memorial
for the week I thought my da was dead.
What did you expect me to do?
That's a long fucking list.
(sighs)
Happy Birthday.
If you got pulled over and they found that...
Use your head, lad.
(door slams)
(sombre music)
(loud rap beat)
(Liam) They called our generation the Ceasefire Babies
as if our only defining feature was
we were not the shit that came before us.
Maybe they were right.
Maybe we were only ever gonna be the moment after the moment
just as fucked up and miserable as the last
only with less chance of gettin' blown up to escape it all.
(laughs)
But we still found ways to escape it all.
(beat rises to crescendo)
You've heard of intergenerational trauma, right?
- Right? - Our history...
- Our history has become... - Our biology.
It's like the trauma our ancestors suffered
...has inserted itself...
...has actually inserted itself...
...into our genetic code.
Post-traumatic stress disorder.
- Psychological... - Reverberations.
(echoing) Reverberations.
A.D.H.D.
O.D.D.
- The Troubles? - The Troubles?
(loud explosions)
I've got fucking troubles.
(atmospheric electronic notes)
I just pray that this medicine
grants me some relief.
D'you not think I'd be better off going straight in with 500mg?
(electronic beat)
Is there... something else?
I've got a bit of a problem...
...down south...
...with my mickey.
Okay.
It's political.
Your problem?
My mickey. See...
I've no problem pulling birds. Like, I can do that no bother, anytime.
(seductive music)
(girl laughs)
This isn't the first bap you've buttered.
Just can't get the wee man to stand to attention...
Go on.
(moaning)
(woman squealing)
(bedsprings creaking)
Without a King Billy loving Prod.
And there's this weird wee Tourettes thing right before I...
Our day will come!
(groans)
(loud smacks, thud)
...until the other week I met this wee ride, Georgia.
(gasping)
Say it again!
Again!
Don't you dare cum!
I wanna blow you like a Brighton hotel.
(gasping)
(romantic soul music)
Have you thought about...
...seeing a priest?
(romantic soul music)
(music stops abruptly)
(someone playing scales on fife)
(tense silence)
(spaghetti western music)
(music speeds up)
Oi!
(clamouring)
(music: The Prodigy, "Smack My Bitch Up")
(female Arabic singer vocalising)
(car radio) What you have here is a community who live their lives
through the medium of Irish, through the schooling,
through the youth clubs, through their arts projects,
through the GAA clubs.
And for them, there's been a very, very strong...
? Change my pitch up! ?
(triumphant yell)
Top man!
What the fuck...!
What are you doing here?
What am I doing in my own car?
Fuck!
Here!
Oh bollocks!
What was all that about?
Fuck all!
Cross-community running club.
(gaming arcade sounds)
Here, your lyrics...
They're great.
I've never read anything like them in Irish.
What I'm saying is would you be into making music?
People barely listen to Irish hip-hop,
let alone Irish hip-hop in Irish.
How d'you know when there's no hip-hop in Irish?
No cunt who listens to hip-hop speaks Irish.
Give them a reason to.
Why?
Because Irish, it's like the last dodo.
Stuck behind glass in some zoo.
'Look, but don't touch.'
Someone needs to smash that glass
and set the dodo free so it can live.
What the fuck is a dodo?
Look, he says he's got a studio.
- Well... - And some beats.
Sort of...
And he's a music teacher.
Oh, excuse me.
Wouldn't want to delay your meeting with Dr. Dre!
I'm offering you a free spin of the wheel.
And if half of what's in those lyrics is true,
you need this more than I do.
(roller door opening)
Are we making music or fitting exhausts?
Well...
It's not Abbey Road...
Abbey what?
(roller door closing)
(backing track plays)
Aye, I like that.
Give us a go.
- Fucking give us a go! - Stop!
? Pissed off, Sittin' around ?
? No money in our pockets for going out ?
? We're sick and tired of being skint ?
? But that's all gonna change... ?
What are you doing?
Relax. I'm just tweaking the EQ.
(sighs)
Now I just need something to take the edge off.
We've got something for that.
(sparkle sound)
(sniffing)
(loud beat)
? Pissed off, Sittin' around ?
? No money in our pockets for going out ?
? We're sick and tired of being skint ?
? But that's all gonna change tonight ?
? Me and Mo Chara, We're making plans ?
? And there's gonna be a downpour, Oh bam, bam, bam ?
? Soon we'll be drowning in cash ?
? Well-earned of course, young renegade ?
? Run around, trying to grab what I can ?
? Look, Mo Chara, there's a security van ?
? Now, look, man, don't wanna do you no harm ?
? Just listen carefully and I'm sure it'll be grand ?
? 'Cause my friend, Mo Chara, he's a bit of a psycho ?
? The type of fella loses the head at a typo ?
? So whatever you do ?
? Do whatever he says ?
? Mo Chara, tell him what goes down if he says no ?
? 'Móglaí, get the noose, I'll proper introduce myself ?
? I'm Mo Chara, and I'm not well ?
