In November, the director Saim Sadiq’s provocative melodrama “Joyland” was briefly banned in his home country, Pakistan, for depicting a romance between a married man, Haider, and a dancer, Biba. Western audiences might refer to Biba as a transgender woman, but the film avoids those words. “She is that,” Haider tells his jilted wife.
A more common local term is khawaja sira, a gender identity that dates to the 16th century and connotes neither male nor female. This community, whose members often served as advisers in the Mughal Empire, was criminalized under British colonial rule. Long shunned, they scored an important victory in 2018 when Pakistan passed anti-discrimination laws that define gender identity as a “a person’s innermost and individual sense of self as male, female or a blend of both, or neither.”
Nevertheless, “Joyland” spurred an outcry in Pakistan, with the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting deeming the Cannes prize winner “highly objectionable.” The activist and Nobel laureate Malala Yousafzai, one of the film producers, defended it in Variety. The ban was rescinded after three days.
Outrage works in the movie’s favor; this polite weepie needs the added spice. While about an unconventional affair, the movie is more interested in suppression and restraint. Sadiq, a sensitive director who occasionally muddles a scene when he gets bashful, focuses on the patriarchy’s impact on men. Here, every man we meet is terrified to become the target of gossip — a paranoia that sometimes seems to be only in their heads.
“Joyland” takes its title from a theme park in Lahore. The city’s stone walls barely allow the park’s neon lights to peek out — Sadiq’s subtle metaphor for how society constrains the colorful shades of human desire. Two brothers live in a crowded, dimly lit house they share with their father (Salmaan Peerzada), a white-haired bully who believes that men should work and women should bear children. This is fine with the macho eldest son, Saleem (Sohail Sameer), and tolerable to his wife, Nucchi (Sarwat Gilani). But our attention is pulled to the younger, gentler son, Haider (Ali Junejo), and his happily employed wife, Mumtaz (Rasti Farooq, a quiet powerhouse). When Haider acquiesces to his dad’s expectations — he finds a job, and his wife is forced out of hers — the entire home’s stability comes tumbling down.
Haider’s new (secret) job is as a backup dancer to Biba, a ferocious presence played by Alina Khan. Haider is a klutz — “by the grace of Allah, you’re really terrible,” a director groans — and the theater’s finances make zero sense. (How can Biba pay six dancers while scrounging for stage time?) Yet, the script, by Sadiq and Maggie Briggs, doesn’t spend enough time backstage to satisfy our curiosity. With Joe Saade’s swirling camerawork, the film’s burlesque scenes are themselves a tease, making us yearn for one more sweaty dance number or another “All About Eve”-esque zinger that Biba delivers to her rival (Priya Usman Khan).
We’re meant to be miserable when the movie slinks back to the grim family manor. As those inside increasingly realize that they, too, want to make their own choices, our loyalty turns away from Haider to the women, particularly the daughters-in-law, who are more articulate about and exhausted by the pressures on their behavior. When Farooq and Gilani each get a scene to speak up about their characters’ frustrations, their righteous anger burns a hole through the screen.
Joyland
Not rated. In Punjabi and Urdu, with subtitles. Running time: 2 hours 6 minutes. In theaters.
Amy Nicholson
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