Joyland

Joyland is tender… but never fragile.   it holds space for contradictions—yearning and restraint, softness and strength, joy and sorrow. and for a debut feature, it’s shockingly confident in both form and feeling. visually, the film is an absolute stunner. That shot of Haider on a motorcycle, carrying Biba’s cardboard cutout? Absurd, romantic, and poetic. but beyond the image-making, what struck me most was the way Joyland treats its characters, especially Biba. she’s not reduced to the tired trope of “trans tragedy.” Instead, she’s magnetic, messy, and deeply vulnerable—a full person and just let her to be.  But Joyland isn’t just beautiful—it’s quietly devastating. at its core, it’s a deeply observant critique of patriarchy. Haider is caught between expectation and desire. Mumtaz’s spirit is crushed by a system that cannot imagine a woman thriving outside domesticity. And Biba is constantly reminded that society views her as other. Joyland is a reminder that patriarchy doesn’t just limit… it’s deadly. it harms. it kills.