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Joyland poster

Joyland

2022 · Saim Sadiq

For when you want a film to sit with — intimate, humane, quietly heartbreaking. Not a light watch, but a deeply rewarding one when you're ready to feel something real.

What it's about

In a crowded Lahore household anxiously waiting for a male heir, the family's gentlest son secretly takes a job in an erotic dance theatre — and falls into the orbit of Biba, its magnetic transgender star. What follows is less a forbidden-love story than a group portrait: a wife, a father, sisters-in-law, all straining against the roles a patriarchal family has assigned them.

The experience

Tender and slow-burning, with an ache the dialogue withholds and the images carry — neon and moonlight leaking into cramped rooms. It extends real warmth to everyone on screen, which makes its sadness hit harder; you leave moved and a little bruised.

Performances

Alina Khan plays Biba with a guardedness the camera treats as sovereignty — magnetic on stage, wary off it, never reduced to a symbol.

The craft

Saim Sadiq shoots in a boxed, nearly square frame that presses his characters together, then lets color bleed in at the edges; the compositions do the emotional work the characters can't say aloud. For a debut, the control of tone — hovering between romance, family drama, and tragedy without tipping into melodrama — is remarkable.

Why it matters

The first Pakistani film ever selected for Cannes, where it won the Un Certain Regard Jury Prize and the Queer Palm, then survived a censorship battle at home to become Pakistan's Oscar entry — announcing a new Pakistani cinema in a single stroke.

Reception & legacy: how Joyland was received, argued over, and remembered →

Saim Sadiq's debut announced a new Pakistani cinema to the world in a single stroke: the first film from the country ever selected for Cannes, where it took the Un Certain Regard Jury Prize and the Queer Palm, then survived a censorship battle at home to become Pakistan's Oscar entry. Set in a crowded Lahore household waiting anxiously for a male heir, it follows the family's gentlest son into the backstage world of an erotic dance theatre and toward Biba, its magnetic transgender star — played by Alina Khan with a guardedness the camera treats as sovereignty. Sadiq shoots in a boxed, nearly square frame that presses his characters together, then lets neon and moonlight leak in at the edges; the compositions carry the ache the dialogue withholds. What could have been a message film is instead a group portrait, extending real curiosity to every member of the family the patriarchy deforms — including the women it claims to protect. The title names an actual Lahore amusement park, its Ferris wheel turning over the rooftops like a promise.

Lines of influence