“Where's the party?” Turns Out, It's at the Edge of Damnation.
Óliver Laxe doesn't make movies. He crafts spiritual gauntlets that masquerade as cinema. And with the Sirat trailer finally dropping ahead of its Cannes premiere, he's inviting us into his most infernal parable yet—one lit by neon, dust, and grief.
At first glance, Sirat could be written off as another euro-arthouse film leaning on “exotic” backdrops and cryptic narratives. But that would be like calling Apocalypse Now a war flick. This thing breathes. It pulses. It howls.
A Desert Rave as Judgment Day
Here's the setup: a father (Sergi López, all haunted stubble and clenched jaw) and his son trek into the arid belly of Morocco's mountain rave scene in search of a daughter who vanished months ago. The twist? The party might be less “Coachella” and more “Seventh Circle.”
The trailer cranks up the tension with sweat-slick visuals and trance-heavy sound design that feels equal parts hypnotic and harrowing. But it's the title—Sirat—that clues us into what Laxe is really after. In Islamic eschatology, the “Sirat” is the bridge every soul must cross on Judgment Day. Spoiler: most fall.
Laxe isn't coy about this symbolism. The ravers aren't just kids chasing ecstasy. They're pilgrims. Apostates. Sinners hoping to out-dance oblivion.
From Mimosas to Madness
Laxe's earlier films—especially Mimosas—already danced on the edge of spiritual allegory, blending physical journeys with metaphysical stakes. But Sirat pushes that framework into full-on mythic terrain. Imagine Enter the Void re-shot by Andrei Tarkovsky, but with sand in the speakers and no promise of return.
If Fire Will Come was about the slow burn of guilt and belonging, Sirat is the eruption. There's fire here too—but it's set to a techno beat and filtered through a cloud of dust, trauma, and unspoken faith.
Why It Feels Timely (And Timeless)
The rave scene in cinema has often been glamorized (Climax, Beats) or weaponized (Eden), but rarely moralized. In Sirat, the party isn't the escape. It's the reckoning.
And maybe that's why it stings. In a time where youth culture feels increasingly nihilistic, and “finding yourself” involves disappearing for months into remote corners of the world, Sirat hits a nerve. It asks: what happens when the party isn't where she was lost—but where she was found?
And that—brace yourself—is where the real horror lives.
Closing Shot
Sirat might just be the Paris, Texas of rave films. Or the Wages of Fear of missing persons stories. Either way, it looks like Óliver Laxe has built a bridge—and dares us to cross it.
Would you follow the bassline into the abyss to save someone you love? Comment below.
