Joyland: A Groundbreaking Film on Queer Love and Patriarchy in Pakistan
Joyland is a conversation starter that humanizes each character by illustrating how their involvement in patriarchy is inherently damaging, rather than debating the validity of queer experiences.
Joyland is a stand-out debut from director Saim Sadiq that confronts social issues through captivating visuals and masterful storytelling. The film manages to humanize characters and avoids certain cinematic tropes such as “trauma porn” often found in queer cinema. It stands as a milestone for Pakistani New Wave cinema, by being the first queer film to premiere at the Cannes Film Festival and the first to win the Un Certain Regard and Queer Palm prize. Joyland is about a patriarchal family unit, where the youngest son, Haider secretly finds work at an erotic dance theater and falls for an ambitious trans dancer. Their impossible love story slowly illuminates the entire family’s desire for a sexual rebellion.
Haider’s (Ali Junejo) abuse is never vocalized, nor materialized, throughout the film, yet Mumtaz’s (Rasti Farooq) fate is ultimately decided by his neglect and passivity. The film is not singularly centered around a tragic love story, however, it is an examination of the ways in which patriarchy permeates self-identity, repressed desires, and familial expectations. Transphobia and intolerance cannot be confronted without addressing how queerness challenges the patriarchal paradigm. Ultimately, Joyland is a conversation starter that humanizes each character by illustrating how their involvement in patriarchy is inherently damaging, rather than debating the validity of queer experiences.
Going into the film, I had my reservations about why the film switched from Alina Khan’s character, Biba, in 1Darling, to Joyland’s Haider, as the protagonist; however, after my initial watch, everything made sense. I was relieved to see a male protagonist challenged by his sexuality more than a trans character on-screen, especially in relation to patriarchy in Pakistan. Growing up in a middle-class neighborhood in Karachi, there were several theater houses nearby that put on comedy stage shows on weeknights and performed 2Mujras on weekends. A majority of the performers in these theaters were trans women, frequently entertaining large masses of howling men. The dances were inherently scandalous and full of sexual innuendos, but what surprised me the most was that the men who encouraged these dances were usually married; I often wondered why so many “married men” went to see them at all.
Susan Sontag essentially defines “campiness” as something that can not intentionally exist, much less exist in the mainstream. Much like drag culture, Mujra as an art form is inherently campy in aesthetic. It is created to perfectly encapsulate the playfulness, performance, and theatricality of camp sensibilities. The irony of Mujra being queer-coded for a male audience’s entertainment, can be seen in the cognitive dissonance between these audiences being both attracted to trans performers and failing to recognize them as more than just objects. In a country where homophobia is starkly apparent, Mujra as a sub-culture seems to quietly do its job without raising eyebrows.
We can’t speak of Pakistani cinematic culture - or the lack thereof - without mentioning the scarcity of theaters in Pakistan, specifically in cities like Karachi. During Zia-ul-Haq’s dictatorship in the late 1970s, Pakistani production houses and cinemas went into decline. The following era, under dictator Zia Ul Haq, left us with only a hundred of them. And that wasn’t all; a decade ago, most cinemas in Karachi were burnt down in the name of fundamentalism. With culture constantly being burned to the ground, it comes as no surprise that younger generations have become hesitant to make films within the economic climate of the country.
Not long ago, films like I'll Meet You There by Iram Parveen Bilal and Zindagi Tamasha by Sarmad Khoosat were banned in Pakistan. Because of certain reactions to films made in/for Pakistan, the industry has struggled financially as it fails to create sustained systems for filmmaking. This is extremely detrimental to young filmmakers waiting to continue their art. The question then arises: how do you effectively start a conversation around culturally taboo topics, such as the acknowledgment of transgender people's existence, in a highly conservative country?
Joyland tactically follows a cisgender Pakistani man without labeling his sexuality. Haider’s character arc is used as a tool to examine the subtle, harmful dynamics of patriarchy within a middle-class Pakistani family. The opening sequence introduces us to him as he indulges himself in chores, helping around the house as a skilled domestic figure. As he plays with his nieces and puts them to sleep, the audience witnesses the maternal role that Haider has assumed while being a stay-at-home husband. This relationship to masculinity is dissected within every interaction he has on-screen.