? Are yiz ready for abuse? ?
? But first, I'm sure you're thinking, Aw look ?
? I seem decent and clever ?
? Don't I feel bad for this ever? ?
? Guilty conscience, no thanks ?
? I meditate and have plenty of wanks ?
? I never spare a second thought for cunts in suits ?
? When the revolution comes I'm first out to loot, yeah! ?
? New guds (new guds), happy days (happy days) ?
? So much comfort when you don't have to pay ?
? And when I'm happily tripped in designer gear ?
? Then all of you cunts are getting one behind the ear ?
(fades)
(silence)
- (exhales) - Something like that?
? Guilty conscience, no thanks (no thanks) ?
? I meditate and have plenty of wanks ?
? I never spare a second thought for cunts in suits ?
? When the revolution comes I'm first out to loot, yeah! ?
? New guds, (new guds), Happy days, (happy days) ?
? So much comfort when you don't have to pay ?
? And when I'm happily tripped in designer gear ?
? Then all of you cunts are getting one behind the ear, yeah! ?
? Yeah, yeah ?
(laughing)
(music ends)
(discordant acoustic music)
(rising cacophony)
(school bell rings)
(indistinct chatter)
Well...
What's up?
Lads. What are you doing here?
Wha...?
Listen, it's not a good time.
You said meet here to fucking go work on the tracks.
Did I?
I think that's what you said.
(screeching)
Like I said, it's not a good time.
- Tomorrow? - I don't know.
Fucking weekend, then?
I can't, I...
I've paving slabs to lay.
Paving slabs!
What happened to smashing up the Irish language dodo?
No, smashing the glass to set the dodo free...
Whatever.
I'll be in touch!
What the fuck...?
- Who was that? - Who?
The two smicks you were fist bumping.
Oh, them?
Just ex-pupils.
- You coming to the meeting? - Meeting?
Are you fucking kidding me? The meeting.
The Language Act Protest Committee.
I know.
I'd love to. I'd LOVE to...
...but...
What? You've a puddle of piss to mop up?
(roller door opening)
(music on repeat)
Aye, there's that.
They want me to lead the campaign.
Of course they do. You're brilliant.
I just don't know if it's me.
Listen.
No one is anyone until they are.
Are you still fucking high?
Aye, a little bit.
(gasping)
Don't you touch me, you filthy Taig!
You've interned my dick!
Now for the hard interrogation...
- (groaning) - That's right - confess, confess...
Never!
Spill your secrets inside me, you Fenian cunt!
(gasping)
Northern Ireland!
- North of Ireland! - Northern Ireland!
North of Ireland!
Northern Ireland!
The North of Ireland!
Oh!
Celtic... are... fucking... shite!
You leave Celtic out of this!
Wait till I get onto the Pope.
(exhales)
(sighs)
(soft music)
Right. I suppose I may go here
before your fucking Black and Tan da walks through the door.
I live with my aunt.
Well, go on then.
I'm going.
This can never work.
Suits me.
Maybe.
Or maybe you're scared.
Scared of you?
Of not me.
Of being with someone who might just ditch you for you -
not just what foot you dig with.
Bollocks.
Okay then, tell me something about you.
Something you've never told anyone else.
I'm a rapper.
(snorts) Stop spoofing.
I'm a rapper - Irish hip-hop.
What the fuck is that?
Hip-hop - in Irish.
- Why Irish? - Why not?
When's your next gig?
Soon.
Let us listen to something then.
Maybe next time.
What makes you think there'll be a next time?
Here, what's your rap group called?
(heavy beat)
Kneecap?
What's Belfast famous for?
Bombings...
George Best... baps...
Kneecappings.
By that logic,
we might as well call ourselves The Titanics.
Well, Kneecap's our name...
because I've already booked us a gig under it.
A gig?!
We haven't even got a finished track!
That's not my fault!
Blame him.
(muffled digging)
Why are two fellas digging up our garden?
(suspenseful beat)
What are you doing?
- (whistles) - 'Morning!
Where are these fucking paving slabs, then?
We'll do the garden, you finish the track.
Deal?
- No, no, I'll do it. - Sit down.
I'll do it. Let me do it.
? R-I-G-H-T-S ?
It's not fucking Dancehall!
- What? - Come in on the chorus.
No, fuck that. I'm the lead.
? R-I-G-H-T-S ?
? I don't give a fuck about any Garda ?
Straight in, right?
So it's one, two, three...
? Fuck me, I never saw the bastards comin'... ?
Ready?
(Liam) When I said I'd booked us a gig what I meant was,
my Uncle Peadar said we could play in his bar
if I sorted some old folk smoke for his gout.
JJ only agreed to DJ
if he could set up his decks in the store cupboard,
just in case he was spotted by any pupils.
His paranoia was not helped
by his new love affair with the 'schniff'.
(rap beat)
(English accent) Young man, we caught you damaging public property.
And you are coming to the station so we can talk properly.
