A masterwork of desert cinema, ‘Sirāt’ is a two-hour sensory assault that examines the sheer willpower required to navigate a hellish and seemingly hopeless journey
While Sirāt is comprised of two hours of relentless rave music, it is by no means a celebration of the party lifestyle. The title, which means “path” in Arabic, refers to the hair-thin bridge in Islamic scripture that separates paradise from perdition. In this Cannes Jury Prize-winning thriller released on April 23, director Óliver Laxe strips away almost all context, save for the looming shadow of a Third World War. We follow a disparate group on an exodus through the brutal Moroccan desert: a band of siblings and friends evading the military to reach a music festival, and a father trailing them with his young son, desperate to find a daughter he believes is attending it.
(Note: Spoilers ahead.)
If the 2015 action sci-fi Mad Max: Fury Road was a triumphant quest for liberation—propelled by the heavy metal crescendos of Tom Holkenborg—then Sirāt is its scorchingly nihilistic counterpart. Here, the natural elements do not just challenge the characters; they batter them until their will to survive is the only thing left.
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Above A film still from ‘Sirāt’ (Image: courtesy of Edko Films)
Laxe offers no cathartic destination. Instead, the journey undergoes a grim metamorphosis: from a skeletal, minimalistic version of Coachella to an oasis pool too deep for the father’s car to cross, and eventually to treacherous cliffside tracks and minefields. Each scene heightens the peril, leading to accidents and deaths that are as terrifying as they are sudden. The missing daughter remains an enigma—never seen, never found—leaving the survivors’ ultimate fates hanging in the void.
The film’s only solace is its rave music leitmotif, crafted by composer Kangding Ray, sound designer Laia Casanovas and production sound mixer Amanda Villavieja. They have engineered a staggering soundscape that blends high-octane electronic beats with the ambisonic stereo sounds of the shifting sands and the howling wind. Over the 12-song soundtrack, the audio slowly disintegrates, moving from the mechanical to the ethereal and ambient. The music functions as a character in its own right—arresting and occasionally overpowering—mirroring the characters’ emotional landscape.

Above A film still from ‘Sirāt’ (Image: courtesy of Edko Films)
Yet, the most haunting moments are those of total silence. In a particularly devastating sequence, the father—having lost his son to this futile search for his daughter—traverses a minefield. There is no score here, only the hollow sound of footsteps against the grit. It forces a difficult question: what is the soundtrack of a man who has abandoned hope? The answer is a deafening emptiness.
Despite the burdensome danger of every step, humanity’s capacity for kindness provides a relief more profound than any music. We see it in a boy sharing a chocolate bar despite his dwindling food supply, or in the ravers who risk their lives to return for the father when he wanders into the wastes.
Unlike the larger-than-life heroism of a Furiosa or a Paul Atreides, Sirāt focuses on the ordinary person. (As a side note, none of the actors, except for Sergi López and Bruno Núñez, are professional actors and were recruited through street casting.) Laxe examines what keeps a soul moving forward when life is at its most trying: be it the courage to look for a family member, the longing for freedom, the hope to be kind or the instinct to survive.





