If you find yourself in the vicinity of Los Angeles in August, you may overhear some locals buzzing about “heading to the Playa” at the end of the month. No, these Angelinos are not referring to the hundreds of miles of public beaches along the California coastline, but rather the barren wasteland in northern Nevada known as Black Rock Desert. Every year, electronic music fanatics embark on their annual pilgrimage to “Burning Man” - a music festival sitting on a dry lake bed in the upper chambers of the West, where attendees yearn for a transformative, spiritual experience through copious amounts of psychedelics and high beats-per-minute tracks. There is something intoxicating about this collision between arid environments and thundering soundtracks that draws us into its dominion, and that precise allure floats menacingly across Óliver Laxe’s latest festival-circuit darling, Sirāt.
Laxe defines the film’s title from the jump, with plain text explaining that the Arabic word “Sirāt” refers to the narrow bridge over Hell that souls must cross to reach Paradise (also understood as the “straight path” of righteousness in Islam). Slowly fading in on picturesque shots of the Moroccan desert, the stark beauty and soft wind heard whipping through the valley transports you to this site removed from any trace of civilization. We quickly set our sights on a rag-tag pack of men rolling onto the desert’s center, though, each carrying massive subwoofers in their trucks’ flatbeds and subsequently stacking them into a wall-like formation. Much like the breeze carving across this sandy expanse, individuals trickle into the scene and form a hefty crowd around this musical altar, swaying to the steady beats faintly increasing in volume with each close-up of dirt-caked faces and fraying garments. Amongst them, a father (Luis) and son (Esteban) pass out flyers with a girl’s portrait to attendees, asking desperately for any information on her whereabouts. When Luis talks to a quintet of seasoned ravers about his missing daughter, they inform him of a larger gathering happening miles away where she may be found - to which they trepidatiously agree to lead Luis and Esteban towards once the current party ends.
With all the makings of a road trip movie in its conceit, Sirāt aptly kicks off with high-stakes conflict when Moroccan soldiers surround the crowd and announce that they must disband because of a national emergency. Wasting no time in finding his daughter, Luis and his new tour guides speed off the military path in favor of a shortcut to their next party, flinging dust clouds and sharp pebbles into the armored trucks failing to block their paths. Comparisons to Mad Max: Fury Road are not far off, as Laxe’s affinity for wide shots of the group’s vehicles traversing makeshift roads - all while Kangding Ray’s booming score reverberates through the screen - could easily slide into a sequence or two from the aforementioned film. However, Laxe exhibits restraint in shots where he may easily include another rave or motorcade of partiers to liven the film, and this minimalist tendency persists across the rest of the film. Even during Sirāt’s first major shock, Laxe denies us of any grandiose display of mourning that could distract from the tragedy unfolding, opting for absolute silence instead.
For a movie whose imagery and soundtrack alludes to a fast-paced, action-packed thriller, Sirāt fizzles out by the time Laxe cuts to black. Although many will dig their nails into their seat cushions during the film’s third act - which almost resurrects the movie’s faint World War III subplot playing in the background - it is not enough to satiate the adrenaline rush promised in the beginning. Like pawns in a chess game, Laxe flicks each member of his motley crew off the board until we are left with a morose, purposeless few. If oblivion was Laxe’s goal, he certainly instills that in anyone who embarks on this journey. Yet, Sirāt does not stand as a true expedition, but more so one man’s meditation on the futile state of humanity. With enough of us absorbing global anxieties on a daily basis, is it fruitful to take on another individual’s dismay? I’m still wandering through Laxe’s disposition, and I pray that I will find a path out.
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Wake in Fright
It’s a wasteland. Men strewn about, forgotten, forgetful, existing only in a limbo where time has ceased to matter. The world is desolate, and those remaining look at you like meat. They were meat once, which is why they’ll test you. Or they’ll hurt you. They laugh because you don’t know. Are you incarcerated? Or are you in “Wake In Fright”?
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