(music ends)
(feedback from mic)
(moody music)
(upbeat vibe)
(Liam) You know, in West Belfast,
the only thing worse than getting arrested and charged
is getting arrested and not charged.
(music stops)
This yours?
(exhales)
Game over! (stupid laugh)
Well, well, well, well, well, well, well, well...
Look who it is here, look, Bone Thugs and No Harmony!
(men laughing)
I hear you got scooped.
- What they charge you with? - Fuck all.
They just gave me a hiding.
Or maybe you're just a dirty ten pound tout.
Sorry. Who would I be touting on exactly?
Us.
Who the fuck are 'Us'?
Us is us. We are us.
The Radical Republicans Against Drugs.
That's right.
How the fuck do you pronounce that?
- R-RAD. - R-RAD. R-RAD
Aye, that's right. R-RAD.
What, like you've all got a fucking s-s-stutter?
Fuck up you, tout.
What have you ever done to tout about?
We've done plenty, actually.
We're an active fucking unit.
Not like the Republican Volunteers Against Drugs.
Or New Republicans Against Drugs.
- Or the New Republicans Against Drugs. - Or them.
All they ever did was fucking slabber.
Don't think I don't know what youse two are up to.
Runnin' around the woods sellin' gear like a couple of druggie...
fuckin'... eh... wombles. Huh?
Your da will be turning in his grave.
Peelers say he ain't dead - it was in the papers.
Word is he ain't dead.
NEVER MIND THE WORDS!
BRITS DON'T GET TO DECIDE
WHEN IRISH PATRIOTS ARE DEAD!
WE'LL DECIDE WHEN WE'RE DEAD!
God rest his soul.
Right, tell me who's supplying you.
(scoffs)
(Liam) The truth was, the biggest drug supplier in West Belfast
was called The Postman.
That wasn't some cool underworld nickname.
That was his job.
52 fuckin' years.
(heavy beat)
(whistles)
Some people say the Worldwide Web
is the greatest invention of the 21st century.
Those people have never been on the Dark Web.
We bought MDMA from Holland, Ketamine from India,
and Mephedrone from Vietnam.
They arrived disguised as bath salts, flower seeds,
DVDs, kids toys...
Here, spaceman! I'm talking to you!
When you gonna get my ball?
When you gonna give me a go on your fucking hurl?
Go ahead then.
(groans)
I'll just skip through the bit where we get our bollocks knocked in.
(loud kick)
(gasping)
(Irish traditional rallying song)
? O-ro, we welcome your return ?
? Now that summer is coming ?
? O-ro, we welcome your return ?
? Now that summer is coming ?
(singing continues)
(faint music from earphones)
(singing peters out)
(muffled Kneecap song)
? Drink all night with Rônán Mac An Rí ?
? Because fuck the rules of RTÉ ?
(louder) ? R.I. G.H. T.S. ?
? Don't give a fuck about any Garda ?
? R.I. G.H. T.S. ?
? Don't give a fuck about any Garda ?
? A joint lit, I'm way too quick ?
? Won't be standing around too long ?
(men singing)
(faint singing from bar)
(clamouring)
Lads...
- Where the fuck have you been? - At work.
Our music is...
We know!
Oh, fuck's sake!
Have you seen the crowd?
I can't go out on that stage.
Someone will see me.
I'm pretty sure that's the fucking point!
Fuck's sake!
- Fuck! - Here, here.
Here, take that.
I look like a fucking Próvaí!
Aye, DJ fucking Próvaí!
DJ Próvaí!
- I can't... - C'mon!
DJ Próvaí!
DJ fucking Próvaí!
(snorting)
(coughing)
You said that was coke, right?
That's not coke.
Ketamine... that's fucking Ket!
- Did you know? - Wrong pocket!
Great fucking drug dealer you are!
- Fuck! - We'll be fucking sweet.
It's not like we never had a line of ket before, is it?
(distorted voice) It'll be 20 minutes before it kicks in properly.
(voice of Gerry Adams) And by then we'll be halfway done. No need to panic.
What are youse flippin' staring at?
(stoned music)
(Gerry Adams) No need to panic!
(echoes) No need to panic!
No, no, no... No need to panic.
? Round and round ?
? Big skins, down at the mini-mart ?
? Few loose Capri-suns and a Mars bar ?
? Big dirty joint and I'm all set, round and round ?
? Like my grinder, yeah, Busy wee man when I'm on tour ?
? No top, moshpit, sweaty balls, encore ?
? Another day, same shit ?
? Pass the stuff, I'll put one together ?
? Môglaí the builder ?
? Welcome to the latest, green branch of Volunteers ?
? 24hours, morning until night ?
? Fuck all else to do round here ?
? Back to the shop to get a pack of raws ?
? Caught in a loop Like I'm tryna read a book ?
? Same page over and over and over and over... ?
? Ah fuck, let's watch a movie! ?
? Caught in a loop ?
? Nothing to do ?
? It's been too long ?
? I need an encore and sweaty balls too ?
