Lesbian experience is always, to some extent, haunted by exclusion. To be a lesbian is to be an outsider not only in heteronormative institutions and categories built on the gender binary, but also in public space itself, founded upon these institutions and categories. Most of the spaces we inhabit are heterosexual. The outsider experience plaguing lesbians is perhaps only alleviated in lesbian spaces escaping heterosexual constructs and definitions. In lesbian spaces, lesbian experiences are free to seek their form and find a momentary universality.
The films Je tu il elle (1974) and Lesbian Space Princess (2025) examine the themes of space and lesbian identity in different decades. Both films depict a transition from a closed lesbian space into a public heterosexual space. A classic of both art house and lesbian cinema, Chantal Akerman’s Je tu il elle consists of three episodes: in the first one the unnamed protagonist is tormented by heartbreak alone in her room, in the second one she hitches a ride to her former girlfriend with a male truck driver, and in the third chapter she is at her ex’s.
Fifty years later, Emma Hough Hobbs and Leela Varghese’s animated comedy Lesbian Space Princess follows the same pattern so intensely that it is impossible not to see the intertextual references to Je tu il elle. Space princess Saira suffers heartbreak alone in her home. When her ex is kidnapped by “Straight White Maliens”, Saira embarks on a journey through space to her ex. Instead of a trucker, she gets a ride from a spaceship piloted by a male AI.
In this essay I will examine the themes of lesbian and heterosexual space in these films, and contemplate, inspired by these films, space, its experientiality and normativity in relation to lesbian identity. In these films heterosexual spaces are alienating, restricting and even dangerous, while in lesbian spaces the characters are free to live and to feel – sorrow and love alike.
The Normativity of Lived Space
Before I move on to a deeper analysis of the films, I must pause for a moment to consider the link between the experientiality of space and sexual orientation. Phenomenological philosophy can offer some illuminating perspectives on the topic. Phenomenology does not only examine space as spatial dimensions, but is instead interested in lived space, space as we experience it.
Lived space is the field for all our actions. Our experience is directed towards space and the things and people therein. Space offers us objects of experience that we can touch, want, or for example fear. The essential part of this is that we experience space as a field of possibilities. As phenomenologist Maurice Merleay-Ponty (2021. 480–481) writes, in our experience the space surrounding us is the field of our freedom that offers us near possibilities, distant possibilities and impossibilities.
Social norms have a great impact on how we perceive the behavioral possibilities our lived space offers us. Norms direct which objects we find desirable or accessible, and which repulsive or inaccessible. Heterosexuality is one of the core norms shaping our experience of space.
Scholar Sara Ahmed posits that sexual orientation in and of itself is spatial – it represents an inclination towards certain objects and away from others. Through historical repetition the heterosexual ways of being in space have been implemented as norms. Queer orientations must veer away from normative objects and in directions normatively determined to be inaccessible or forbidden (Ahmed 2006, 66–70). Although we may live our lives taking queer actions, due to the historicality of experience, heterosexual space emphasises heterosexual behavioral options.
It could be said that heteronormative space recommends heterosexual modes of behavior, while restricting and obscuring possibilities for queer acts. It takes notable courage to step out of line and engage in queer acts in a heterosexual space: when deviating from heternormative order, one makes oneself extremely visible and vulnerable to homophobic discrimination.
According to lesbian feminist Adrienne Rich (2003, 13-17), the political principle of compulsory heterosexuality organises and directs our society on a foundational level. And when heterosexuality is compulsory, almost all spaces – particularly public ones – are heterosexual spaces.
The Stifling Rigidity of Heterosexual Spaces
A central theme of both Je tu il elle and Lesbian Space Princess is the hostility and pressure lesbians meet in heterosexual spaces. In heterosexual spaces, lesbians are outsiders, and face pressure to adapt to the norms prevalent in the space.
In Je tu il elle, the middle chapter about hitchhiking with a trucker depicts lesbian experience in a heterosexual space. While traveling with the trucker the film’s protagonist is literally silenced: she says nothing, and in contrast with the film’s opening, we hear very little of her internal monologue. The man on the other hand gives a long speech, in which he unabashedly describes his hostile relationship with women. The protagonist is often pushed out to the very edge of the frame, or out of it entirely, while the trucker is generally center frame. This way of filming is a cinematic representation of the lesbian position as outsider and the marginalisation of lesbian perspectives in heterosexual spaces.
In the scenes taking place in public spaces the protagonist is the only woman in the space and is forced into feminised positions. In the bar she smiles daintily to the horde of men filling the space, and in the restaurant she shovels food onto the trucker’s plate as he stares unflinching at the television. The scenes depict the heterosexual organisation of space: it is dominated by men and offers presumed women heteronormative roles as either hypervisible objects of men’s gazes or invisible nurturers.
