Hey, you!
Are you walking around too carefree and relaxed these days?
Are you constantly annoying your friends and family by endlessly counting your blessings and perpetually having a durn good time?
Try Sirāt! It is a movie that is inarguably exceptional and absolutely guaranteed to totally ruin your day. Possibly longer than that. I’ll let you know when I’m feeling normal again.
Writer/director Oliver Laxe and writer Santiago Fillol deliver a somehow-more-existentially-dreadful Wages of Fear set to relentless and haunting electronica. Having watched an arguably irresponsible number of movies in my lifetime, it is rare for one to feature a single scene that genuinely staggers me. To do it twice inside of about half an hour should be impossible. And yet, here I am. Staggered.
Sirāt follows a father, Luis (Sergi López), who is searching for his missing daughter with his son, Esteban (Bruno Núñez Arjona). They heard she may be at a rave in a Moroccan desert. None of us can say for sure what hell actually looks like, but “Burning Man during World War III” is as good a guess as any.
It’s not explicitly clear if this is post-apocalypse, pre-apocalypse, or apocalypse, but there is a distinct sense that things are not going super-awesome writ large. After the military shows up to declare a state of emergency and disperse a crowd in the literal middle of the desert, Luis and Esteban hook up with a caravan of partygoers fleeing to the next rave. For a while, Sirāt becomes a somewhat light-hearted fish-out-of-water road trip. Until it suddenly very much isn’t.
The gut-punch surprises are a big part of the movie’s efficacy, so they shan’t be spoiled here. There is almost nothing in the way of backstory, with nary a flashback to be found. Who needs exposition when you got sick electronica? The dialogue is as sparse as desert vegetation, so most of the sound comes from the pulsating techno. If Skrillex already gave you the heebie jeebies, your heeb will be extremely jeebed.
Sirāt is brutal but not mean, if that makes sense. The film’s opening text explains that the title references an Islamic bridge over hell leading to paradise that folks must walk on judgment day. Hey, at least they are up front with how heavy things will get. What’s less clear is the precise argument being set forth.
Laxe and company, most of whom are not professional actors, strongly and clearly convey a wild number of sensations. It is equal parts thriller and elegy, equally embracing the kindness of strangers and the savagery of the human condition. It doesn’t feel particularly didactic or scolding. It passes no real judgment on either its characters or its viewers. But it feels theologically and morally “big” in an indescribable and upsetting way.
To feel small, scared, and sad is probably too easily doable right now. But Sirāt turns that ugly and familiar combo into something beautiful and unique. Enjoy?
Grade = A-
Other Critical Voices to Consider
Lindsey Bahr at the Associated Press says “As a piece of cinema, Sirāt is astonishing. As a contribution to humanity, however, its value is debatable. Art certainly doesn’t have to make us feel good all, or even most of the time. Must it make us feel as bad as Sirāt? Maybe?”
Marisa Carpico at The Pop Break says “Certainly you can look at Sirāt as a statement that life is constant tragedy and loss. You can also look at it as a testament to the way empathy, community and kindness make life bearable. You could even look at the film simply as a bleak drama not necessarily trying to say something larger about life. Really, you can take whatever meaning you want from it. And isn’t that the point of faith? Isn’t that the point of art?”
Yasser Medina at Cinefilia says “Laxe introduces elements of violence and despair that seem designed solely for gratuitous shock value, in a mise-en-scene that, generally, only stands out for the desert atmospheres captured by Mauro Herce’s lens and a techno soundtrack composed by Kangding Ray that I find infectious. Everything else, ultimately, ends up seeming like an exercise in self-indulgence about grotesque figures, where moving bodies and arid landscapes are repeated ad nauseum without finding a suitable direction.”