Sapphic representation on-screen has always been something of an endangered species, but not in the world of Lesbian Space Princess. On the planet of Clitopolis (“Notoriously hard to find!”), situated in the pink-starry skies of the “gay-laxy,” resides a kingdom ruled by lesbians. It’s a little like Wonder Woman’s island of Themyscira, except the princess of this realm hardly lives up to the reputation set forth by her fabulous moms. Saira (Shabana Azeez) might be a lesbian who’s super good with her hands — thanks more to her affinity for close-up magic than her experience in the bedroom — but she leaves a lot to be desired elsewhere. Voted the most boring royal in gay space, Saira is also hindered by crippling self-doubt. She’s borderline agoraphobic, perpetually relegated to the singles’ table at the annual Lesbian Ball, and has routinely failed to fulfill her birthright and summon a magical labrys (an ancient, legendary axe coopted as a lesbian-feminist symbol).
Things couldn’t get much worse when Saira is dumped by her ultra-cool girlfriend Kiki (Bernie Van Tiel), but when the swaggering bounty hunter is abducted by a trio of toxic cis guys (they call themselves the Straight White Maliens, and certainly look the part), Saira is forced, for the first time in her life, to leap into action. So follows a surprisingly sweet, bracingly funny, and unapologetically queer remix of the traditional space adventure — though Lesbian Space Princess also tries a little too hard to revive a bygone era of animation.
Despite an animation style that subtly invokes the whimsical, noodle-y style of a 2010s Cartoon Network romp, Lesbian Space Princess doesn’t stray from more adult themes. Yes, there’s enough nudity here to make the film more Adult Swim material, but its best choice comes with its focus on mental health. Saira’s worst enemy, more often than not, is herself — and Lesbian Space Princess isn’t afraid to make that plain as she treks out of gay space and into the wider, unforgiving, and unbearably straight galaxy beyond. Directors Leela Varghese and Emma Hough Hobbs use their sci-fi world to turn a mirror on their protagonist. Because Saira doesn’t believe in herself, she can’t summon her labrys without help. Her own fear also takes her far from the fleet of awesome spaceships at her disposal, forcing her to rely on a decommissioned, Problematic Ship (voiced by Richard Roxburgh) which seemed to drift into gay space by sheer happenstance.
Their odd-couple pairing allows Lesbian Space Princess to swing at the low-hanging fruit of toxic male fragility. It’s played out, but more or less effective, thanks to Roxburgh’s great comedic performance. But it’s not the only tired stereotype the film relies on. Lesbian Space Princess is a candy-colored trip through the same gendered jokes: “Cis men bad, cis women good”; “male genitalia evil, vulva awesome.” Its regard for individuals who find themselves somewhere in the middle of that dichotomy (like a drag queen voiced by Kween Kong) is equally trite. Though not without some nuance — Problematic Ship gets a sweet redemption arc, and the Straight White Maliens get a little dimension beyond their comic relief — the film vilifies masculinity to build up its brand of feminism. Despite positioning itself as a fringe addition to the queer canon, Lesbian Space Princess feels behind the curve in a lot of ways.
Lesbian Space Princess works best when focusing on the development of its lead, her quest to quit all that negative self-talk and evolve into the princess she was born to be. It’s notably satisfying to watch her break free from mental shackles of her own making and chase the life she deserves — even if that doesn’t necessarily involve someone like Kiki. A new partnership with a former gay-pop idol, Willow (Gemma Chua-Tran), helps a lot in that department. Willow also serves as a narrator, of a sort, providing the soundtrack to Saira’s adventure with cheeky mumblecore lyrics and an acoustic guitar.
It’s impossible not to think of Adventure Time throughout, and not only because Lesbian Space Princess is a bald-faced remix of one of its own characters. Its twee indie-pop stylings and bone-dry humor both feel designed to cater to the now-grown-up fans of that series: Chua-Tran described the film as a love letter to the sapphics who grew up on Tumblr in the 2010s, and for better and worse, that’s exactly what Lesbian Space Princess is. Five years ago, the film would have easily earned its status as a provocateur, riding the wave of edgy adult animation that gave us pastiche like Rick & Morty. In 2025, however, that wave has largely crashed, robbing this satire of any new delights.
