Lesbian Space Princess

Animated, queer, pop sci-fi trash alarm with a lot of heart: In Lesbian Space Princess, the shy princess Saira embarks on a wild chase through the dazzling “Gaylaxy” to win back her ex Kiki who has been abducted by the galactic incels, the “Straight White Maliens”. As such, Saira must not only cross worlds but also face her own fears and doubts. The film plays with trash aesthetics, queer satire, and feminist empowerment. Legendary one-liners like “Clitopolis is hard to find” stand side by side with moments of true fragility.

This mixture becomes especially clear in the scene, after all the absurd battles, where Saira finally confronts Kiki again. In the middle of the garish sci-fi spectacle, everything suddenly goes quiet: the colours turn paler, the lines become more fragile, and for a brief moment the film reveals all the uncertainty and longing between the two. But then the next absurd gag abruptly shifts the mood back into comedy – a typical movement of the film. It is precisely in this oscillation between gaudy silliness and delicate vulnerability where the heartbeat of Lesbian Space Princess lies. The film allows itself to show feelings not in purity, but only within the chaos of camp: always overflowing, sometimes silly, but never fake.

In spite of this, as much as the film feels like liberation to many, it is equally as polarizing. On platforms like YouTube, the two Australian directors, who are a couple in life and work, report that the tone has been harsh. After having met them at the Fantoche Festival in Baden (2025), I could discuss it further with them. «Of course there were insults – comments like “burn on arrival”», says Leela Varghese. «But even within the queer community not every reaction is positive. Some interpret things differently than we meant them – and that’s part of filmmaking», adds Emma Hough Hobbs.

One contentious point was the treatment of certain characters: when the drag queen Blade dies in the film, some viewers perceived this as a reproduction of the trope that the most vulnerable queer figure is sacrificed. Hobbs disagrees: «For us, Blade was a drag queen, not a trans woman. At the same time, one of the queens is a trans lesbian, played by a trans actress – but some people missed that in the film’s fast, garish animation.»
Another criticism was that the film is maybe too lesbian, rooted in these old gender conformities, and neglects the breadth of queer identities. Leela Varghese counters with: «No one is shown in an idealized light – not Saira, not Kiki, not even the queens. We tried to bring in as many facets as possible: Saira more femme, Kiki butch, Willow non-binary, one queen trans, and also POC characters. With our tiny budget, we couldn’t make the world as big as we wanted – but we did make diversity visible.»

The film’s look itself is also a point of contention. Some criticize the deliberately “cheap” animation, with jerky movements and rough character design. For Emma Hough Hobbs, however, that is part of the vision: «I just love colours. My art has always been about that, and today’s films are so dark and gloomy. So we wanted this bubble-gum pop aesthetic – and because it’s animation and sci-fi, we could get away with it.» The retro feel is no accident. Many festival visitors of Fantoche saw the neon visuals and over-the-top humour as an homage to the 80s. To this, Hobbs responds enthusiastically: «It’s a huge compliment when people say it looks like the 80s. We didn’t plan it that way, but the camp quality of the film just fits. And it’s true: in a world this colourful and absurd, you feel reminded of that era.» Varghese adds that the utopian world in the film is not born of nostalgic longing but of lived experience: «We all create small queer bubbles of safety. Our Clitopolis is basically a translation of that.»

With only two full-time animators, two background artists, one compositor, and the two directors, the film was produced for around half a million euros. Varghese describes it with self-irony: «We combined the worst of both worlds: undetailed characters that barely move. Half was done with puppets, the other half traditionally – and we tried to cut it so you wouldn’t notice. Creativity through limitation.» That the aesthetics polarize doesn’t surprise them. On the contrary, they see it as a strength. «There’s never been a film like this», says Hobbs. «If it sparks conversations, even controversial ones, that’s good. We don’t want everyone to like it.»
Beyond critical reactions, the market itself remains an obstacle. International sales agents liked the project but often declined with the argument: «Too niche. Queer and animation? We can’t sell that.» Varghese takes it with humour: «That only motivated us more to prove there’s an audience for it.» And what if the world were truly queer? Here Varghese pauses, then: «Power is always dangerous, no matter who holds it. But I think the world would be a little brighter, maybe more empathetic – and definitely with more parties.» Hobbs laughs: «And more colourful outfits for everyone.»

That Lesbian Space Princess was not only finished but also made it to the Berlinale and won the Teddy Award is in itself a small sensation. For the directors, it’s clear: this is just the beginning. «We’re developing new projects and thinking about founding our own production company», says Varghese. «This time we want to produce ourselves – to fully own our stories.» So Lesbian Space Princess remains a daring debut that expands the boundaries of queer cinema with its mix of trash, camp, and genuine emotion. The neon-coloured 80s vibes, the trashy imperfection, and the joy of excess make it a feminist space adventure that doesn’t shy away from criticism – and through exactly that, it shows that queer cinema doesn’t need to be smoothed out, but can thrive on its contradictions.

Leela Varghese and Emma Hough Hobbs in Baden, 9/2025 | © Sarah Stutte