Pakistani director Saim Sadiq’s feature debut “Joyland” follows an affair between Haider, a middle-class man trapped in a respectful but passionless marriage, and Biba, a transgender woman who dances in an erotic theater in Lahore. Critics have praised the film’s sensitive portrayal of queer characters and relationships, as well as its candid exploration of patriarchal gender norms.
Yet despite global acclaim, “Joyland” has struggled to find a home in Pakistan.
Why We Wrote This
Despite being banned in parts of Pakistan, the critically acclaimed film “Joyland” is exposing stories rarely seen on the big screen – and prompting honest conversations about how women and LGBTQ people fit into the conservative society.
After the federal government overturned a nationwide ban in mid-November, officials in the country’s most populous province, Punjab, instituted their own. Opponents call the film an attack on the Muslim country’s social fabric, even a “call to arms” against the Islamic faith. But supporters say the movie’s only offense is taking a brutally honest look at Pakistani society.
Rasti Farooq, who plays Haider’s wife, describes “Joyland” as a sort of “unveiling,” and a chance to start crucial conversations about LGBTQ experiences in Pakistan.
“There are people in Pakistan who exist outside of this heteronormative identity, and they’ve existed since the beginning of time, so first and foremost we need to snap out of our denial,” she says. “I think we need to broaden the idea of what it means to be Pakistani.”
It may be the most famous movie to come out of Pakistan this year, but you won’t find it in many of the country’s theaters.
“Joyland,” the feature debut of Pakistani director Saim Sadiq, won the independent Queer Palm award at the Cannes Film Festival – and a standing ovation – earlier this year for the way it deals with thorny issues of sexuality, gender conformity, and attraction. The movie follows an affair between Haider, a young, middle-class man who is trapped in a respectful but passionless marriage, and Biba, a transgender woman who dances in an erotic theater in Lahore. While their romance evolves, Haider’s wife, Mumtaz, is forced by her father-in-law’s decision to give up a job she loves and help care for the family’s home.
Throughout the film, shame, fear, and secrecy keep the protagonists from recognizing each other’s struggles, with devastating consequences.
Why We Wrote This
Despite being banned in parts of Pakistan, the critically acclaimed film “Joyland” is exposing stories rarely seen on the big screen – and prompting honest conversations about how women and LGBTQ people fit into the conservative society.
The movie has received praise but also stirred controversy. Federal censorship authorities overturned their nationwide ban on the film in mid-November following a broad outcry, but a month on, “Joyland” remains banned in Punjab, the country’s most populous province. Still, the film has opened up a conversation about censorship, Islamic law, and LGBTQ experiences in Pakistan. Opponents say “Joyland” is an attack on the Muslim country’s social fabric, while supporters say the film’s only offense is taking a brutally honest look at the margins of Pakistani society.
“If we say that homosexuality doesn’t exist in our society, we are lying to ourselves, and if we say that such delicate relationships shouldn’t be depicted on screen, then we are lying as well,” says actor and director Usmaan Pirzada, an entertainment industry veteran. “Why shouldn’t we make movies about this?”
Call to arms or honest unveiling?
The precise nature of Haider’s attraction toward Biba – played by actor Alina Khan, who herself is trans – is one of several aspects that the filmmakers decided to leave ambiguous. Rasti Farooq, who plays Mumtaz, describes “Joyland” as an honest and brave exploration of “what happens to people when they can’t find answers within themselves, and when they’re also not allowed to express those queries and find those answers outside.”
Internationally, critics have appreciated the sensitive portrayal of queer characters and relationships, and have praised the film for its candid exploration of patriarchal gender norms. It’s even getting some early Oscars buzz.
Despite that acclaim, however, “Joyland” has struggled to find a home in the place it was filmed. The movie hit Pakistani theaters on Nov. 18, albeit with some scenes removed, including a couple of the film’s more sexually suggestive moments. But the provincial government of Punjab decided to ban even the censored version “in the wake of persistent complaints received from different quarters.”
Opposition to the film has centered around what right-wing activists have decried as a normalization of LGBTQ people and relationships. Sen. Mushtaq Ahmed, of the Jamaat-e-Islami (Party of Islam), has described “Joyland” as a “call to arms” against Islam, and wants it banned across the country.
