SHREWSBURY FILM SOCIETY
| Director | Saim Sadiq |
|---|---|
| Country | Pakistan |
| Year | 2022 |
Joyland marks a seismic moment in Pakistani cinema: the debut feature from Saim Sadiq, it became the first Pakistani film ever to screen at Cannes—in the Un Certain Regard section—where it won both the Jury Prize and the Queer Palm. A sensitive trans drama set in Lahore, it was selected as Pakistan’s official Oscar entry and shortlisted for Best International Feature Film—an unprecedented achievement.
Its path to audiences at home was, however, turbulent. The film faced censorship from the Pakistani government shortly before its release, deemed “highly objectionable” by religious conservatives. The ban was partially lifted following public outcry and efforts by figures like Malala Yousafzai, yet it remains banned in Punjab.
International recognition has been substantial. Joyland picked up awards including Best Film From The Subcontinent at the Indian Film Festival of Melbourne and the Independent Spirit Award for Best International Film, among many others.
Set within an extended family living in the cramped confines of Lahore’s ‘Joyland’, a local amusement park, the film revolves around Rana Amanullah (“Abba”)—a wheelchair-bound patriarch longing for a male grandchild. His youngest son, Haider (Ali Junejo), is content being unemployed and caring for his nieces, as his resourceful wife Mumtaz (Rasti Farooq) works as a makeup artist.
Haider takes on a clandestine job as a backing dancer in an erotic dance theatre, working for Biba (Alina Khan), a vibrant, trans performer. Their relationship evolves from curiosity to tenderness, challenging Haider’s understanding of identity, masculinity, and desire.
This new role triggers a shift in family dynamics: Mumtaz is forced to give up her beloved job, feels increasingly alienated, and soon becomes pregnant—finally earning Abba’s approval as Haider becomes the favourite. Yet, this approval is tinged with sacrifice and loss.
Alina Khan’s debut as Biba is magnetic—a diva-like presence with toughness honed by vulnerability and survival. Ali Junejo’s Haider is the embodiment of passive longing, blurring gender expectations with tender, unassuming authenticity. Rasti Farooq offers a quietly devastating performance as Mumtaz, whose spirit erodes beneath societal pressures.
The supporting cast enriches the film’s texture—from Abba’s disappointed glances to the extended family’s longing for status through male heirs.
At its core, Joyland interrogates patriarchy and the weight of social conformity—beyond the obvious, it reveals how oppressive norms strangle everyone, men included. It is more than a trans love story; Sadiq uses this triangle—Haider, Mumtaz, Biba—as a prism to interrogate what he terms “patriarchy”.
The film also navigates the potent fear of log kya kahenge—“what will people say?”—a shared burden that curbs desire and selfhood.
Nevertheless, Joyland is suffused with moments of quiet tenderness, humor, and surreal joy—most notably the striking image of Haider riding a moped, carrying an enormous poster of Biba, a cinematic gem balancing erotic enchantment with defiance.
Saim Sadiq, working with cinematographer Joe Saade, favours the Academy ratio to evoke claustrophobia, trapping characters within rigid frames reflective of their emotional enclosures. Lighting—especially in scenes lit by disco lights or mobile phones during power cuts—adds tactile warmth amid suffocating constraints.
Narratively, the film unfolds with a gentle insurgency—there is no climactic epiphany, but an accumulation of small gestures and frames that expand meaning and emotional impact.
Joyland reconfigured global perceptions of Pakistani cinema—not as insular, but daringly intimate and universal. At Cannes, its long standing ovation was not just applause—it was affirmation of representation: a trans performer in a lead role, telling stories that are real and resonant.
Its domestic censorship revealed the fragile fault lines between artistic expression and socio-religious conservatism, making its existence a political act as much as a cinematic one.
Joyland is a brave debut—surprisingly bold for its setting, tender in its execution, and politically poignant by virtue of existing. It invites us into the intimacies of identity, familial pressure, and forbidden desire, rendering the unsayable into a moving portrait of longing and defiance.
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