Joyland (2022)
Director: Saim Sadiq
Screenwriters: Saim Sadiq, Maggie Riggs
Starring: Ali Junejo, Rasti Farooq, Alina Khan, Sarwat Gilani, Salmaan Peerzada
One of the promotional images for Joyland features a striking still: a larger-than-life portrait of a central character being transported on a shaky moped. At first glance it feels like an artificially projected image or a moment from a high-tech film, yet it is simply a cardboard cut-out being carried through ordinary streets. That contrast—between the grand and the everyday—mirrors the film’s approach. Joyland does not rely on futuristic gadgets or cinematic spectacle. Instead, its world is built from small, tangible details: a moped that is the family’s only vehicle, an air conditioning unit that signifies a modest comfort level, and the cramped rooms and dusty lanes of Lahore. What feels most daring about Saim Sadiq’s debut is not any technological flourish, but his willingness to tell a compassionate, nuanced story centered on people with marginalized identities, treating them with empathy rather than caricature.
As is often the case with brave films that challenge norms, Joyland has encountered controversy. The film was Pakistan’s official Oscar submission and was honored at international festivals, yet it also faced strong objections at home. The controversy largely centers on the portrayal of a trans woman, Biba (played by Alina Khan), who works as an erotic dancer. Some conservative voices labeled the film objectionable, and it was initially banned from local distribution in parts of Pakistan. Despite legal decisions and lifting of bans in some regions, screenings remain fraught due to threats and pressure from groups opposed to the film’s subject matter. These reactions only underscore how sensitive and urgent the film’s themes remain in its cultural context.
Joyland begins, appropriately for a first feature, with a birth. The opening scene immediately establishes the family dynamics and the social environment in which the characters live. A woman goes into labor and panics; in the scramble she commands her brother-in-law to take her to the hospital. He does so on the only vehicle available: the family’s rickety moped. That man is Haider, portrayed by Ali Junejo. He is a handsome young man but occupies a low position in the household hierarchy. Unemployed and lacking traditional markers of masculinity—so much so that he cannot bring himself to slaughter a goat on the family balcony—Haider bears the silent scorn of his father and the weight of the family’s expectations. When his sister-in-law gives birth to a daughter rather than the son the family hoped for, the moment underscores the social pressures that define his life and the lives of those around him.
Sadiq uses this tightly drawn family to examine gender roles and the expectations that accompany them. Rather than delivering a didactic critique, Joyland invites viewers to observe the family from within and reach their own conclusions. The film does not present a simple binary of right and wrong; it explores how gender norms can be both restrictive and supportive, depending on context and intention. Characters of different generations and social positions all contribute distinct perspectives, revealing the many subtle, often contradictory ways tradition shapes daily life. The film avoids preaching; instead it allows small, carefully staged moments to illustrate how people accept, resist, or internalize the rules imposed upon them.
Haider’s search for employment becomes a turning point that introduces Biba and propels the film into its most vital territory. Meeting someone from outside his immediate world forces Haider to confront his own beliefs and to reconsider the values he once took for granted. Joyland shifts from a study of traditional family life to a broader meditation on gender identity and the possibility of alternative ways of living. Biba is handled with sensitivity and depth. She is portrayed as a whole person—ambitious, vulnerable, flawed—rather than as a symbol. The film resists defining her solely by her gender identity; she is shown through multiple viewpoints, and the result is a humane portrait that fosters empathy.
The arrival of Biba also alters Joyland’s visual and tonal palette. The film’s early scenes are grounded in muted, earthy colors that reflect the constriction of the household and its routines. Cinematographer Joe Saade uses these dusty tones to convey the atmosphere of a life hemmed in by convention. When Biba becomes more prominent, the film’s color and composition expand into richer, more vibrant images. Streets and interiors gain a warmth and expressiveness that suggest a different emotional geography—one that is more open to possibility. Sadiq’s visual choices evoke cinematic influences without imitating them; there are echoes of European art cinema in the sensitivity to color and mood, but the film remains distinct in its cultural specificity and emotional honesty.
A major strength of Joyland is its screenplay, co-written by Sadiq and Maggie Riggs. The dialogue often conveys a great deal through small gestures, pauses, and silences. Scenes accumulate meaning gradually, trusting the audience to pick up on subtle shifts in relationships and self-understanding. The interplay between Haider and Biba is particularly delicate: their interactions raise complex questions about desire, identity, and belonging, sometimes through the simplest of exchanges. That clarity of vision is impressive for a debut director; the film consistently balances restraint and emotional force, allowing difficult subjects to emerge without being forced.
Because Joyland takes such a measured approach, some nuances may be easily missed by viewers expecting more explicit exposition. Ambiguities remain, and moments of tension can be read in multiple ways. But those ambiguities are part of the film’s design. Sadiq appears to accept the risk of misinterpretation in order to preserve the authenticity of his characters’ inner lives. The result is a film that feels courageous, compassionate, and humane—one that asks audiences to follow its subtle cues and to reflect on lives that are often ignored or misunderstood.
Ultimately, Joyland succeeds as a collaborative achievement. The performances, direction, cinematography, and screenplay align to create a film that treats its characters with respect and invites empathy. Rather than prescribing answers, the film encourages viewers to consider why people make the choices they do and how those choices intersect with culture, family, and desire. If audiences are willing to engage with its quiet moral inquiry, Joyland offers a fresh perspective and a powerful reminder of cinema’s capacity to broaden our understanding of human experience.
Score: 23/24
Written by Rob Jones
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