“Obviously if it’s received the Queer Palm award,” said the senator, “what kind of film must it be?”
Ms. Farooq calls “Joyland” a sort of “unveiling,” and a chance to start crucial, nationwide conversations.
“There are people in Pakistan who exist outside of this heteronormative identity, and they’ve existed since the beginning of time, so first and foremost we need to snap out of our denial,” she says. “I think we need to broaden the idea of what it means to be Pakistani and … what it means to be people of faith, and to see if within these kinds of identities that are so dominant in Pakistan, we can even make space for [LGBTQ people].”
A political lightning rod
So far, attempts to make space for the LGBTQ community in Pakistan have had decidedly mixed results.
Sex between men is still criminalized under the country’s colonial-era penal code. Anti-sodomy laws are also on the books in the country’s Islamic Hudood Ordinances, though they have not been enforced since the 1980s. Same-sex couples often live in secret, due to stigma and fear of violence, and there are no anti-discrimination laws protecting people on the basis of sexuality.
Yet Pakistan was one of the first countries in the world to outlaw discrimination against transgender people, known in Urdu as Khawaja Sira. In 2018, the Pakistani parliament passed the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, legislation that gives every individual the right to be recognized as their “self-perceived gender identity,” with identity described as “a person’s innermost and individual sense of self as male, female, or a blend of both or neither.”
Though the bill passed largely without incident, experts say the trans community has since come increasingly under the microscope of religious and right-wing groups, which see the legislation as an attack on the Islamic way of life. “Joyland,” experts note, was released just as the campaign against the act was gathering momentum, and has therefore been even more politicized than it may have otherwise.
Writer and culture critic Jasir Shahbaz argues that the film has become the victim of a kind of mass hysteria.
“The issue with ‘Joyland’ is that people think that if a trans person is playing a trans character in a movie … then you are normalizing them,” he says. “I think it was made controversial by pressure groups because of their long-lasting campaign against trans people.”
Socialist politician Ammar Ali Jan agrees that at least part of the backlash comes down to timing, noting that Punjab is gearing up to be a political battleground in the 2023 general election.
“The economy is collapsing and without a cohesive plan for economic development, right-wing populists are falling back on culture wars,” he says. “This is a strategy being used all over the world, and it is being used in Punjab as one way of garnering support.
“It was very humbling”
On social media, viewers have been eager to discuss the film, frequently noting that the movie’s salaciousness has been exaggerated. One user wrote that “Joyland” is “a story of emotions, struggle, and everything wrong with middle class society in Pakistan.” Another called the ban “a disservice to the general public.”
Feminist organizer Zoya Rehman, who saw the film in Islamabad the day it was released, says that watching “Joyland” was a learning experience, exposing her to a side of Pakistan she wasn’t familiar with. She was particularly struck by Biba, the ambitious and self-possessed dancer.
“The kind of spaces that I’ve been in, or at least that my family wanted me to be in, were very decidedly middle class,” she explains. The only time they encountered Khawaja Siras – who, despite recent legal gains, tend to be poor and often work on the street – was when beggars would approach their car at traffic lights.
“It was very humbling and very subversive on the part of the filmmaker to show a trans woman trying to make it in showbiz,” she says.
Ms. Rehman thinks it’s that notion of middle-class respectability that’s been utilized to create controversy around the film.
“We’ve historically seen a lot of moral policing happen in Pakistan,” she says. “A lot of these are colonial ideas, but now they’re merged with very archaic religious expectations. … Every time affection is talked about, or romance is talked about or relationships outside the traditional cishet marriage are talked about, there’s always a hue and cry.”
In the end, the fact that the controversy around “Joyland” has not led to another nationwide ban is seen by some as a sign of progress. Karachi-based journalist Zebunnisa Burki found it heartening that her province, Sindh, and the federal government have allowed the film to play in theaters.
“I was convinced that everyone would buckle under this attack,” she says. “This is a state that’s obviously beholden to a lot of right-wing elements, so they could have easily said ‘we won’t release it.’ But they did release it and I think that is a big achievement in itself.”