Information and tickets available here.
We chatted with three amazing aritsts about their projects below.
Lesbian Space Princess is such a bold and joyful concept, what was the spark that set this wild adventure in motion, and how did you know you had to tell this story together?
We were lucky to be part of Film Lab: New Voices, a film initiative in South Australia (where we’re from) that aims to elevate emerging voices in the feature film space. We created Lesbian Space Princess specifically for this program. It’s a low-budget initiative, and we decided we wanted to make a film together. We joked that the two of us combined made one person confident enough to direct a feature. From there, it was about figuring out what that film would be.
One day, Emma was in the shower when the title Lesbian Space Princess came to her. A shower can be a great idea generator. It was very much a “title first” project. We always knew it wasn’t going to be a film that took itself too seriously. At the same time, we put a lot of ourselves into it. The concept was an amazing way to combine our different skills (Emma’s skill in animation, Leela’s in comedy/music) and create some queer joy for the world that meant something to us.
We wanted to make something that was a comedy with heart—something our younger selves would have loved to see and that we wish had existed when we were growing up.
You’ve brought something totally fresh to the screen, how has it felt to see queer audiences respond so powerfully to the film, especially on such big international stages.
There is nothing more beautiful than seeing the way the film becomes an experience when people watch it together in a cinema. We didn’t necessarily expect that. When we first finished the film and it was shared with audiences, we were like, “Oh my gosh—this is a film that’s so fun to watch with other people in a cinema setting.”
I think the whole aim of making art is that it can bring people together. Seeing queer audiences respond to the film, laugh, feel seen, and have a good time—it’s the best feeling ever.
As for the international success, we’re pinching ourselves every day. We feel very lucky, and honestly, it’s still hard to believe. We’re just so grateful to share the film with audiences around the world! We love seeing how different countries connect with it.
The industry still skews heavily male, especially in directing, what have been some of the biggest challenges (and wins) you’ve encountered as a creative duo making unapologetically queer work?
To be honest, I think that because we were so lucky to be a part of the Film Lab, that program really helped us celebrate our voices and stay true to them without a lot of interruption. I also think that, in many ways, making something like Lesbian Space Princess is what gave us the chance to make a feature film, because the concept was so bold and different that it stood out.
That has also really helped us stand out at festivals. I think when you’re making something queer and animated, one of the most interesting—and challenging—parts is the selling side of the film. On the business side, we’ve realised that the industry is very risk-averse. While there is clearly an audience for stories like ours, if the history of what has been sold or proven to make money doesn’t match that audience—or if content like ours hasn’t traditionally existed in those business models—it can be very hard for a film like this to break through in a big way.
So I guess one of the biggest challenges we’ve found is feeling confident there’s an audience for the film, while also recognising that the process of actually selling it can be complicated when there’s no established model for content like this. Which is exactly why there needs to be more content like this.
What drew each of you to horror in the first place, and what keeps you coming back to a genre that’s often misunderstood or dismissed, especially when it comes to women’s contributions?
Horror at its core is about the body – it’s about bodies at risk or under threat, and even more ‘spiritual’ horror like ghost stories places that in the context of our corporeal selves. And going back to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, women have long before the rise of cinema found horror a useful way to talk about gendered experience (Mary experienced terrible things in her young life before she wrote it, including miscarriages).
So for me, horror has always been a space where gendered experience can be teased out in extremely powerful, metaphorical ways. That and the fact that I am an old-fashioned sensory seeker – I love the thrill!
Your work sheds light on the often-overlooked legacy of women in horror. Why do you think so many of these stories have been hidden for so long, and what does it mean to finally bring them to the forefront?
I often use the phrase “hidden in plain sight” when it comes to women in horror because women have been a major force in the genre since the earliest days of silent film, both behind and in front of the camera. But there is an assumption – sadly as much from women as men – that horror movies both in terms of audience reception and the practical reality of production is gendered masculine.
This has had the by-product of tricking us all into assuming horror is a boys’ club, which has discouraged many women from engaging with it. But horror is for women – and gender diverse and queer folk of all stripes – as much as it is for cis het men. We’ve been a hugely important part of horror cinema for well over a century, but it’s really only the last 15 years or so that we’ve really mobilised as a force to make our presence feel like something more than an anomaly or a novelty.
Horror has long been a space for exploring fear, power, and identity. What do you think the genre uniquely offers women — as creators, critics, and audiences, that other genres don’t?
At its dark heart, horror movies are about things going wrong – often spectacularly so! We live in a world where women and femmes are expected to grin and bear it, be rosy, upbeat – the eternal mothers who fix things. Horror is a vital space to culturally acknowledge that not everything is happy all the time, that things can sometimes be really truly terrible. But these stories are just as important and as valuable and as meaningful as anything more upbeat and perky. Horror in this sense can feel like a much needed pressure release valve: a catharsis.
I didn’t set out to have my mum in the film but as we were writing the script and I was caring for my mum at the same time, it became harder to ignore that what she and I were experiencing was exactly what we wanted to capture in the film. Mum has been living independently since her divorce in the 1980’s. She worked, raised my younger brother and didn’t rely on anyone for anything! She was fiercely and furiously determined to live her life her way.
Fast forward to today and she’s just turned 90 and has a lot of health and mobility issues and needs help to remain living at home. To lose autonomy and her independence is confronting. She and I clash because she’d like me to give up everything and be available to care for her full time. It’s funny, because she was the opposite when I was growing up – teaching me to be in control of my life and never to rely on anyone (men is what she meant).
What surprised me the most was how much I enjoyed making Careless. My mum and I have a tricky relationship so sometimes on set it was like therapy as I interviewed her. It was eye opening for me to hear her express her opinions on ageing and aged care. There are a lot of other great stories in Careless, mostly from women because caring is a feminised industry, women live longer and daughters often do the bulk of the caring.
In making the film, I understood that my mum is still a confusing mix of bitterness and huge hearted love and that growing old is something we should be thinking and planning for when we are young!
My work is 100 percent influenced by my gender. I want to inspire other women and represent women through their stories and experiences and challenge societal norms. I have made nine films and since my first film, Boys and Balls – a humorous look at men’s obsession with balls, I have always made my films through a feminine lense. The Last Great Amateurs – a year in the life of a women’s netball team (starring Magda Szubanski) for instance and more recently, Under Cover – women over 50 experiencing homelessness and housing stress, is on Netflix and is still being used as a tool for community and advocacy groups all around Australia, to spotlight the issue of older women struggling with homelessness. My hope is that Careless will be used in similar ways, to be part of broader conversations around care, proper legislation and accountability of the providers and generally improving the care of older Australians.
