Sirat
Directed by Oliver Laxe
Written by Oliver Laxe and Santiago Fillol
Starring Sergi López
Classification N/A; 115 minutes
Opens in select theatres Feb. 13
The opening shots of Oliver Laxe’s Sirat observe weathered hands shifting dust-covered speakers into place, grappling with clunky equipment in preparation for an outdoor rave in the Moroccan desert. Jagged cliffs lining the horizon seem to peer ominously down at the setup below, indifferent to the thrumming techno and curious cavorting that will soon flood this patch of parched, desolate land.
Oliver Laxe’s Sirat is a pulsating, techno-tinged odyssey through the desert
The stage is set almost mythically: Luis (Sergi López) and his young son Esteban (Bruno Núñez Arjona) join up with a convoy of bedraggled, nomadic partiers on their way to the next big bash, where they hope to find Luis’s estranged adult daughter. Soldiers briefly interrupt everyone’s festivities before our protagonists give them the slip, and news of a global conflict occasionally punctuates their travels. These vague radio garblings are deliberately tuned out by the characters, whose attentions are trained on the roads, raves and reunions ahead of them.
But violence does eventually descend upon this motley crew, who experience devastating hardships on their volatile journey through the Saharan mountains and desert. Laxe shoots the unhurried buildup to these startling occurrences (the title card is saved for the 30-minute mark) with a cool deliberation, establishing a foreboding atmosphere that still allows space for understated exultation.
This image released by Neon shows, from left, Stefania Gadda, Joshua Liam Herderson, Richard Bellamy and Sergi López in a scene from the film "Sirat." (Neon via AP)Uncredited/The Associated Press
Sirat accesses something grander through its determined simplicity, expanding further in scope as its locations become increasingly depopulated and its planes of action inexorably shrink. Laxe stages a deathly pas de deux between humanity and nature, with technology – embodied here by worn-down speakers and rusted vehicles – as a mediator that begets both agony and ecstasy.