(English accent) So Móglaí, what are we gonna do tonight?
Same thing we do every night.
- Try to take... - Drugs.
(crowd cheering)
(music stops)
(door opens)
How many times I gotta tell you?
He's either dead or dead to me. Same difference!
Can I come in?
Got a warrant?
You look like shit.
Always did think you'd make a good Avon lady.
You've no shoes on the rack.
Why have you no shoes on the rack?
What does that got to do with anything?
Not much. Only I've been in this game long enough to know
you can still be a victim of men like Arlo
without a crime to match it to.
Consider this as the knock at the door before the knock at the door.
Maybe it's their door you should be knocking on.
Oh, so you want the police's help now?
Just an observation.
(Detective Ellis) Well, whilst we're making observations,
him and his wee pals' music,
it's drawing attention from all the wrong places,
and I count myself among those places.
Bloody kids, eh?
(Detective Ellis) And when it all falls down, and it will...
I'm going to be knocking at your door
with one choice to dig him out of the rubble.
I won't enjoy it, but don't doubt for a second I'll do it.
Remind me, how d'you take your tea again?
In a cup or straight in the face?
(heavy beat)
(Liam) Arlo's was a strange sort of memorial service,
given a third of the people thought he was dead...
He was taken too soon.
...a third of them thought he was alive...
It's as if he's never gone.
...and the other third were undercover peelers.
You don't know me but I'm an old, old friend of Arlo.
Can I buy you a drink?
(camera clicks)
(clears throat)
(clears throat loudly)
We, the Radical Republicans Against Drugs,
have gathered here today to honour the memory of Arlo Ó Cairealláin.
When I was a wee boy, the actions of Arlo ó Cairealláin
against the imperialist state
were a lesson to me to follow my dreams,
especially because my dreams were about killing the Brits.
(voice breaks) He was like a da to me, so he was.
(threatening tone) In recent months, we have seen a rise
in anti-social behaviour and drugs.
Now we will not tolerate these parasites
SUCKING THE LIFE out of this community
with their hedonistic and toxic lifestyle.
Let us be clear now, okay?
Anybody found to be involved in the illegal trade of drugs
or encouraging their use through their actions,
are to be considered legitimate targets.
And it's what Arlo Ó Cairealláin would have wanted.
(mutters) Where's the...?
You were meant to give me that in the car on the way up.
(gun cocking)
(menacing whooshing)
(grunts)
(beat quickens)
(child's voice) Hear.
Listen.
- Get. - Eat.
(loud shot)
(shot)
What?
Nothing.
What?
Nothing! Just that thing you do with your mouth.
What thing?
- It's a twitch. - A twitch?
(laughs)
I don't do that!
Not any more.
But you used to.
Back when you used to be...
...happy.
- (siren wails) - Fuck! The cops.
(car door slams)
Is everything okay, officer?
Would you mind stepping out of the vehicle for a breathalyser, sir?
- He isn't driving. - (sarcastically) Isn't he?
It's okay.
Really?
She doesn't know, does she?
Know what?
What about your school?
Do the students call you Mr DJ Próvaí, or...?
Harder!
At the station, is that where it started?
(machine beeps)
I feel like I discovered The Beatles.
If The Beatles were shit.
What is it, some sort of early onset midlife crisis?
Some men buy a Porsche, you join a Republican rap group?
- Why are you doing this? - (machine beeps)
Pass.
You have a life, a career, a future...
Remember, I can take it all away from you like that!
Message from on high:
what those hoods have to say
this city doesn't need to be hearing, d'you understand?
(defiant beat)
C'mon.
Thanks for your time, drive carefully.
There's a lot of lowlife scum around.
(bass note)
? I'm a H double-O D ?
? Lowlife scum, that's what they say about me ?
? A dog with a job, what the fuck is that? ?
? When our poor Micky's just sitting in the flat? ?
? Sippin' on his cans and smokin' rollies ?
? 'Cause all the best jobs are taken by the dolies ?
? Squidgy black, yeah craic, and my spliff every day ?
? Get the facts, not assess, Get that note off my car ?
? But now, hit the stash, but the Peelers are about ?
? But first, a few lines before this gets weird ?
? It's gonna be a bloodbath ?
? It's gonna be a bloodbath, (It's gonna be a bloodbath) ?
? Throw a hook, a jab, and a boot ?
? I sneak a quick toot, Then I fire another boot ?
? For callin' me a fruit ?
? For tryna take the loot ?
? But Billy won't be bothering any more hoods ?
? 'Now for some questions: ?
? Do you want it in your chest, or your knees or your head ?
? DJ Próvaí has the lead ?
? You can beg, you can plead, You can tell us what we need ?
? You can change your name but they're all the fucking same! ?
(Liam) Turns out a leafleting campaign
about how your band gives out free drugs
really drives ticket sales.
No more pay-to-play-with-hash, people were paying us cash.
? Fuckin' kicked out again! ?
? Too many pints, too much schniff ?
