Nobody's heard of Joyland and it's killing my joy. 

When my friend and I randomly bought tickets to go see a movie late at night, we chose Joyland because we wanted to feel joy and the title seemed to promise that. Did I expect to fall into a huge existential crisis? Probably, 'cause that's in my nature. Did I expect a string to unravel from my heart and tie itself into the very wound that defines the experience of womanhood? No, not at all.

But Joyland reminded me of it.

Written and directed by Saim Sadiq, and starring Ali Junejo, Rasti Farooq, Alina Khan, Sarwat Gilani, and Salmaan Peerzada, Joyland is a drama film about a man named Haider (Ali Junejo) who slowly falls in love with a transgender erotic dancer, Biba (Alina Khan). Faced with pressures of getting a respected job, having a child with his wife, Mumtaz (Rasti Farooq), and warding off feelings for a woman who doesn't fit societal standards, Haider finds himself in the margins, struggling to fit in.

What makes the movie so complex and nuanced is the way that Haider's journey intersects with Biba and Mumtaz. All three of them are held in place by the social restraints of gender roles; even Biba, who has disrupted that binary, is consistently suffocated and outcast by tradition. In its place, Joyland presents a spectrum that lies in the middle ground, displaced from the norm, where the lives of Biba, Haider, and Mumtaz are enmeshed together, are parts of one another despite being so far apart.

Few things are joyous in the world of Joyland, but despite the heaviness, this movie shines. I could feel Mumtaz's journey in my own blood, the exploration of her autonomy, her redefining space, claiming it, taking it up. I saw the movie as a love letter to women, despite the tragedy that surrounds it. Sitting in the darkness of that theatre, Mumtaz took up my vision, coloured it red, reminded me of the struggle that it is to resurface when you've been submerged for so long. And, that final speech— don't even get me started on it because I don't want to spoil anything— was the core of the movie, the ultimate nail in the coffin that pointed at exactly what was wrong with our world.

The movie takes the brazen stance of reminding us that this isn't simply a story about Haider or Bibi, it is about womanhood. It is about everybody. Everything is interconnected, including the things (and people) that we don't talk about. It is a film that literally takes place on the outskirts and asks us to recognize where we have failed as a society— or, rather, who we have failed.

It's been a couple years since the movie came out, and let me tell you, there was a lot of controversy surrounding it. Joyland even got banned in Pakistan for a bit (I think it's still banned in Punjab) because it touched upon very sensitive topic matters. Not that you should take that as an incentive to watch the movie. I'm just bitter that not enough people have seen it. There was protest against the banning, and the Cannes distributed it internationally, but it still didn't achieve the amount of popularity that I think the movie deserves. I mean, Joyland is a piece of art, honestly. Poetic and slow, but the burn aches so good that it sticks with you. Even now, as I write this, I feel emotional because the story hits that hard.

It also won a few awards, if that helps convince you to watch it.

Here's my controversy: the underlying assumption is that this movie means so much more to me because I am a Pakistani-Canadian woman (you probably did not know that, but I'm sharing this information because I feel that it's important). I mean, yeah, I guess, to an extent. Hearing Urdu and Punjabi being spoken, seeing the culture that I am familiar with did help magnify the emotional response that I felt when watching the movie, but I don't want that to reduce the experience of watching it. I think the story that Joyland tells extends outside of its borders. Don't let the language deter you, either (they've got subtitles).

What matters is the story being told, the way that colour and makeup is utilized, the way the narrative plays with power dynamics to critique the way gender as a social construct works to fragment identity, or to suppress truth. The movie parallels, mirrors, and knots the three characters together so that they feel like one. And, as you watch, you become entangled, too.

This is why I love the movie so much. Through the journeys of Haider, Mumtaz and Biba, Joyland doesn't simply investigate or discuss the effects of patriarchal influence on gender identity, it dismantles it by showing you how it can devastate lives. Although their attempt to seek liberation from the confines of their gender roles leads to Biba, Mumtaz, and Haider losing all that they know, the movie defiantly carries an element of hope. The movie compels you, viewers, to reconstruct a new possibility, a healing, in the face of what has been torn down. Look at the water, at the way it recollects Haider. Imagine what could have been born in a different life; as he wades in, consider it a form of rebirth in the wake of all that he has lost.

I think watching this movie is so important to understand the spectrum of gender and the effects of it being imposed on people. Joyland presents viewers with hope, bittersweet as the story may be, that we might learn better. That there might be space and freedom for something else.

You can find the movie online on Youtube or Apple TV.