Sirât

 

I was not prepared for Oliver Laxe's intensely absorbing and devastating film Sirât, which has been nominated for an Oscar for Best International Feature.

Set in the desert regions of Morocco, Algeria and Mauritania, Sirât tells the story of a Spanish father, Luis, and his young son, Esteban, (Sergi López and Bruno Núñez Arjona, respectively) who are looking for their daughter/ sister. They believe she is attending a rave in a barren expanse of sand and rock in Morocco.

As father and son wander about the camp, asking ravers if they've seen the girl in a flier they are handing out, propulsive dance music throbs, bodies sway and twitch, and the audience is introduced to a "family" of roving ravers -- Steff, Josh, Jade, Begui and Tonin -- real-life street performers, artists and roustabouts playing themselves.

The ravers tell Luis and Esteban of another rave happening deep in the desert, quite a distance from there. Father and son ask to come along, as daughter/sister might be there. The ravers are reluctant, thinking of the treacherous road that lie ahead. But when the camp is dispersed by soldiers as part of a military evacuation, the ravers flee in the buses, followed by father and son in their minivan.

Unease creeps into the picture in the early minutes, mainly because we're not sure why the daughter is missing. We're not sure if Luis is uncertain or ashamed. This makes the subsequent perils even more unsettling and confounding. When sudden and horrific events happen, audiences might find themselves falling into despair, unable to see anything but dust and emptiness.

Sirât is beautifully filmed and the music rattling and thumping techno has been nominated for an Academy Award for sound. The picture contains many messages -- love and family, life's purpose, music as transformer and anesthetic.

But, to me, it is mostly about the value we assign to others and what those values say about us.