Christopher Rhoten
Techno-heavy Sirât is the sort of film you feel in your chest, and that extends beyond the soundtrack. Director Óliver Laxe is not aiming so much for the jugular as the entire nervous system; the experience reaches a state of such intense anxiety that the 20-minute rave sequence that opens the film looks positively serene by the time credits roll. It is an experience I did not always enjoy, but like with all good movies, I kept thinking about it long afterwards.
Sirât tells the story of middle-aged Luis (Sergi López) and his son Esteban (Bruno Núñez Arjona), whom we first encounter handing out fliers at a rave in the Moroccan desert. Luis’s daughter has gone missing—or, as later implied, has simply run away—and her worried father will stop at nothing to get her back. As they speak to countless people with no luck, an eclectic group of ravers points them toward another party deeper in the desert. When the Moroccan government suddenly moves in to break up the illegal rave, the two follow the group, venturing further into the Sahara.
Part of what makes Sirât interesting despite its thinly drawn characters is the recurring thread of global conflict that gives the film an eerie, pre-apocalyptic feel. Radio chatter intermittently reminds us that World War III is imminent, although it is regularly switched off (and the music switched on) before we learn too much. The ravers that Luis and Esteban travel with (all played by non-actors) are living a life of hedonistic distance from this impending doom. Whereas the father and son are filled with purpose, they seek escape in the hypnotic trance that pounds through their speakers. Jade (Jade Oukid) tells Luis at one point that techno is “not for listening, but for dancing.” While this statement proves prophetic, life is not picky about who bears the brunt of its chaotic power.
The very first thing we see in the film, before the rave sequence and before we meet Luis and his son, is a group of roadies assembling speakers in the desert in preparation for the rave. The speakers coalesce into a wall, an evocative image that Laxe captures fully in a wide shot. What is escape but a barrier against reality? Laxe has described Sirât as his most political film, and while it does not engage substantively with the actual politics, history, or people of a region shaped by real-world conflict (perhaps a valid critique), it is also a movie about ignorance and turning a blind eye to conflict.
As Sirât speeds up, a shocking tragedy unfolds, fundamentally altering the film’s trajectory. The title of Laxe’s movie is an Arabic term that translates as “The Path,” an Islamic concept associated with judgment day and a bridge connecting Heaven and Hell that is “narrower than a hair and sharper than a sword,” as the opening text makes clear. In some form or another, and like it or not, there is no question that Luis and the travelers are coming face to face with the end of the world.
In contrast to the Fury Road-trip that makes up the first half, Laxe begins to invoke both The Wages of Fear and Sorcerer, ratcheting up the tension as Luis’ quest for his daughter begins to take a back seat. I am not in love with some of the choices Laxe makes (choices that briefly recall the feverish intensity of Climax), but this certainly feels like the kind of film easy to measure against the version you wish it were rather than the one it actually is. Removing any of the shock value or sending our wearied protagonists down any other path would take away from the dilemma he presents at the film’s white-knuckle climax.
The story being told here is appropriately spare, a welcome change from the verbose, heavy-handed symbolism that dominates many arthouse films today. Laxe constantly evokes feeling—be it terror, wonder, or perhaps confusion—but does not explicitly tell us what to do with those feelings or where this symbolism is heading, keeping his cards close to the chest until the final movement. I can imagine many people will walk away from his Jury Prize winner unfulfilled, but, like EDM, such an experience will not be for everyone.
Sirât, recently nominated for the Best International Feature Film Oscar, is not really character-driven, yet López’s presence is vital. His performance comes across as even more genuine than that of the non-actors who populate the rest of the movie. The casual banter between father and son grounds the film in a concrete sense of reality early on, and even as things begin to take a more metaphysical turn, it is his dogged persistence that keeps us watching, even as we watch between our fingers.
At the end of Sirât, action and apathy fuse in a moment that I found unexpectedly life-affirming, even exhilarating. It is an unusual interpretation of the dance we call life, informed by both the inevitability of suffering and the necessity of moving forward. As intoxicating as the film’s trance soundtrack is (or annoying—maybe you hate techno), 4/4 house finally gives way to arpeggiated synths that reach for transcendence. Laxe has made what you might call a “vibes” movie, but one that slams on the emergency brake, asking you to confront the horror lurking right in front of your closed eyes before you dance into oblivion. Sirât is special for how powerfully it envelops us in the thumping pulse of the journey, but also the deafening silence that awaits beyond the destination.
