Ali Junejo and Alina Khan in Joyland (Oscilloscope Laboratories)

Of the dozen or so narrative films seen at this year’s Sundance Film Festival, the expansive and novelistic Joyland takes the prize as the most illuminating. The perceptive family drama world premiered at last year’s Cannes Film Festival, the first film from Pakistan to be part of its official program.  

The movie made more news as Pakistan’s submission for this year’s Oscar race, though it was briefly banned from a theatrical release in its home country. It has since screened there, although in limited release. The source of the homegrown controversy lies in its central plot: A young married man, Haider (Ali Junejo), from a religiously observant family, becomes a backup dancer for the entertainer Madame Biba, played by transgender actor Alina Khan, before tentatively embarking on an after-hours relationship with her behind closed doors. However, the film’s narrative encompasses all the adult members of Haider’s family, their contradictions and conundrums. As it turns out, the childless husband is not the only one with stifled ambitions, far from it. It could be argued that the main focus involves not only the furtive couple but also Haider’s wife, Mumtaz (the film’s MVP, Rasti Farooq). 

That brief synopsis belies the depth of writer/director Saim Sadiq’s script. He has truly created an ensemble piece of a family bound and bruised by tradition. In this modest lower-middle-class household, what the physically frail, leonine father (Salmaan Peerzada) demands holds sway—he doesn’t brook discussion. With dialogue that easily flows, the exposition gently unfolds, with the emphasis on character building. Themes are refreshingly acted out, and not reduced to bullet point declarations. To put it plainly, the word patriarchy is never uttered, although the patriarch’s presence and expectations are deeply felt, even when he’s nowhere to be seen. His assumed responses hover back of mind of his family.

The fate or the whereabouts of the mother is never mentioned. Presumably, Haider has become the ersatz caretaker of the household. Perpetually unemployed, he makes lentils for lunch for his working wife, a makeup artist. He also minds his two precocious nieces, providing them the attention and comfort their stoic and stern father, Haider’s older brother Saleem (Sohail Sameer), stifles. Haider’s dry patch ends when, through a family friend, he lands a dancing gig—though he lies to his father, telling him he will be a theater manager.  

Perhaps because of Haider’s eagerness, quiet charm, or his good looks, Biba gives him a chance to strut his stuff at an audition, though his dance moves are as stiff as a windup toy. (His only stage experience was playing Shakespeare’s Juliet back in his school days.) As a background dancer, he’s shirtless, but compared to the Magic Mike troupe, he and his cohorts are average Joes.  

In addition to Haider’s skirting around the truth of his job, there is an unintended consequence to his new career. Now that he has become a breadwinner, his father insists that Mumtaz no longer work and instead orders her to assist her sister-in-law in running the household. The impact of Haider’s acquiescence to his father reverberates, becoming more than a practical domestic compromise but a betrayal, one of many to come.  

As of this date, Biba is one of the more complex portrayals of a transgender person on screen. (Mutt, which also screened at Sundance, revolves entirely around its transgender male protagonist, and thus offers a deeper dive.) Still, Biba defiantly rides her scooter across Lahore without wearing a head covering, deflects daily derogatory comments, and constantly advocates for herself to be treated like a star: Attention will be paid. As a possible result of having to fight her own battles, she’s constantly on the defensive, and doesn’t always listen to Haider’s concerns. She wants to undergo a full transition. He accepts her as she is and doesn’t want her to have the surgery. 

Freeing the film from the constraints of a kitchen sink drama is its sly, infectious sense of humor. (Imagine what you would do in your home with a giant, eight-foot-tall cutout of Biba striking a pose.) Though the movie depicts a house of unrealized dreams, the filmmaker hasn’t left out the affection, if not love, among members of the family, namely the women. It’s not only the fear of gossip and derision that holds back Haider and others from their ambitions: The old-school aspect ratio (1.33:1) emphasizes the boxed in household. 

Scene by scene, Sadiq both freely suggests and withholds information. As a result, one secret within the family becomes a ticking time bomb. The actor who most benefits from the layered writing is Farooq as the betrayed wife. Underneath Mumtaz’s placid exterior (still waters run…), she’s unpredictable and inscrutable, though compliant. From the brief reaction shots, viewers have an idea of what she has surmised about Haider’s nighttime whereabouts, yet she and the film retain a bit of mystery. Up until the very end, the director continues unraveling this family’s saga.