It’s hard being a lesbian space princess. In this buzzy and giddily ambitious new Australian animated film, Saira (Shabana Azeez) – once voted the most boring royal in gay space – is a perpetually single introvert with a passion for closeup magic (she’s “good with her hands”). After her heart is thoroughly broken by Kiki (Bernie Van Tiel), all finger-guns and sapphic swagger, Saira is devastated – but there’s no time to cry, because Kiki has been kidnapped by the Straight White Maliens (played by Mark Bonanno, Broden Kelly, and Zachary Ruane of Aunty Donna) and only Saira’s legendary magical labrys can save her.
Except Saira has never been able to summon the labrys which is her birthright. And also, of course, a lesbian space princess can cry while she fights to not just save her ex but also win her back: it’s her quest – she can cry if she wants to.
Written and directed by Leela Varghese and Emma Hough Hobbs, Lesbian Space Princess premiered at the Berlin international film festival earlier this year where it won the Teddy award for LGBT-related films and has been winding through the festival circuit before its commercial release this week.
Azeez, who won hearts as medical student Victoria Javadi on the first season of smash-hit medical drama The Pitt, is the perfect lead for this occasionally madcap comedy. She keeps the film grounded with an open-hearted and confident performance that grows up and grows stronger as Saira stares down not just the Maliens but also her own depression and self-doubt, characterised here by a looming black shadowy Head Monster, always just about to swallow Saira up in despair.
Saira finds a couple of great journey companions along the way. There’s Willow (Heartbreak High’s Gemma Chua Tran), a non-binary musician who seems a lot more emotionally available than Kiki ever was. And then there’s the Problematic Ship (played with delightfully blokey bluster by Richard Roxburgh), a 21st-century, mansplaining spaceship Saira commandeers. The vessel is laden with all the misogyny of our times; it wants to drop Kiki at a nail salon because women can’t fly ships.
The rest of the cast is a who’s who of Australia’s best queer performers – Clitopolis’s Queens are played by comedian Jordan Raskopoulos and Deadloch’s Madeline Sami; Reuben Kaye has a cameo at the border of Straight and Gay Space; and Drag Race Down Under favourite Kween Kong has a memorable role as a drag queen named Blade.
While the premise sounds feather-light, the script is sly and witty. For every gag that’ll make you groan or cringe (April is “Gaypril”; Saira lives in the aforementioned Clitopolis, which characters often remark is hard to find; there’s a literal dancing “royal pussy”), there’s a stronger, stealthier joke coming up. The script indulges in wordplay (the old thespian/lesbian joke gets a great new runner here) and plays fast-and-loose with audience expectations (at one point, Saira consults the script to confirm a zany plot point is actually real).
Sailor Moon Crystal? … a still from Lesbian Space Princess. Photograph: Umbrella Entertainment
The stylised 2D animation is bold, sketchy and painted with a bright palette that references queer flags. It’s stacked with background gags and features many joyful visual references to other stories about magical girls with magical weapons, like Sailor Moon or Revolutionary Girl Utena, as well as a few homages to classic animations and genre movies.
The soundtrack is peppered with original guitar songs – pretty, folky, and wistful – by Varghese, which adds a little emotional heft to all the silliness. Saira’s struggles with self-esteem and journey towards self-love isn’t new territory, but it’s treated beautifully here, and Saira feels surprisingly fleshed-out – perhaps at the expense of the other characters.
But the real power of Lesbian Space Princess is that it’s a world where both light touches and deep feelings can coexist: a little jewel of queer joy that promises a less fraught future. Maybe it’s too simple that the incel aliens aren’t that scary and can be healed by some simple queer advice. Maybe it’s too easy for hearts to be mended by a 24-hour magical journey. But as a fizzy, welcoming utopia where a lesbian can save the day, it’s a balm, an escape – and a much-needed laugh.
