‘Joyland’ Review + Analysis: The Case for Saim Sadiq’s Pakistani Masterpiece

Out of the 14 films I managed to watch during my short attendance at Cannes, ‘Joyland’ was the most special. A true film festival moment where I spontaneously entered the Théâtre Debussy at 8:30am to see some quiet Un Certain Regard film, half expecting to leave by the opening credits, and, instead, remaining in my seat until the staff had to clear out the theater.

‘Joyland’ was the first Pakistani film to premiere at Cannes. Usually, the smart move when being the first to do anything is to remain palatable. Appeal to the masses. However, director Saim Sadiq seemed to care nothing about easing a Western audience into an honest Pakistani story.

The film centers around an unemployed husband, Haider (Ali Junejo), who lives with his wife, parents, and extended family in the same house. Already, the dynamic of three drastically different generations of grandparents, parents, and children sets the household in a state of flux. The family dynamic is further strained when Haider gets a job as an erotic background dancer for a transgender woman named Biba (Alina Khan). Once employed, his wife, Mumtaz (Sania Saeed), is forced to give up her job. Meanwhile, Haider grapples with his growing attraction and relationship with Biba.

Focusing on this last point, it felt like a great creative risk for Sadiq to depict a queer relationship in shadow of a traditionalist culture. I’ve seen a good amount of praise for this fact that I undoubtedly agree with. However, I question whether the film will benefit from being labeled a “queer story.” While Haider and Biba’s affair is a primary plot-point, it would do the film a massive injustice to label their relationship as the point of the film. More importantly, ‘Joyland’’s larger themes are that of gender and gender norms. Of the contrasting battle between new progressive thought and the default conservative culture. Which partner should work? Who should remain at home? What defines success for a woman: companionship or independence?

This last question reveals itself in the juxtaposition between Mumtaz and Biba as two ideals of womanhood. Mumtaz has a husband and children; however, she is forced to give up her job and stay at home. Biba has her own successful, empowering career doing what she loves (not to mention she even employs men), but she lives alone with no one to rely on. Despite their different paths, they both suffer, perpetually faced with internal grief. It is impossible to find happiness as long as they live in a culture that was built to keep them suppressed.

Both women are consistently misunderstood by Haider. He is in constant denial of his contribution to this culture of tradition. While he isn’t as vocal as his father when it comes to the roles of a household, he reinforces it (primarily because of his own benefit from it). It’s like the age-old lesson of middle school bullying: silent bystanders are just as much at fault as the bully. Haider’s silence plays a role in the women’s suppression. His aloofness to this fact is as honest as it is aggravating. Sadiq approaches these relationships between men, women, and family with grace and maturity. Faults and flaws are not poured onto one particular person, but rather sprinkled across all of them.

Throughout the film, I mentally praised the filmmaking while remaining fairly apathetic to the underlying emotion of the story. That is, until the final scene. A simple, held, wide shot felt like a wave crashing onto my chest. As the credits rolled, I was kept in my seat (as were many others), forced to playback all of the subtleties of the characters and weave them together on my own time. Even now, I’m writing this with some time removed from watching the film— it is a story that ties together beautifully but belatedly.

‘Joyland’ is making its North American debut at the Toronto Film Festival in two days and frankly, I considered making the road trip up north just to see it twice.

(Originally published September 6, 2022.)