Hundreds of outcasts, cripples, and simple madmen, in a strange trance, converge upon the desert in southern Morocco. They are drawn by music that has neither melody nor meaning, yet with its heavy beats can reach deep into the soul. Here they find oblivion in a dance of death that will carry them away from mortal troubles for the few days the rave lasts.
However, among the hastily assembled buses that brought migrants from all over Europe for reckless pleasure and unending techno, a truck stands out distinctly against the background. Inside it huddle an old man named Luis, his young son, and a little dog frightened by the noisy bacchanalia. From their appearance, it is immediately clear — they are outsiders here.
Luis wanders between the visitors’ vehicles, showing everyone a crumpled photograph of his daughter, who ran away hoping to get to the festival. The chances of finding the girl among the dunes of a foreign country are slim — the flimsy bus is clearly not meant for rough terrain. And in his arms is his little son, who seems to enjoy the surrounding chaos.
After a military raid drives the partygoers from their habitual spot, a couple of vehicles head deeper into the desert, toward the border with Mauritania. Legend says an even heavier, more powerful rave will take place there, for the road to it is equivalent to the seven circles of hell. But neither the five reckless freaks nor the desperate father fear the prospect of seeing the devil himself, nor the news of an impending world war.
The lifeless Moroccan wasteland is not only endless sands and sheer cliffs. The dead calm of these places is guarded by minefields left from Western Sahara’s struggle for independence. But before the eyes of the old man, exhausted by his search, shimmers a mirage — the hope of seeing his daughter again, for which he must simply cross the underworld.
Sirat is the mythical bridge between hell and heaven that the souls of the dead must cross, balancing over the abyss. It is exactly this test of faith and spirit that director Olivier Laxe uses to depict the road taken by the main characters. And each approaches the bridge in their own way — some with their eyes closed, relying on the musical rhythms of the universe, and others with love in their hearts, capable of leading them out of any darkness.
But to overcome the purgatory of the Sahara, one needs more than a rusty bus and a group of hallucinating ravers as guides. Moreover, judging by the static on the radio, an unnamed catastrophe is engulfing civilization, and it is no longer clear whether the world one might return to with family — or in aching loneliness — even still exists.
The film “Sirat” unleashes upon its protagonist an apocalyptic world in which military trucks roam the desert and where only cripples and madmen appear along the way. Luis, journeying through the sandy circles of hell, must face trials of the elements, death, and human cruelty, endure tragedies, and lose everything. And even that does not guarantee a favorable outcome.
Unexpected help comes from the fellow travelers — a band of ragged wanderers who, for reasons unknown, have set out toward certain death. Like a primitive tribe, they perform noisy dances in the midst of the underworld, either to drive away evil spirits or to attune themselves to the rhythm of this brutal land. Perhaps no one else remains in the world but these people — and even if that is not the case, they live their brief time with precisely this spirit.
The deep bass of enormous speakers blends with the howl of the wind from the depths of the Sahara and the explosions of a distant war. The trance transports the drifters from an African country that offers no chance of survival into Sirat, where it depends entirely on the person whether they can avoid falling into the abyss. Through this cacophony, Olivier Laxe’s film erases the boundaries between life and death, hell and heaven, individuality and the hope of survival.
The protagonists drown in the boundless sands of the Sahara and hang over the abyss on narrow mountain roads, trying to touch the incomprehensible African sunset. The meditative quality of Sirat is built on rhythmic beats, the noise of the elements, and grainy film stock. But the lulling pace is deceptive, for monstrous cruelty — relentless and without explanation — awaits behind every dune.
It is hard to say what the protagonists are searching for in a land where nothing can be found except their own death. Perhaps it is merely an attempt to flee from themselves or from a world mired in yet another global crisis. Or a desperate search for unity with those who do not fit into the boundaries of ordinary society. But one day, the scorching sand — which burns the feet and hides mines beneath its surface — will judge everyone, letting pass only those who are truly pure of heart.
