Rave On by Nikias Chryssos & Viktor Jakovleski and Sirāt by Óliver Laxe: Two Perspectives on Techno Music, Escapism, and the Search for Redemption.
Thinking about techno means thinking about force, movement, intensity and novelty. It means searching for that which lies beyond the horizon of the known, that which designates the strange, the weird, and the uncanny.
Max Schmermbeck: The Metaphysics of Techno
The Metaphysics of Techno – Splijtstof
This year, three films defined and characterized the current competition in the New German Cinema section of the Munich International Film Festival (Filmfest München). In addition to Sechswochenamt by Jacqueline Jansen, which was awarded the FIPRESCI Prize, and Karla by Christina Tournatzés, which received two German Cinema New Talent Awards, there was one film in particular that left a strong impression on me: Rave On by Nikias Chryssos and Victor Jakovleski.
Rave On follows musician Kosmo (Aaron Altaras)—who years ago withdrew from Berlin’s techno scene into self-imposed isolation after a botched gig—on his odyssey to one of the German capital’s famous clubs, in search of a legendary DJ and pioneer of the techno world. The manic obsessiveness with which, against all odds, he plows his way into the bowels of a club soon makes you realize that this is about much more than just a vinyl record that he wants to hand over to his DJ idol Troy Porter. It’s about a way back to a lost paradise, about recognition, and ultimately also about redemption.
Nikias Chryssos and ViKtor Jakovleski are both very familiar with club culture, were socialized accordingly, have produced electronic music themselves (in the case of Nikias Chryssos), and know the lives, the rituals, but also the difficulties of DJs and musicians as well as the history of EDM (Electronic Dance Music) in general and techno in particular. Their view of club culture visibly strives for authenticity. The footage for their film was partly shot during specially organized techno parties and in close collaboration with the club’s crew, some of whom (such as awareness officer Lara, who looks after Kosmo after his breakdown) actually appear onscreen.
The camera concept of Rave On is at times strongly reminiscent of the work of Gaspar Noé, especially in his films Irreversible, Enter the Void, and Climax, and focuses primarily on Kosmo’s actions and his states of consciousness. There is virtually no scene in which the camera does not show him in the frame or take his point of view. The more Kosmo immerses himself in the labyrinth of the club and tries to pass time until the legend Trevor Porter’s performance—which ultimately leads to uncontrolled drug consumption—the more chaotic, distorted, and alienated are the angles and lenses that the camera adopts, culminating in a completely abstract strobe sequence, becoming one with the music. Only at the very end does the film return to the naturalism of the beginning and release the audience, together with Kosmo, into the dreary grey of a Berlin day.
Rave On is a film that takes an almost nostalgic look at the Berlin scene of the 1990s and 2000s. The film repeatedly refers back to earlier stages in the development of club culture and techno, recalling the joy of experimentation in the early years and lamenting the commercialization of the present. The DJ character, Trevor Porter, who is adored by Kosmo, reflects the beginnings of the movement in Detroit and Chicago.
There are also repeated references to the origins of the musical genre, and at one point it is mentioned in passing that Kosmo even held seminars on the history and philosophy of techno at university before retiring from the scene. For him, as for the people he meets, the wild club nights are events that take place according to fixed rules and rituals, that allow intoxication and ecstasy and yet give the participants the feeling of moving in safe spaces that function as shelters against external reality.
“Imagine you are standing in a dark nightclub, surrounded by hundreds of people dancing ferociously to an amalgamation of synthesizers and drum machines beating together in rhythmic unity. The atmosphere is ecstatic and vibrant in the sort of way that makes you temporarily forget about your life outside the walls of the club. You are not just enjoying the music, you embody the music. You are here. You are entranced. You are alive.”
Max Schmermbeck: The Metaphysics of Techno
The Metaphysics of Techno – Splijtstof
Rave On captures this feeling perfectly.
Inner worlds and outer sound/landscapes
It is not only because of the focus on electronic dance music/techno and the associated subculture and club culture that Rave On merges with Sirāt by Óliver Laxe, which was shown in competition at Cannes this year, where it won the Jury Prize, and which, like the film by Nikias Chryssos and Viktor Jakovleski, was presented in the program of the Munich Film Festival, albeit in the CineMasters section.
Like Kosmo in Rave On, the protagonist in Sirāt is on an odyssey that resembles a search for redemption, or at least certainty: Luis (Sergí Lopez) has set off with his son to the desert of southern Morocco to search for his missing daughter Mar, who disappeared without a trace at one of these events. When the ravers are driven out by the military, father and son join the techno nomads who set off for one last party. But no matter how far they try to distance themselves from civilization and the cruelty of war, there is no escape.
Both films strive for authenticity and were made in close collaboration with protagonists from the scene, who can be found both in front of and behind the camera. It goes without saying that the respective music comes from legends of the techno scene such as Ed Davenport (Rave On) or David Letellier aka Kangding Ray (Sirāt). And aside from Sergí Lopez, Laxe features no other professional actors.
When the beat stops…
And yet it is above all the differences that catch the eye when looking at Rave On and Sirāt together. In the world that Óliver Laxe describes, the safe spaces of techno culture no longer exist. In the real outside world, as we learn from snippets of news, a massive war is raging, which the community of ravers is trying to escape by fleeing into the desert. Like nomads of an archaic tribe, they move from wasteland to wasteland in their mobile homes. The metropolises have long since served their purpose. The “inner” escapism of club culture has become a literal flight from the world and civilization, the darkness of the labyrinthine catacombs of the clubs has turned into the merciless, glaring light of the barren desert landscapes of the sub-Saharan region.
This shift is also accompanied by a narrative and formal change of perspective. The view in Sirāt becomes more distanced from the immersive experience in Rave On and in some places almost seems like an ethnographic exploration of the customs and traditions of an isolated tribe. The gigantic loudspeaker towers, which are built into the desert like a larger-than-life cult object right at the beginning of the film, also fit in with this. Because, in contrast to Rave On, as the film progresses it becomes almost indistinguishable who is playing the music and who is dancing to it; Sirāt lacks the safe spaces of the clubs as well as the legends and pioneers. The almost disembodied music, for all its hardness and bass-heaviness, itself becomes an object of worship, an insubstantial deity of a primitivist cult.
In the deeply pessimistic world that Laxe creates in Sirāt, there is accordingly no room for hope or redemption. In the end, he subjects the remaining characters to a cynical checkmate situation. Trapped in a minefield in which literally every next step can be fatal, they are condemned to immobility—for people who love dancing as much as nomadic wandering, this is a punishment of almost biblical dimensions.
While Rave On, as the title suggests, carries the promise that the party will go on forever, the utopia of techno in Sirāt reaches an end point and comes to a deadly standstill. The music falls silent, the beat stops, the lights switch on mercilessly.
Joachim Kurz
Edited by Robert Horton
© FIPRESCI 2025