There are films that entertain, films that distract and films that politely flatter one’s intelligence. And then there are films that seem to look one in the eye and ask whether they’re prepared to lose something.
Sirat, the new feature from Galician-born director Oliver Laxe, belongs squarely in the latter category.
“A father, accompanied by his son, goes looking for his missing daughter in North Africa,” reads the logline. But that summary feels almost comically insufficient once one surrenders to its Burning Man-esque heat and dust.
The father, played by Sergi López, and his son begin their search at a rave in the desert mountains of southern Morocco, handing out photos of the missing daughter amid endless strobes and relentless electronic dance music. From there, the film becomes something closer to a pilgrimage—equal parts road movie, fever dream and ultimately a metaphysical reckoning.
During a Zoom call, I asked Laxe about the hard choices embedded in the script, and he didn’t hesitate.
“First, we wanted to invite the spectator to a catharsis,” he told me. “We believe in cinema. We believe in theaters. We believe in the spectator’s sensitivity.”
The film’s title refers to the Arabic word sirāt, which translates simply as “path” or “way.” However, in Islamic theology it carries far more gravity, referring to the Sirat al-Mustaqim, the righteous straight path of faith. In Islamic teachings about the afterlife, it also names the Bridge of Sirat—a razor-thin span suspended over hell itself, the perilous crossing every soul must attempt on its journey from this world to whatever awaits beyond.
“There is nothing worse than being misunderstood. Our intention was to take care of spectators, but we were pushing them to the abyss,” said Laxe.
That tension—care versus confrontation—animates Sirat. The film is emotional but never manipulative. It simply presents events and allows the viewer to metabolize them. We begin by regarding the ravers as vaguely threatening, either withholding information or professing their ignorance. Slowly, suspicion gives way to recognition, then trust, then grief. It’s an alchemy few filmmakers manage without tipping into sentimentality.
Laxe credits risk. “The key is crossing these minefields as an artist with your fears, but not being castrated by them,” he said. “We feel freedom in the film.”
The rave sequences feel dangerously authentic because they were. Though set in Morocco, the large-scale party was shot in Spain so production could legally assemble roughly 1,000 real ravers as extras. “It was necessary to portray us today,” Laxe said. “Society is looking for transcendence. But in a way, we are a little bit lost too.”
That search for transcendence extends to his casting. Laxe mixed professional actors with non-actors, a choice that unnerved financiers. “We needed radical fragility,” he explained. “An actor is a specialist in building a mask. Someone who has never been in front of a camera—they are totally vulnerable. It is a beautiful energy.”
He spoke often of “the wound.” “We will have to connect more and more with fragility,” he said. “We will have to celebrate the wound, not escape and put on masks.”
Music, composed largely before shooting by electronic artist David Letellier (aka Kangding Ray), pulses through Sirat like a second bloodstream. The soundtrack and the production design are nearly one and the same. “We worked one year in advance to get the mood,” Laxe said.
He added, “My creative process is visceral. I don’t go to the office to make films. I work with my guts—hopefully with my soul.”
Laxe’s intent is evident throughout Sirat, which arrives not as an answer but as an ordeal—one that trusts the audience enough to let them fall, and perhaps, come back altered.
‘Sirat’ is rated R. Distributed by NEON, in Spanish and French with English subtitles. 115 minutes. Now in theaters.
