That kidnapped object of desire: Bounty hunter Kiki in ‘Lesbian Space Princess’.
Here’s the first review batch of MIFF25 offerings. More to come.
Lesbian Space Princess – Huzzah! What a fruity delight this beautifully rendered adult animation is as Saira, a diffident, insecure princess, tries winning back Kiki, her bounty hunter ex-girlfriend by flying across space to where she is being held prisoner by a trio of hilariously dim-witted, girl-hungry noobs, referred to as straight white Maliens.
An independent enterprise from South Australia, the film features loads of lovely design elements and a candy-coloured palette that adds vibrancy to the spacescapes and environments young Saira finds herself traversing in a spaceship with a distinctly male personality.
For the record, Lesbian Space Princess is set in a “gaylaxy” that is totally straight/hetero/normie-friendly – just invented that term; but what is normal these days? – thanks largely to the focus writer/directors Emma Hough Hobbs and Leela Varghese have placed on actually telling a coherent story about a girl compelled by circumstances to realise who she is.
It’s a tale with a considered arc, neatly told amidst all the cute, clever jocularity, including dashes of deliciously ribald humour and a lovely background detail saluting the classic poster ad for Chiko rolls. (Thank you.)
As for the golden “thespian” routine, it’s hands-down hilarious. Why, pray, aren’t there more Australian comedy films with this level of free-flowing wit? (Come to think of it, why aren’t there more Australian comedy films?)
And though it’s a guess, oldies will smile at one brief segment in the film that appears to reference the classic 1975 adult cartoon feature Shame of the Jungle. It might be unintentional but appreciated all the same.
Never Get Busted! – This hugely enjoyable, semi-comic killer documentary details the colourful, often questionable career of former Texas police officer Barry Cooper who became notorious when he left the force in a rage of moral disgust and released a hit DVD that instructed people how best to conceal their stash from the cops.
Featuring interviews with all the main players, Australian directors Stephen McCallum and David Anthony Ngo present Cooper (centre frame much of the time as he drives the rather enthralling narrative) as a rough-edged figure of moral righteousness seeking vengeance against corrupt colleagues with whom he destroyed the lives of largely innocent people who just enjoyed a little weed.
Fascinating is how the nascent internet helped propel Cooper’s fame, with the fresh-born video-sharing platform YouTube helping him spread the word.
The second half of the film is devoted to Cooper’s move into reality TV and his crusade to expose the truth behind a mother’s conviction for drug possession and trafficking.
Absorbing, fun and raucous. Can’t wait for the feature film.
Marlee Matlin: Not Alone Anymore – To go by what’s offered up in this glowing profile you’d think movies had never taken disability seriously before the advent of Marlee Matlin and her Oscar-winning turn in 1986’s Children of a Lesser God.
The film, rightly, pays all respect to Matlin for her advocacy and for heralding the now ubiquitous practice of captioning film and TV show, yet director Shoshannah Stern, all curled up on the couch for her cozy interview, remains firmly ensconced within the Marlee bubble.
Detailing Matlin’s difficult personal and professional journey as a child, a struggling deaf actress, a victim of abuse at the hands of co-star William Hurt and a drug addict (which Hurt helped her overcome) we are presented with a loving portrait of a flawed hero, trailblazer and champion of the deaf community. All totally deserved.
The big nagging point, as signalled by the film’s pretentious title, is how it’s predicated on the notion that Matlin was cinema’s sole standard bearer for deaf representation in film until Coda, the 2021 deaf-themed Oscar triumph that took out best supporting actor (for Troy Kotsur), best adapted screenplay and best film, and in which she headlined.
Prominent mention is made of Matlin’s appearances in Seinfeld and The West Wing yet the film commits the great sin of omission, lacking any perspective or much mention of other notable works that don’t star Marlee Matlin. This is massively annoying.
There’s one dismissive nod to The Miracle Worker but – somehow – no mention at all of 1968’s The Heart is a Lonely Hunter and Alan Arkin’s acclaimed, Oscar-nominated performance. Surely these were milestones in screen representation that deserved attention.
Even films with deaf characters Matlin might well have inspired – Mr Holland’s Opus; Hear No Evil, See No Evil; There Will Be Blood – don’t warrant mention.
As for small, long-forgotten deaf-themed films such as the 1982 Amy Irving film Voices and the 1979 TV film Choices (Demi Moore’s first movie), they’re totally ignored. (Both these noble little movies are on YouTube.)
Paying tribute to Matlin and her work for representation is all well and good, but suggesting she operated in a vacuum is, perhaps, a case of misrepresentation.
The Librarians – Anyone hoping for a sober, insightful exploration of the American school library fracas will be sorely disappointed by this polished, one-sided piece of agit-prop.
Playing into the high emotion embedded in the issue, we are presented with close-up chats with a host of dedicated librarians who decry the removal of certain titles from their shelves.
In glaring contrast, voices from the other side of the matter are restricted to select snippets from news reports and public hearings, the impression created being that any suggestion of any merit to the counter view is the result of fascist dictates from an authoritarian government intent on destroying any literature containing dissent.
Cue copious clips from Fahrenheit 451 (the film based on the Ray Bradbury classic about the banning and burning of literature) and references from George Orwell’s 1984 which, ironically, defines the type of doublespeak the film itself engages in.
As has been too often the case since Michael Moore’s landmark 2004 documentary Fahrenheit 9/11, The Librarians is wildly one-sided, welding itself to one position, more intent on pushing an agenda rather than unpacking the complexity and nuance of a contentious and important topic.
Still, the film does present itself as a case study in how such films are crafted, merrily depriving any opposing ideas of oxygen or screen time.
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