In an early sequence in the film, Haider is unable to slaughter a goat with his bare hands – whereas his wife, Mumtaz, takes control and slaughters the goat herself. This scene effectively demonstrates how their marriage ignores traditional gender roles. Although their marriage lacks romantic passion, it is a convenient partnership in which they are able to appease cultural, familial, and societal expectations. Within their partnership there is no pressure to perform heteronormativity; therefore, Mumtaz assumes the role of breadwinner, while Haider becomes the homemaker. This arrangement crumbles when Haider is unable to stand up to the patriarch of the family - his wheel-chair bound father - who demands that Haider get a job and Mumtaz sacrifices her career.
The characters in Joyland are multifaceted, revealing both their adherence and non-conformity to patriarchal norms throughout the course of the film. The narrative is set in a close-knit middle-class neighborhood, or "mohalla," and speaks to the collective consciousness of a homogeneous society. Challenging the status quo in such a society often results in ridicule and ostracism, usually invoked by a single person, and brings shame to the entire family. In the context of Pakistani/Punjabi culture, one's obligation to their family supersedes their personal desires, and maintaining honor is of utmost importance.
Mumtaz represents how society erodes a woman's personhood when she is forced to conform to a role she did not choose for herself. In her case, she is forced to be a child-bearer and housewife. Her pregnancy is a symbol of her lost freedom, as she is now responsible for another life before her own. When Haider asks her if she is willing to proceed with their arranged marriage, Mumtaz's only condition is that she is allowed to work. In this instance, Haider uses his male privilege to give Mumtaz the option to decline the marriage and be independent by promising her the freedom to work. However, Haider's masculinity is undermined by his father and older brother, who criticize him for not being in control of the relationship.
Ironically, Haider breaks his promise to Mumtaz in order to gain approval from his family, even though he can’t disclose to them that he is a backup dancer at an erotic theater due to his fear of being emasculated. Haider is fascinated by Biba because she represents something he doesn’t have: the ability to take up space unapologetically and the freedom from patriarchy as it exists inside a conventional Pakistani home. Biba harnesses fierce, assertive, feminine energy as a result of having to constantly demand respect as a trans woman; whereas Haider, despite his privilege as a cisgender man, is meek and unable to stand up for himself or the women he cares about. This inevitably causes harm.
While early depictions of trans characters in cinema were often steeped in negative stereotypes and transphobia, there has been a marked shift in recent years toward more authentic portrayals. This film has not only challenged societal norms but also addressed the long-standing issue of patriarchy. By portraying queer characters as complex individuals rather than caricatures, Joyland has paved the way for a more nuanced understanding and acceptance of the queer community globally. With more nuanced storytelling, cinema can continue to pave the way for greater acceptance and understanding of the LGBTQ+ community in Pakistan and beyond.
About Nova A.
Born and raised in NYC, Nova is a multi-hyphenate who has combined their love of intersectional stories with their passion to uplift them at Womxn in Windows. They are the social media manager and strategist. Outside of WxW, they are a model and actor. Currently they are working on their screenplay.
About Ayesha Bashir
Ayesha Bashir, (she/her) is an interdisciplinary artist from Karachi, Pakistan, now based in NYC. Her moving image works investigate racial melancholy, displacement, and amnesia. She's easily moved by slow cinema, seahorses, and poetry. She is a recent graduate of Bennington College and works at Multitude Films.
A short film by Saim Sadiq which served a predecessor for Joyland. The film is desired as “As a new show is introduced at an erotic dance theatre in Lahore, a sacrificial goat goes missing, a dreamy trans girl desperately tries to become a star, and a naive young boy falls in love.”
A form of dance, performed by women, that emerged during Mughal rule in India, where the elite class and local rulers - such as the nawabs of Indian society - used to frequent courtesans for their entertainment.
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