Sirāt

Just when you thought that you’ve seen it all, that cinema has bombarded you into submission with its predictable story lines, flat VFX, and pandering ideologies, along comes Oliver Laxe’s Sirāt —and boy, it’s a trip. An ode to the healing power of electronic music, an examination of familial bonds, an unpredictable thriller, a parable on the ongoing global conflicts, and so much more, Sirāt pulls it all off effortlessly, confidently guiding us to its abrupt, somber, inevitable conclusion. What a beauty.

The plot in a nutshell: set against a rapidly unfolding global conflict that we never see, it follows Luis (Sergi López) as he searches for his rebellious daughter with his son in the North African desert. The duo joins a group of charismatic ravers and embarks on a perilous journey into the heart of darkness.

Sirāt won’t be for everyone. Despite its seemingly conventional plot, it doesn’t follow a predictable path (to spoil any of its unexpected turns would be a tremendous disservice to the film). For one, it reveals very little character background, rendering the proceedings that much more immediate; no exposition, no explanation, you are right there, in the moment, experiencing what the humans on screen are going through, hour by hour.

If that sounds grueling, it sometimes is, but in the best of ways, the tension morphs with the music, a steady, pulsating, encroaching sense of doom, a heavy melancholia that blankets the proceedings. In fact, Lars von Trier’s Melancholia comes to mind in terms of contrasting sound and imagery, depression and ecstasy, escape and surrender.

A quiet moment in the desert: a father and son shelter with their dog in Sirat (2026).

“…a group of charismatic ravers on a perilous journey into the heart of darkness…”

Kangding Ray’s score is utilized in a way that has rarely been seen/heard, at least by this critic. It becomes a character in the film, both a throbbing menace, a reminder of death’s inevitability, but also oddly reassuring, providing a sense of exultation, relief, perhaps even glimpses of hope. A sequence wherein a torn, suicidal Luis surrenders to the bass of a galvanizing beat, surrounded by gargantuan speakers jutting out of a bare, skeletal desert, will haunt me for a long time.

Everything about this film will linger. Laxe mixes existential rumination with edge-of-your-seat thrills so skillfully that no one will feel alienated: art-house snobs will find plenty to chew on, while action fans will certainly get their fill of shocking moments. (The audience at the screening I attended either nodded along to the beat, or pressed hands to ears in fear, or both.)

Laxe, bless him, takes his time, his films coming out every five years or so. In preparation for Sirāt, he lived with the cast and crew in his house for weeks prior to production, bonding, visualizing, and preparing. The results are palpable: there’s not a moment of inauthenticity on screen.

I wish I could discuss certain scenes that deserve a place in the pantheon of Greatest Ever, but Laxe makes it very difficult: saying anything at all risks ruining the fun. I will complement the mega-talented Sergi López, whose performance, like the film, gains power as it proceeds. His Luis stands out like a sore thumb among the ravers, until he doesn’t, until we all become one in our sharing of grief and the splendor of life.

A modern-day Apocalypse Now, a visual and aural trip that’s as abstract and surreal as it is stark and realistic, Sirat urges us to embrace each other, as the world swells and throbs around us. Music is one of the last remaining art forms that truly unites us, and underground electronic music, with its lack of lyrics, speaks volumes with simple key shifts, beat drops, and tempo changes. Similarly, the film says so much without “saying” much at all: a surefire sign of an artist having reached the zenith of his career.