? Equals a cocktail brave for unleashing the beast ?
? Big night out right now at least ?
? Another fight, he's beating some fella ?
? The RUC are here ?
? Fucked in to the back of the jeep ?
? He falls asleep, He does it every week ?
? Our day will come ?
? Get the Brits out now! ?
? A one-way ticket, please, I've lost my bus pass! ?
? I'm a H double-O D ?
? Lowlife scum, that's what they say about me ?
? I'm a H double-O D ?
? Lowlife scum, that's what they say about me ?
? I'm a H double-O D ?
? Lowlife scum, that's what they say about me ?
? I'm a H double-O D ?
? Lowlife scum, that's what they say about me ?
(song ends)
- What the fuck was that? - What the fuck was that?
Brits Out?!
I've said far worse things than that to you!
That's different!
I'm sorry, hold on, you're giving me more stick for telling youse
to leave than what youse got for coming here in the first fucking place!
You don't tell me to leave, I was fucking born here!
I don't mean you, Georgia.
'Brits Out' as in British state, MI5...
Then why didn't you say that then?
Because it's the chorus of a fucking song,
not the 1916 Proclamation!
The wha'?
Don't give me that look because I don't know some Taig shite!
Who the fuck are you calling a Taig?
You! Or do you want me to get up on stage and say it to the whole world?
You seemed just fucking fine in that wee crowd.
Oh, aye! Well, what do you care?
Oh, I don't fucking care.
I never wanna see you again.
What's happenin', Georgia?
Fuck up.
(man on TV) We have bigger issues to tackle in our society...
than fawning over a language spoken by less people in Northern Ireland...
than Polish.
(Caitlin) But you say that as if it's something to be proud of.
That the native language of this island
has been driven to near-extinction.
Type the name Kneecap into the internet.
So-called Irish language rappers promoting drug use,
anti-social behaviour and violence.
One even wears a balaclava
and calls himself DJ Próvaí.
This is the true face of the Irish language.
You kept my chair.
I wouldn't read too much into that.
Thanks for going to my memorial.
Well, if you can't be bothered to go...
I'm only saying, it doesn't look very convincing
if my own wife doesn't even show.
Widow.
Still denying your native tongue?
I deny the ears that are hearing it.
Oh, aye, that lovely Detective Ellis dropped it round.
Why?
Why do you think?
I'll take care of it.
You'll do nothing of the sort.
Doing nothing has allowed our son to be dealing drugs.
That's unacceptable.
This operation will not fail...
'Operation?'
There is no operation!
Jesus, you're like one of those Japanese soldiers,
still stumbling around some jungle 50 years after the war has ended.
I sacrificed my life for the cause.
You sacrificed?
You left us in a prison cell
so you wouldn't have to go to one.
That lad is becoming something despite you.
And if you've turned up here with a mind to get in his way,
I'll show you a woman going to war.
Aye.
So long as you don't have to leave this house to do it.
(door opens and closes)
(footsteps, door opening)
(tense music)
(creaking)
(beat quickens)
(rises towards crescendo)
(Liam) Aye, so...
...turns out me and Georgia did want to see each other again.
Auntie!
How can that be your fuckin' auntie?
I know, she's a peeler.
I know she's a fuckin' peeler.
She's gonna shoot me dead in your fuckin' hallway!
(laughs) No, she won't.
Unless I tell her you broke in and...
(whispers) That's not even fuckin' funny!
(laughs)
Right. (exhales)
Take it off.
(tense music)
(quick footsteps)
(door slamming)
- He's using you. - Maybe I'm using him.
He's trying to get at me.
(scoffs) Don't flatter yourself. He didn't even know.
And you believe that?
- Who is he to you? - Nobody.
Then what's the problem?
The same one there's always been here.
You mix green and orange you get brown.
- Nobody likes brown. - Some people like brown.
I LIKE BROWN!
Will you take some more soup?
No. I found it a bit tasteless.
A Belfast band has been criticised
for chanting anti-British slogans at a city centre bar
where Prince William had spoken 24 hours previously.'
(reporter) The band involved are called Kneecap.
The incident is making headlines,
and they've been condemned by the DUP.
(players shouting)
Isn't that the Kneecappers?
Don't think so.
It's them.
It is them...
It's definitely them.
C'mon.
Lads.
How are you?
Can we talk to you?
About your music?
This is a big joke to you, isn't it?
Well, I'm not laughing.
Lads, you have to stop.
It's not helping.
Helping what?
You know well.
The legislation - the Irish Language Act.
It's a politically sensitive time.
We have to consider
who are the best ambassadors for the language.
The only reason why the Irish language still fucking exists
is because people refused to not speak it.
No one's telling you not to speak it.
Once upon a time, a man told us
that the Irish language was like the last dodo,
stuck behind glass in some museum.
And to help it to survive,
we had to break the glass and set the dodo free.
That sounds like a terrible analogy.
(laughs)
(upbeat music)
(Liam) There are 80,000 native Irish speakers in Ireland.
