Ahead of this year’s Iris Prize, catch up with the filmmaker behind Lesbian Space Princess
BY LIV EVELEIGH, IMAGE BY KHYAM ROSS
Leela Varghese brings both her short film I’m The Most Racist Person I Know and her feature Lesbian Space Princess to this year’s Iris Prize LGBTQ+ Film Festival – two bold celebrations of the depth of nuance within queer identity. Her work captures what it means to belong and yet not quite fit, illuminating the beauty of those in-between spaces that defy stereotypes. Leela powerfully advocates for positive, authentic representation of queer women of colour as they are toooften missing both on screen and behind the camera. To women facing a male-dominated industry, her message is clear and defiant: “Just keep showing up.”
Her intricate and entertaining portrayal of nuanced lesbian experiences makes for an enjoyable and thought-provoking watch. But most of all, her work serves as a refreshing reminder that film can and should embolden its viewers. Through subtle and not-so-subtle social commentary (referring here to the straight white maliens of Lesbian Space Princess), Leela’s films are rich with nuance, bursting with humour and offer a fantastic exploration of queer identity.
Part of the date conversation in I’m The Most Racist Person I Know explores being a “good” or “bad” lesbian. What kinds of pressures or expectations do you think are placed on queer people – especially those of colour – in relation to how they express their own identities? How does this play into attraction?
It’s a complicated question. I remember one time someone said to me, “I didn’t think you would be queer because you’re Indian and Lebanese.” That really stuck with me – someone was putting me in a box based on my cultural background, and not only that, they were misinterpreting it. They assumed I came from a much stricter family than I actually do.
And honestly, what a strange thing to think – that someone might not be queer, or feel they can’t express it, just because of where they’re from. No one person or group of people is the same.
That comment haunted me. It made me wonder: how often were people looking at me and making assumptions about my life? About what kind of person I could be? Or thinking I couldn’t possibly be queer?
The result is that you start to feel this pressure to present yourself in a way that clearly signals your queerness. And to some degree, I do think that’s important – it can be really hard to find each other in the queer community, to figure out if someone is interested in you too. So I think that’s why people often present with certain fashion/looks.
Over the years, I’ve found myself changing the way I present, trying to make it more obvious that I’m queer. I’ve also realised that just like there are mainstream beauty standards, there are queer beauty standards too. And I think some of those aesthetics have become stereotyped – sometimes because the media has decided, “this is what a lesbian looks like.”
So it’s interesting. Queer representation, even in its own niche way, is shaped by the media – and that ends up influencing what we might call “queer beauty standards.”
You know, I bet if you ask people about their lesbian crushes, a lot of the time it’s someone who looks like Kristen Stewart.
Representation really matters – and I don’t think we’ve seen nearly enough of it for queer people of colour, especially in ways that celebrate their attractiveness and cast them as the main romantic lead.
This film offers such a comfortable, laid-back exploration of intersectional identity. In your opinion, what role does film (especially queer film) play in challenging rigid identity stereotypes?
I think film is important in the sense that it can be a conversation starter. It plants a seed in someone’s mind that might shift the way they see the world. Of course, the real work happens in how we choose to live and act in society – but film can spark that first moment of reflection, whether it’s internal or through a conversation after watching something.
I think that’s incredibly powerful. The media as a whole has enormous potential to challenge rigid identity stereotypes and open people up to new ways of thinking. On the flip, it also has the potential to be harmful in what it does and doesn’t represent.
How do you view comedy in your work – do you consider it a vehicle for self-expression, social commentary, creating a sense of unity, or something else?
The answer is all of the above. Which is why comedy is so important for society. We see comedy as an incredibly powerful way to connect with people – one that we feel is often undervalued in cinema. It’s a great tool for social and political commentary. But more importantly, it’s about the joy it brings, and the way it can make complex ideas more accessible.
With Lesbian Space Princess, you use animation as a medium to tell a joyful, queer story which also embraces cultural diversity. What made animation the right medium for this project, and how did it enable you to explore themes such as escapism and diversity in a different way?
I think that, in the same way comedy can be accessible in a way drama isn’t, animation can also be accessible in a way live-action isn’t.
Animation gave us the chance to build a world that empowered the queer community and people of colour in a way that felt warm, silly and fun. Because it’s animated, it immediately feels more accessible, more inviting.
That’s why I think animation was the perfect medium for this project. It allowed for rich world-building while keeping the tone approachable, which made it ideal for what we were trying to do.
How do you approach inhabiting and reshaping a film landscape that has often prioritised male and heteronormative narratives, and what does it mean as queer female filmmakers to create work that disrupts such norms?
I think it’s as simple as: just do it. We don’t think of it as disruption – we just believe we all deserve to be here too and tell our stories. That can be hard at times to feel confident in. But we just keep showing up!
Part of empowering yourself also means not carrying the weight of “representation” on your shoulders. I think the key is not to overthink it. You just have to do what you’re doing – unapologetically – and trust that by doing so, you’re opening the door for others whose stories haven’t yet been told. And of course, help other unrepresented voices when you have the capacity and power to do so!
So at the end of the day, it’s about empowering yourself unapologetically, while also being conscious of the fact that we’re all stronger when we lift each other up.
You can find out more about this year’s Iris Prize here: irisprize.org
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