Rarely does a Pakistani film grace the international big screen, especially a film that dares to confront the intricate realities of gender identity and sexuality. Yet Joyland (2022,) directed by Saim Sadiq, broke new ground as the first Pakistani film ever selected for Cannes, earning the prestigious Queer Palm Award that same year. With all the buzz around this film, I couldn’t help but be intrigued. Amidst a busy schedule, I finally took the time to watch it, and here’s my honest review.
Set in Lahore, Joyland follows Haider Ranas, a Pakistani man who lives with his wife Mumtaz, his strict father Amanullah, and his older brother Saleem. While Mumtaz works at a salon, Haider, unemployed and often aimless, stays home to help his sister-in-law Nucchi take care of his nieces. Life in the Ranas household revolves around traditional family expectations, especially Amanullah’s obsession with having a grandson who can continue the family line. Amanullah puts a lot of pressure on Haider to live up to stereotypical Pakistani ideas of masculinity, where men are expected to support the family and have children, be strong and fearless, and even kill animals without reluctance. However, these expectations conflict with Haider’s own desires for freedom, tenderness, and domesticity.
When Haider eventually secures a position as a backup dancer at an erotic theater, things take a surprising turn. He encounters Biba, a self-assured and alluring transgender performer who serves as one of the cabaret’s primary draws. As he gets closer to her, Haider begins to question the strict gender norms and expectations that his family had placed upon him. In the meantime, a pregnant Mumtaz discreetly battles against her own diminishing freedom and increasing sense of imprisonment in a relationship that doesn’t suit her ideals.
Joyland is a contemplative, slow-paced film, and while that’s not usually my preference, Saim Sadiq’s directional choices feel intentional and meaningful. The unhurried aspect of the film reflects the characters’ stagnation and quiet frustration with their lives. The actors’ long silences and still moments allow us to feel the weight of their routines and unspoken emotions. The movie provides a genuine portrayal of homophobia, transphobia, and the realities of sexual and gender minorities in South Asian countries.
We certainly sense the guilt, humiliation, and social pressure these characters bear — particularly Haider, who is caught between desire and social expectations, living in perpetual secrecy. As this distinct exploration of gender is not something we typically see in traditional tales, I found the convergence of the LGBTQ+ community and Pakistan’s structural pressures to be incredibly
transgressive and heartwarming.
I initially assumed that Joyland would present more pronounced depictions of violence, but it does not. Rather than a clear antagonist demonstrating overt hostility towards the LGBTQ+ community, the oppression of sexual and gender minorities is more subtle, systematic, and cultural, which I found to be more realistic than typical portrayals of queer discrimination. The movie does not contain incidents of physical assault or verbal harassment. Instead, Sadiq includes a few instances of characters expressing obvious discomfort over Biba’s transgender identity behind her back, though they do not do so to her face. At some point in the movie, Haider’s dance crew plays a prank on him by putting a wig on his head and dressing him up as a girl laughing and joking as they take pictures of him. However, the moment Biba walks into the room, their laughter immediately stops and everyone falls silent, their faces suddenly serious.
Additionally, I really appreciated how Sadiq gave the spotlight to a transgender actress, Alina Khan, without typecasting her as a victim of queer suffering as many other films do. By portraying sexual and gender identity with such authenticity, the film inspires hope for richer films about queer experiences in South Asia. The Pakistani context is a distinct and a key part of the movie’s themes which develops our understanding of the hardships and experiences that are frequently overlooked in popular media.
As queer stories become more salient, they have grown increasingly multi-faceted. While I’ve always found solace in North American queer classics such as C.R.A.Z.Y. (2005) or Brokeback Mountain (2005), it is refreshing to come across contemporary stories of queer identity, such as Joyland, which hails from a totally different cultural context. Films like this underscore the need for more diverse LGBTQ+ voices in film. In addition to telling a tale of love and identity, Joyland expands the possibilities for genuine representation in international cinema, making it a potent step in that direction.