Only 6,000 of them live in the north of Ireland.
Three of us have become rappers.
I don't know if we've become popular by talent
or if it was just our turn.
It's a weird thing suddenly being seen
when you come from a place that never even wanted you to fucking exist.
I guess sometimes, change happens on the down low.
Too little to notice until one day, you can't not notice
and by then everything's changed.
Including you.
And sometimes change hits like a filthy bass line.
A boulder being pushed over a cliff.
You can't control what it's gonna hit on the way down,
but you can be sure as fuck, it's gonna wreck something.
Hello.
(faint dance beat)
(knocking)
(door opening and closing)
Hi, guys.
My name's Lorna, I'm a radio plugger.
That gig was deadly.
I'm meeting one of my contacts at RTÉ tomorrow.
I'd love to take them a copy of your music.
Maybe get you a Track of the Week.
So whaddya think?
Could you get me something by then?
You mixed up that coke and ket again, didn't you?
So I'm just gonna leave this here...
(whispers) ...and I'm gonna go.
Fuck...
Radio?
Imagine how rich we'll be...
How much do they pay?
Must be at least 10k a play.
The woeful pay-per-play rates of streaming platforms
mean that artists need millions of plays to make any profit,
so without radio money,
musicians' only revenue stream would be perpetual tours,
forcing multiple artists out of the industry every year
due to the associated mental and physical strain.
We'd better get to the studio.
(Liam) And off to the studio we went...
...or at least, what was left of it.
(sirens wailing)
Those R.RAD bastards!
Our music is backed up on the cloud though, right?
We have to do something.
Do we fuck.
- Not you! - Not me?
It was my fucking garage.
I'm with Naoise.
Aye, go start a war with a paramilitary group.
The British Empire couldn't win that one
but I'm sure you'll do fucking fine! Fuck's sake!
If you two have a death wish, go ahead,
but don't drag me down with you!
Drag you down?
We've been dragging you along.
This is just a little hobby for you.
It's all we've got!
And they've destroyed everything!
Have they?
Because the only one who can do that is you,
if you do something fucking stupid.
Now we need a mastered track for tomorrow
starting from scratch with no fucking equipment.
That's not going to fucking happen.
(loud beat)
(door being forced)
Fucking yes!
Look at this, boys!
The Roland 808.
What '80s shite is that?
1980 to 1983 to be precise.
Complete commercial flop,
but it got into the hands of enough people who mattered
to change the face of hip-hop music forever.
This is what we're meant to record the tracks on.
It's fucking fate.
Snare here and snare there.
Yeah.
To kick.
Two kicks I think.
Bom.
Ba-bom, bom.
(beat plays)
We'll bring one in here too.
That works. That works.
Right then, go ahead. He'll do the chorus.
? I've got a point to be proven to myself ?
? Sitting too long getting mouldy on the shelf ?
? 'Cos I'm too far gone... ? - No, no.
? Rather be sick in the head With a little bit of wealth ?
? Sick of taking strangers' advice ?
? 'Cos the decisions people make for me are dangerous ?
? I'm not gonna listen from now on ?
? They're doin' it to you constantly ?
? An individual is really what you want to be ?
? You gonna stand out? Live your fantasy ?
? Before they eat you up, they put you out to laugh at you ?
? Don't be pushed back, Bought for a sucker ?
? I've got a point to be proven to myself ?
? Sitting too long getting mouldy on the shelf ?
? Because I'm too far gone when it comes to mental health ?
? Rather be sick in the head with a little bit of wealth ?
? I said to the devil, Let me be rich instead ?
? He said; You'll no longer be skint, but sick in the head ?
? You'll never be in the streets But you will have issues ?
? Do you want this for extra zeros when you're paid? ?
- Yes. - ? You're a mad cunt, Mo Chara ?
? I'll be back for a fat loan tomorrow ?
? Never gettin' dressed, depressed, and now I'm para ?
? Throwing tantrums in my mansion, am I embarrassed? ?
Nah!
? Every chance I'm a little bit crazy ?
? There's no doubt about me and Mo Chara ?
? Now we smoke until it's all gone, no half measures ?
? Until it's aw naw! ?
? But we're making up our own laws ?
? Never getting worried 'bout our own flaws ?
? Kneecap, 3CAG, We're our own law ?
(music stops)
(groans)
Fuck off.
I'm done, boys.
(yawns) Oh, happy days!
I'm out.
I can't do this anymore.
It feels like I'm fucking skiing
and both skis are getting further apart.
I feel like I'm gonna tear my bollocks open!
I never wanted to ski!
I just wanted to be a musician, you know?
What do we do with this?
You'll work it out.
(door slams)
Oh shit!
C'mon, let's go, let's go to fuck.
(tense music)
Special delivery.
(phone beeps)
You sell drugs.
You sell them for the Radical Republicans Against Drugs.
A bit off-brand, is it not?
No, it's not actually and here's why. Listen.
