Imagine inviting a straight cis cinephile, perhaps one who considers themselves an ally, to a lesbian party, only for the first film they mention to be Abdellatif Kechiche‘s Blue Is the Warmest Colour. The gap between what is widely celebrated as queer cinema and what resonates with the lived experiences of the communities being depicted is not only the source of one of the funniest running jokes in Lesbian Space Princess, Emma Hough Hobbs and Leela Varghese‘s Australian animated feature, but also highlights the importance of its mere existence as queer cinema made by and for queer filmmakers.

The film follows Saira (Shabana Azeez), princess of Clitopolis and daughter of two lesbian queens, whose insecurity drives her glamorous girlfriend Kiki (Bernie Van) to break up with her. Feeling neglected and unable to fit into the expectations of her society, Saira lives a sheltered life and struggles to summon her own labrys, a symbol of lesbian power wielded effortlessly by her mothers. When a group of ‘Straight White Aliens’ kidnaps Kiki and demands Saira’s labrys as the power source for their ‘chick magnet’, she embarks on a space adventure to rescue her ex, accompanied by a problematic spaceship (Richard Roxburgh), who makes the said reference about Blue Is the Warmest Colour, and a new companion, Willow (Gemma Chua-Tran), who shows far more appreciation for Sairas’s uniqueness.

On the surface, Lesbian Space Princess resembles a conventional coming-of-age quest in which the heroine must grow up while saving the princess. Its ultimate message, that true strength comes from self acceptance rather than external validation, is hardly revolutionary. Yet the film’s achievement lies in how it reworks familiar genre conventions through a specifically queer lens. Rather than presenting queer identity as inherently progressive or emotionally enlightened, the film acknowledges that queer communities can reproduce their own forms of exclusion, insecurity, and toxic expectations.

On the imagined planet of Clitopolis, lesbians no longer face discrimination and are protected from the dominance of cisgender heterosexual men. Yet it is far from a utopia. The social norm here privileges a particular performance of lesbian identity, leaving Saira feeling anxious despite living in an ostensibly liberated society. By allowing its protagonist to be awkward, flawed, and often self sabotaging, particularly in her fixation on winning back an ex with whom she shared a toxic relationship, the film grants queer characters the same flaws and emotional messiness that are often reserved for heterosexual protagonists. In a delightful and joyous way, Lesbian Space Princess treats its imperfect characters with a degree of complexity rarely afforded to queer figures in mainstream cinema.

In cinemas from Fri 19 June