SIRAT: The Trance Pulse of the Apocalypse [REVIEW]

If we were to speak of transnational cinema—created in defiance of borders, in a multicultural melting pot that blends languages and identities from different corners of the world—Oliver Laxe would be its perfect representative. Born in Paris to migrant parents from Spanish Galicia, educated and residing in Spain and the UK, and closely tied to Morocco through his filmmaking, Laxe is one of the most intriguing emerging voices in contemporary cinema. His latest film, Sirat, is the very essence of his cinematic poetics: a weaving together of diverse cultural inspirations, grounded in unexpected ways within the social landscapes of society’s peripheries. After the Galician countryside of Fire Will Come, Laxe returns in Sirat to Morocco, the setting of his first two films (You All Are Captains and Mimosas). The screening opens with a somewhat hypnotic scene of an open-air rave somewhere in the Atlas Mountains. Amid the trance beats and dancers lost in rhythm, an older man and a boy—Luis and his son Esteban—search among the revelers for a daughter and sister they lost contact with nearly six months ago, hoping to find her at this alternative gathering “at the edge of the world.” During their search, the unlikely pair stumbles upon an international group of ravers and accidentally joins them, beginning a journey through the Moroccan wilderness.

  The film’s title is drawn from Arab eschatology, where sirat, or “the path,” signifies a bridge between life and paradise that stretches over hell. Luis, Esteban, and their newfound companions head toward an elusive goal, and their journey becomes not just a mission of search and rescue but a spiritual, almost mystical experience. Laxe is not particularly interested in plot mechanics, treating narrative instead as a pretext for crafting a poetic vision of transformation along the titular path. The storytelling in Sirat fractures twice—first shifting from domestic drama to existential road movie, and finally into a dark elegy about confronting the inevitable.

All the while, the film maintains a lightly trance-like rhythm, with Laxe extracting visual impressions and dreamlike beauty from the desert journey. The rhythm of this story is set by rave beats, daringly interwoven with the Moroccan landscapes. In Sirat, deep bass becomes the pulse of the existential voyage, taking on a nearly metaphysical quality that seems to emanate not from speakers, but from the deeper spaces of culture and life. Simultaneously, Laxe balances the film’s abstract, surreal tendencies with grounded realism—in one moment, the Moroccan military appears, reminding us that we live in near-apocalyptic times of ongoing conflict. Along the way, the group faces pragmatic obstacles: restocking supplies, crossing rough terrain, rationing water.

This keeps Sirat from drifting into detached symbolism, maintaining a fundamental level of authenticity. The spiritual journey is accompanied by tangible human perception and real, present dangers. In inspired frames and beautifully flowing sequences, Laxe successfully creates a visual narrative in which the metaphysical and the mundane are not opposites, but complementary and intertwined. Sirat tells a story of a universal experience—though rooted in a specific here and now—of wandering and, ultimately, confrontation with the final.

The majestic Moroccan emptiness, the throb of rave beats, looming political threats, and the intimate personal struggles of the characters combine into a fascinating cinematic journey through a landscape at the end of the world and toward the unknown. In a way, it’s a vision of apocalypse (evoking comparisons to Conrad’s Heart of Darkness), but also a tale of quasi-gnostic reckoning with a predatory reality. The measure of Laxe’s talent lies in his ability to navigate such grand contexts without veering into pretentiousness—instead, he fits them clearly and naturally within the intimate micro-universe of a group of accidental fellow travelers.

What holds Sirat back from being labeled a masterpiece is its final act, where the director’s decision to turn away from resolving the plot strands no longer seems to serve the film. While the Galician’s work never feels careless, there’s a sense that the film lacks a final fifteen minutes to offer a more coherent conclusion and bring the story to a more forceful close. It’s a deliberate choice by a director who avoids literalism and unnecessary explanation—but here, perhaps, he overcorrects. Though the ending doesn’t undermine the film’s achievements, it does cast a slight shadow over the overall impression. With his fourth film, Oliver Laxe emerges as a distinctive name in the landscape of contemporary arthouse cinema. Sirat is his most complete work to date, one that should cement his directorial identity and signature. This Spanish-French-Moroccan co-production is a film of scale and taste—visually stunning and conceived with a deeper, intelligible vision. It is without a doubt one of the most original films of the year, deserving of repeat viewings and possibly future cult status.