‘Sirât’ Review: Óliver Laxe Takes Us on a Sisyphean Journey of Sound and Fury Road [A-] Cannes

Perhaps the most mesmerising Competition entry thus far, Óliver Laxe’s Sirât takes us to a world of desert raves where the promise of salvation still exists. A long opening scene begins with close-ups of stage speakers, as they are being set up by a few half-naked men, old and young, all sweaty. Yet the camera latches onto a speaker’s vibrating cone before focusing on a single human face. But they are all there: a sea of bodies and faces, swaying in their respective techno-trances as soon as the music starts blasting from those huge speakers in the middle of a desert. Amidst the crowd though, there is one person who obviously does not belong there. 

Sergi López (Pan’s Labyrinth, Pacifiction) plays Luis, a single father who arrives at a rave in the Moroccan desert, searching for his missing daughter. Accompanying him in his stoicism is the remarkably calm pre-teen son, Esteban (Bruno Núñez) and a puppy named Pipa. Luis gives out missing person brochures to strangers who, although kind and understanding, can’t help but make fun of him – the middle-aged dad who seems comically out of place. But the way Luis carries himself, how enchanting the desert looks in the hands of cinematographer Mauro Herce and on 16mm, are both crucial factors to the film’s precise tone: eerily earnest.

Shot on location in the Moroccan Sahara and with mostly non-professional actors (actually, ravers), Sirât is as much about music as it is about the human soul. Laxe’s auteur brand of cinema is one of interrogative silences, dynamic long takes where people can find connections even when it seems the least likely to. Early on, a title card explains the meaning behind the film’s enigmatic title: Sirât (from the Islamic tradition) is the name of the bridge between paradise and hell, “thin as a strand of hair and sharp as a sword”. It is the place where human souls are being tested, which is not exactly purgatory. Despite these mythical (i.e. impossible) dimensions, one enters the film at least knowing that there is a bridge between salvation and destruction.

The script, co-written by Óliver Laxe and his usual collaborator Santiago Fillol has a sort of a three-act structure, but these three parts are anything but symmetrical in length. In other words, Sirât extends and compresses time in a way fitting to its desert backdrop and rave culture in more general terms. Days, weeks, or months may have passed since Luis decided to follow a group to the location of the next rave – down south all the way to Mauritania. Those people we’ve met already in the opening scene, on their own terms, dancing with the techno and the sun – Jade (Jade Oukid), Stef (Stefania Gadda), Josh (Joshua L. Henderson), Tonin (Tonin Javier), Bigui (Richard Bellamy – Bigui) who all play versions of themselves. Unsurprisingly, they are each other’s family and two big trucks (their homes on wheels), next to which Luis’s white minivan looks comical.

For most of the film, we follow the bunch through a series of literal obstacles, like rough roads, tall mountains, scarce resources, and the danger of arrest; as a result, we see the relationships taking shape and remaining plastic throughout. But when tragedy strikes, we not only get to observe a different kind of bonding between them—one united by the trauma of seeing it happen—but to participate in it, by also bearing witness to it. At one point, crossing the desert becomes a literal metaphor for the characters, but that transformation never feels forced. If anything, it’s founded on their organic connection and in big part to the techno landscapes produced by French electronic artist Kangding Ray, aided by the droning, precise sound design by Laia Casanovas.

In the desert, as in travelling raves, there is no need for hiding. Therefore, nothing is hidden and people can be unapologetically themselves. Baring all of that, Laxe’s film showcases the most rare of gifts: that of true connections and the attainability of hope at the end of the world. “Is this what the end of the world looks like?”, one character asks, to which another answers candidly: “I don’t know, it’s been the end of the world for a long time now.” But in Sirât, human interactions and those with nature remain so pure that the need for symbolism ceases to exist. The film starts as symbolism-heavy, distinguished by the formal rigor of long takes, low angles, and mesmerising tracking shots of roads traversed, but as its titular allusion becomes more real, it sheds that metaphorical skin.

Sirât also marks Laxe’s third appearance at the Croisette, where the French-Spanish filmmaker has a track record for winning prizes. His feature debut You All Are Captains (Directors’ Fortnight, 2010) won the FIPRESCI Prize, then Mimosas (Critics’ Week, 2016), got the Nespresso Grand Prize, and Fire Will Come took home the Jury prize in the Un Certain Regard section in 2019. It wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine a consistent (and consistently awarded) filmmaker like him snagging an even bigger award this year. 

Grade: B+

This review is from the 2025 Cannes Film Festival where Sirât premiered In Competition.