Inhabited exclusively by lesbians, the planet Clitopolis operates as a queer utopia isolated from any heterosexual foes as it floats inside the safety of “gay space” (a gated portion of the universe specifically for LGBT entities). Everyone there loves to party, except for Saira (Shabana Azeez), the ruling queens’ only daughter, a sheepish 23-year-old with extreme self-esteem issues. A painful breakup with her daredevil girlfriend Kiki (Bernie Van Tiel) — after dating for just two weeks — further unravels her fragile emotional state and sets in motion the odyssey in “Lesbian Space Princess,” a sapphic sci-fi animated romp for adults.
Behind this idiosyncratic and intermittently amusing vision are Australian co-writer-directors Emma Hough Hobbs and Leela Varghese, who tonally seem to take a page from some of Cartoon Network’s edgier shows (“Adventure Time,” “Rick and Morty”), while thematically aligning more closely with “Steven Universe” — with the addition of explicit sexual references. Furthermore, key scenes indicate that “Sailor Moon” served as a major influence. Drenched in hues of pink and purple, the eye-popping world hosts less polished characters revealing the animation’s more scrappy, independent provenance.
Saira gets her chance at stepping outside her comfort zone — and the safety of gay space — when her beloved Kiki is kidnapped. In order to rescue her, Saira must summon her labrys, a rite of passage she has been unable to accomplish since she’s saddled with self-doubt. The culprits: Straight While Maliens, a race of extraterrestrial incels depicted as rectangular creatures with expressive faces. Their goal is to attract hordes of “chicks” to their mancave. And for that, they need a “chick magnet” that can only be powered with Saira’s labrys. In one of the film’s many instances of obvious humor, the maliens show their previous attempt at achieving their goal: a giant magnet covered in chickens, not the attractive women they sought.
That low-hanging-fruit approach also applies when the filmmakers derive comedy from the battle between feminism and the patriarchy. At one point, Saira faces off against a giant phallic-shaped robot that shoots an obscene substance. To travel across the “gaylaxy,” Saira accidentally boards the Problematic Ship, a sentient vehicle (voiced by Richard Roxburgh) that regurgitates misogynistic lines, but reluctantly becomes more vulnerable as their adventure brings pilot and machine closer. Even if the concept of a ship that says all sorts of inappropriate remarks feels on-the-nose in the context of “Lesbian Space Princess,” some of the most memorable punchlines come from this unlikely relationship.
Saira’s overly apologetic personality renders her insufferable for most around her, but not Willow (Gemma Chua-Tran), a musically inclined, goth, non-binary person. Willow’s impromptu tunes about their perpetually positive outlook and feelings for Saira lend the film a lively whimsical touch. Passages where Saira grapples with her childhood trauma and her harsh inner critic, manifested as a malleable dark matter in her visions, result in some of the film’s most interestingly animated scenes, as they try to express the psychological anguish she experiences.
It’s also here that the range of Azeez’s performance stretches, as the hurt comes through in her voice. That Saira’s turmoil has no relation to her sexual orientation, because she lives in a future and a reality where “coming out” just doesn’t exist, and instead it’s her fractured bond with her mothers and her inability to forge healthy romantic partnerships that she struggles with, might be the most radical aspect of “Lesbian Space Princess.” The intention, for the most part (because the Straight White Maliens are there), is to imagine what queer narratives can become when not tied to how they fit into heteronormative systems.
The lack of subtlety notwithstanding, there’s a richness to the worldbuilding in “Lesbian Space Princess” that could be expanded to an episodic format, whether that’s a comic book or a TV series, in order to delve into what life is like in Clitopolis beyond the glimpses one can gather here. While this brand of offbeat, hyperaware comedy that engages with both pop culture and larger societal issues is far from uncharted territory, the queer lens through which every element is observed here reads like a strong statement on its own, even if some of its parts might feel superficially conceived.
“Lesbian Space Princess” plays like an unabashedly free-spirited work unafraid to revel in its silliness, likely because as absurd as the jokes can be (early on, a disembodied, dancing genitalia steals the show), they likely made the directors laugh, and might not exist out in the world if they hadn’t given into their creative impulses. Occasionally, depending on the viewer’s wavelength, one can join in on their fun.
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