We are just a cold God's way of playing. If one thing is that people and people who watch Oliver Laxe’s very strange and disturbing “jazz” can agree on it, that must be that. For characters on the Purgatory Journey from ubiquitous to transcending the back end, God is gradually reducing the number of invisible forces, weakening their spirits and forcing them to consider the concept of life after hope. For the audience, it is likely to be the co-written director Ranks himself, as he beats us emotionally and psychologically in ways we can’t predict, with little to deserve. To be clear: this is both a prudence and a high praise. While taking you in the roots, there aren’t many movies that can trigger your flying instinct.

A series of abused speakers are being assembled in the Moroccan desert. Despite being short on the spectacular dusty canyon walls nearby, the sound they produce is a surprising work by composer Kangding Ray, a roaring bass that interacts with each other like tectonic plates - matching them - in the Grandeur. If these cliffs could speak, it would be subwoofer words with this pulsating beat and technical drone. Suddenly, the empty desert is filled with twisted, whirling bodies, stressed by DP Maruo Herce, their old tattoos and sunburned scars, their braids and studs and ragged T-shirts, none of these are Coachella Selfie Takers, no Coachella Selfie-Takers, no burning men Tryhards. The happiness of acceptance, the atmosphere of drug use and the Bacchanalian ecstasy; the only thing you can stick with here is to show the Normcore you look like.

Enter Luis (the excellent Spanish experienced Sergi López, one of the few professional actors among the cast) and his son Esteban (Brúno Nuñez), are almost all normal definitions of the middle class, although their task is special and sad. They were in the ravers to a person who distributed pictures of Louis' daughter Mar, who they hadn't heard of for five months. After leaders show that she might be part of the scene, they are disappointed that no one knows her until Jade (Jade Oukid) is a sympathetic attendee with a clumsy black-lined face tattoo telling Louis that another orgy will soon be arranged on one venue in a faraway desert. Then the military orders evacuation, which is how we understand civilization is on the brink of world wars.

Setting up a missing girl mystery in the context of the liberal party movement is already a complex and interesting idea at the moment when geopolitical tensions approach the stage of the apocalypse. In the first hour of the movie, it was vivid because we met more of Jade's accomplices. Steffi (Stefanian Gadda), Josh (Joshua Liam Henderson), Tonin (Tonin Janvier) and Bigi (Richard Bellamy), who had an arm and a leg missing between them, apparently living in their industrial trucks, they lived in desert parties, they were reluctantly becoming their army, who had been a family, who had been a family, who had gone to the past and Este, who lived in Este and ran to Este and Este, was their competition semi-mysterious second carnival.

There was some mild water show followed, and when Louis' minivan proved to be comparable to tough terrain, the suspect was the feces of LSD when Esteban's puppy Pipa suffered from illness. With enough warm bond moments, we convinced the film to turn from the premise of the missing girl to become an alternative, technology-driven resident road movie that is hard to convey a jaw-dropping period, and after the midway mark, a shocking tragedy takes place. It's like being chopped in a duct. From then on, “sirat” (named after the thin-haired bridge that allegedly connects heaven and hell) has never been completely direct, never completely ordinary. It enters the increasingly Wilder, stranger realms of existence and allegoricality, as even the most deviant, self-sufficient nomadic life is revealed as a structure that can be dismantled.

What happens when we lose everything? (and loose really means everything. ) Will we become beasts or angels? Do we return to a state of grace or Hobbes - annoying, cruel, etc.? The film offers no answers, but it gets stuck in a nightmare way, as if all the regular rules and codes are beginning to twist and bend in the global collapse of activity. Not only the rules of life, but also the logic of filmmaking and storytelling.

So referring to the movie as Chameleonic rather than a theme that exudes anecdotes of interesting stories Laxe engineers - after all, Chameleons just change the color. "sirat" repeatedly went through something closer to trans, becoming "Mad Max", "Feared Salary", and Michelangelo Antonioni's 60s and 70s results, becoming "Mad Max", "Feared Salary", "Feared Salary" and about half of the fusion.

However, to some extent, Ranks questioned the ever-elevated devastating tone (it was the climax of absurd, border-absurdity, and it was also the worst person in recent memory, one of the worst behind-behind-behind-behind-behind-behind-behind-behind-behind-forgingers tension sequences). Given the elegant flaws and ambiguity of his films, this exciting directorial confidence is amazing, even if it restrains hands and ties you to your seat and forces you to watch, it may go against your will. "Is this the feeling of the end of the world?" Asked a moment, yes, this is. But while the desperate apocalyptic world evokes everything, it's all over, dropping, burning, blowing up, turning to dust and dying worlds is a new thing.