Ecstasy united Catholics and Protestants on the dancefloor while the IRA declared peace

The film Skintown, directed by Ciarán McMenamin and based on his 2018 novel, is a period piece set in Northern Ireland during the 1990s. It follows a group of young people from the Catholic side of Enniskillen, a town locals call Skintown, as they navigate the tail end of the Troubles. The story centers on Vinny, a depressed and traumatized indie music fan played by Jack Rowan, who is saving money in a biscuit tin to escape his circumstances. He and his rave-enthusiast best friend Jonty, portrayed by Chris Walley, work at Tony Pepperoni’s Pizzeria by day and immerse themselves in the burgeoning dance music scene by night. Their lives take a dangerous turn when they agree to sell a bag of 400 ecstasy pills stolen from the Ulster Volunteer Force, a loyalist paramilitary group, directly under the noses of those same paramilitaries at a local club.

The narrative builds to a central set piece at Kellys, a real nightclub in Portrush, County Antrim, which served as a utopian haven for ravers at the time. The film depicts a night when legendary DJ Carl Cox performed, coinciding with the IRA’s announcement of a ceasefire in August 1994. The film does not claim that MDMA caused the peace process, but it pointedly notes the timing and the atmosphere of unity it fostered. In one scene, a character articulates a philosophy of love as a defusing force, expressing affection for Brits, the IRA, and the RUC while holding a spliff. The historical record acknowledges that the 1994 ceasefire was provisional and followed by a comedown, but the film maintains a defiantly apolitical stance, championing the right of young people to reject inherited enmities.

McMenamin’s adaptation of his own novel carries a significant amount of the book’s content into voiceover narration, which creates a telling-not-showing problem in the film’s structure. Despite this, the script is rich with vivid, specific details that ground the story in its time and place. One memorable image involves Jonty sacrilegiously saying “body of Christ” as he places pills into outstretched hands. Another detail, likely born from the writer’s lived experience, features a topless raver in a wheelchair, paralyzed by an IRA bullet, who attends the club every week. The dealers use his chair to stash their supply, calling the operation “deals on wheels.” The soundtrack is meticulously curated with era-defining tracks from the Prodigy, Josh Wink, and Jaydee, alongside a moment of choral Debussy, enhancing the film’s nostalgic and hedonistic rush.

The film’s ultimate argument is for the transformative, if temporary, power of youth culture to transcend deep-seated political and sectarian divisions. The afterparty on the beach following the club night shows the Catholic protagonists getting “loved-up and giggly” with a British soldier, a moment where the Troubles seem to dissolve. While the film and history both note the subsequent comedown and the fragility of the ceasefire, Skintown forcefully asserts the importance of writing new personal narratives. It is a spirited, larky, and occasionally poignant look at a generation seeking escape and finding fleeting common ground on the dancefloor, inviting viewers to savor the free-spirited impulses of 90s hedonism rather than scrutinize every detail for absolute authenticity.