The Radical Republicans Against Drugs are Radical Republicans
before they are Against Drugs.
It's right there in the name.
We're certainly not Radical Republicans Against Making Money
because being radical, as your da was... (voice breaks)
...it costs a pretty penny.
The price of Semtex has gone through the roof, I'll tell ya, mostly.
Some fuckers are making a killing.
Maybe you shouldn't go about blowing up garages, then.
What are you talking about, blowing up garages?
We haven't blown up any garages, have we?
- No. - What the fuck you talking about?
Look at me, right?
No more music.
Your hear me?
HEY! Youse are drug dealers.
That's all you'll be.
No more music. Alright?
(woman singing slow folk song in Irish)
(singing ends)
(door closes)
(muffled children's voices)
Breaking onto school property
outside school hours.
Contested or admitted?
Admitted.
Snorting a white substance on stage.
Admitted.
Indecently exposing your buttocks
to reveal the words 'Brits' and 'Out'.
(snorts)
Admitted.
ADMITTED!!
ADMITTED!!!
Admitted.
Membership of the music group,
Kneecap.
(funky music)
I...
I know.
You know?
My suspicions were aroused when the lads started digging up our garden
but it was your lovely arse all over the news that sealed it.
I do have a lovely arse.
Why didn't you say something?
That twitch with your mouth...
You do it when you're happy.
I wanted to keep seeing it.
I quit.
Work?
No, fuck!
I was sacked from that.
Don't say I'm breaking up with you
for being in a band you're not even fucking in.
You're breaking up with me?
You found what you were looking for.
That's great.
But I also need to do my thing.
You know?
They're different directions.
They don't work together.
What part of unemployed musician doesn't work for you?
No one is anyone until they are...
You are.
(whimsical music)
(radio DJ) ...and with talks to get Stormont
back up and running still at a deadlock,
today's 'The Red Day' Irish language rights march,
will further amp up the pressure on politicians
to find a resolution to the long-running dispute.
And now, it's time for Track of the Week.
And I'm so excited to play you this song for the very first time
on the airwaves...
(bland pop song)
- (crowd chanting) Irish Language Act... - Now!
What the fuck's this shit?
? Caught my eye ?
- Irish Language Act... - Now!
That was that radio plugger.
'Concerns were raised around some sex and drug references'.
(door slams)
(sombre music)
Oh fuck!
(music builds)
Fuck!
(more urgently) Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
(Liam) There are some things in life you just don't cross;
motorways, picket lines, and West Belfast ma's.
Stick the kettle on.
I need your help.
News of RTÉ2's decision was soon flying down The Falls
quicker than a joyrider in a Mitsubishi Evo.
And with each telling, the snub got more and more heinous.
And they were promised to be Track of the Week.
But when they heard they were from West Belfast,
they wouldn't play it on the air.
Fuck the fuck off!
This Dublin music executive tore the record contract up
and called them all 'bin bombers'!
(Liam) Hunger strikes. Dirty Protests.
When it comes to a good ould campaign,
us Fenians do it better than anyone.
- Is that RTÉ? - I'm making an official complaint.
- ...discrimination... - ...censorship...
Don't make me come down there.
(Liam) West Belfast protested our persecution by purchasing our tickets.
Thanks to Naoise's ma, we'd sold out quicker
than Michael Fucking Collins, but we'll not go there.
There aren't many things that unite the Irish media,
peelers and dissident Republicans,
but trying to stop our music had gone and done it.
Sure, fuck it,
at least we had DJ Prôvaí back behind the decks
where he belongs.
(rap) ? Gets further away Every time I try to grab it ?
? Underneath all the chattering there's heaven ?
? Got a little peek one day made me feel like I was seven ?
? I know it exists but I can't stop getting pissed ?
? One more thing I'll be adding to the lyric ?
No better publicity than getting banned from something, eh, lads?
It's gonna be bunged out there tonight, so it is.
Anyway, you're late - so chop-chop.
And good luck.
You speak Irish?
No, but I'm learning.
Because of youse.
(crowd) Kneecap! Kneecap! Kneecap!
(crowd roaring in background)
(hip-hop beat)
(wild cheering)
(muffled singing)
? Out tonight, cannot fuckin' wait ?
? Micí Dainín is on the way ?
? 24 Carlsberg, gin and tonic ?
? That's the way I leave ?
? Big bag of weed to end the night ?
? For the comedown ?
? Gum in your mouth ?
? Stop your jaw getting destroyed ?
? Shower and a shite ?
? Music in the background, up full whack ?
? Shaven my balls, that's my sack ?
? Now I've an STI, didn't do a check ?
? Knock on the door. It's Postman Ket ?
? Three consonants and a vowel And we don't pay VAT?
? We don't cut the gear 'cos that's pure cat ?
? We take out a strap Because we're Kneecap! ?
? Woke up this morning, Well, at the end of the day ?
? Before I leave bed, spliff and a cup of tea ?
? Big night ahead of me after yesterday ?
? Spent all my DLA on MDMA ?
? Get on the phone to Môglaí Bap ?
? 'What's the craic? How'd you get the clap? ?
- Fucking animals. - ? Never mind, We're going out tonight ?
? Ten kilos of coke on Móglaí Bap ?
? Almost at the party, I'm already buzzin' ?
? Me I love double-dropping bad boys ?
? Make sure there's MD in your bag ?
? And heed the following instructions: ?
? Finger in your bag, buzz on your lips ?
? Knock back a few bombs, And if there's nothing left? ?
? Get a bump from Mo Chara, Steal 20 from yer da ?
? Sure what's the harm? ?
? Finger in your bag, Buzz on your lips ?
? Knock back a few bombs, And if there's nothing left? ?
? Get a bump from Mo Chara ?
? Sure what's the harm? ?
(crowd roaring)
(loud background track)
? Finger in your bag, buzz on your lips ?
? Knock back a few bombs ?
? And if there's nothing left? Get a bump off Mo Chara ?
? Steal 20 from yer da, Sure what's the harm? ?
(song continues)
(loud dance beat)
(cheering)
(music cuts out)
(crowd cheering)
Listen, youse cunts.
The Irish language and hip-hop go hand in hand.
I don't give a fuck what anyone says.
(wild cheering)
It gave a voice to the black people of America.
And now, it's giving a voice...
to fucking Irish speakers!
But Móglaí,
they say we're politicising the language.
It was them who politicised it
when they fucking banned it.
But it's obvious they failed
when you see all the Fenian cunts here tonight!
We're getting whacked out of it.
Speaking in our own tongue!
Giving shit to the peelers,
the politicians, the dissies,
or any other cunt!
(crowd) Kneecap! Kneecap! Kneecap!
(voice of Doyle on PA) You sell drugs.
You sell them for the Radical Republicans Against Drugs.
Radical Republicans Against Drugs are Radical Republicans
- before they're Against Drugs... - Is that me?
- That is fuckin' you.
We're not Radical Republicans Against Money
because being radical costs a pretty penny.
And one other thing, right? No more music.
You're drug dealers. That's all you'll be.
(gunshot, crowd screaming)
(indistinct shouting)
(truncheons beating shields)
You go, lads.
I've got this.
(truncheons beating shields)
(roaring)
(Liam) In this moment JJ showed he had truly come to embrace
his inner lowlife scumbag
by doing something impulsive, violent...
...and utterly fuckin' pointless!
(blows, groans)
(music stops)
(music continues)
(music stops)
(panting)
(slow orchestral music)
Wait, wait.
Who's there?
If my son's blood is to be spilt,
then it should be his own blood pulling the trigger.
(sobs)
(banging inside car)
(cell door opening)
(cell door slamming)
Leave. Georgia. Alone.
(coughing)
That's not gonna happen.
Speak English.
Speak Irish.
You think a garage is the only thing I can burn down?
(groans)
(groaning in pain)
(soul music)
? Don't you wanna?
? Don't you wanna fall in love again? ?
Our day...
...will come...
And it was at this moment I realised something about Georgia.
I fuckin' love her!
(cell door opening)
(officer) Oh, fuck...
Leave him, Ma'am. He's had enough.
(exhales)
(cell door slamming)
(distant dog barking)
Give it to him.
(footsteps approaching)
(gun cocking)
Da?
(rapid gunfire)
(men groaning)
Who the fuck brings one gun to a kneecapping?
What if it jams?
What if the person holding the gun decides to fucking shoot you instead?
- (gunshot) - Like that!
Amateur hour. Take your hoods off.
(gasping)
- That one there's an MI5 tout. - (gunshot)
He's in the pay of the Special Branch.
- (gunshot) - (man shrieks)
You can't be a serious dissie with judgement like this.
Now, last of youse to the end of the alley gets one behind the ear.
(all groaning)
(moaning and crying)
I said you'd end up down an alley, didn't I?
What did I also tell you?
Every word of Irish spoken...
...is a bullet fired for Irish freedom.
What you're doing,
you're that bullet, son.
(sirens approaching)
You better go.
(sombre music)
(sirens grow louder)
(slow Irish air)
(woman singing traditional Irish folk song in Irish)
(Liam) Every word spoken is a bullet...
I reckon everyone's fired enough bullets by now
without the need to be shooting metaphorical ones.
Maybe not firing the bullet should be the bullet.
Ah, fuck it, I dunno...
I mean, we didn't set out to be bullets, or guns,
but when do bullets ever set out to be bullets?
Theyjust are.
Waiting, hoping to be unleashed into the world,
to find their velocity.
We'd found our velocity.
(traditional folk song)
(Liam) Stories are built from language.
Nations are built from stories.
This is our story.
The Irish for 'The End' is 'An Deireadh'.
- Ah, fuck it - encore! - (wolf whistle)
(music: "H.O.O.D" by Kneecap)
(music: "It's Been Ages" by Kneecap)