Like Je tu il elle, Lesbian Space Princess also depicts the normative gender order of heterosexual spaces. When the film’s protagonist Saira leaves the lesbian planet, the first thing the male-AI-piloted spaceship asks her is if she wants a ride to a nail salon or a pilates studio. The scene is a humorous depiction of the way heterosexual spaces pressure lesbians into heteronormative and binary female roles and obstruct queer action.
Both films also depict lesbians becoming the targets of male aggression. Many critiques of Je tu il elle have described the protagonist’s relationship with the trucker as mutual. From a lesbian perspective, I see the characters’ relationship in a completely different light. The sex scene between the characters is uncomfortable; for the duration of the act, the protagonist is silent and out of frame. The man notes the protagonist is frightened and only doing what he tells her to. The act is entirely one sided and only for his benefit. The scene can be read as a representation of lesbian vulnerability to violence and pressure by men in heterosexual spaces.
Although Lesbian Space Princess is lighter in tone, it too depicts heterosexual spaces as a territory of male aggression and lesbians as potential targets for this aggression. The things Saira faces in straight space include the violent Straight White Maliens, a phallic space ship that shoots white goo, and a male AI who keeps making lesbophobic comments. The mode of telling is humorous, but the message is quite clear.
Heterofeminist discourse often skates over the topic of lesbians as targets of male violence. There may be a misconception that not having romantic relationships with men protects lesbians from their violence. Almost all lesbians have different kinds of close relationships with men throughout their lives, however, and public spaces can be unsafe for lesbians. As lesbians are an oppressed group, being a lesbian makes one vulnerable. According to UN Women, for example, women belonging to sexual minorities face sexual harassment more often than their straight counterparts (UN Women 2023).
The lesbians in these films are passing through heterosexual spaces, as one must do to get from one lesbian space to another. Being a lesbian in a heterosexual space is alienating and at worst dangerous. It is existing in space the wrong way, the wrong manner and in the wrong direction, and a constant struggle against pressures of heterosexuality.
The Liberating Power of Lesbian Spaces
Lesbian spaces force breathing room into restrictive heterosexual spaces. In Je tu il elle and Lesbian Space Princess, they are little bubbles of liberation, in which behavioural possibilities are not directed by compulsory heterosexuality, and instead lesbian life is free to flourish.
In Je tu il elle, all public spaces are heterosexual, and only private homes function as lesbian spaces. This is a representation of the historical fact that lesbian life has mostly been, and continues to be, led in private homes behind closed doors. Lesbian life takes place in the margins of public life – it is rejected, subjugated and fetishised.
Lesbian Space Princess also shows bigger and more shared lesbian spaces. The protagonist Saira hails from a lesbian planet, where being a lesbian is normal and expected. This can be seen as a reflection of how the social position of lesbians has changed in the 50 years separating the films. Lesbian spaces are still few and far between, but as gay liberation and the lesbian feminist movement have progressed, lesbians have built spaces of liberation with much spirit: lesbian bars, club nights, book clubs, NGO spaces. In Lesbian Space Princess, gay space is a small, closed-off pocket of straight space, but its importance to the film’s characters is that much greater.
Neither film depicts lesbian spaces as an idealised carnival of rainbows, but as a space for human experience in all its complexity. In heterosexual spaces lesbians are vulnerable outsiders, and thus they lack the freedom to live and experience everything life has to offer – from growing pains to heartache and the highs of love.
Both films open with the protagonists alone in their rooms in the throes of heartbreak. In Je tu il elle the protagonist eats spoonfuls of sugar straight from the bag and lies around for days staring at the walls. Although she is paralyzed by sorrow, the room offers her a safe space to live through every painful stage of heartbreak. In her room the protagonist monologues to herself and writes vigorously. She has the space to express herself and process her feelings.
Life on the lesbian planet of Lesbian Space Princess is shown to contain the same aches and pains as a young person’s life would have anywhere else. Saira’s self-esteem is shaky, she has trouble making friends and her ex doesn’t give a damn about her feelings. But on her lesbian planet Saira is free to be an individual and a person. In heterosexual spaces lesbians are often perceived only as their gender and sexuality, and not as individuals or through a shared humanity.
On the other hand, the films depict lesbian spaces as spaces where it is possible to love, grow, experience pleasure, come together, nurture and need in ways that are not tied to the heterosexual norm or the gender binary. When the protagonist of Je tu il elle makes it to her ex-girlfriend’s, the mood shifts completely. She gets her voice back and takes center frame along with her partner. There is warmth, care and desire between the two women, such that they escape prescribed dynamics and roles. And Lesbian Space Princess demonstrates that it is possible to construct momentary lesbian spaces almost anywhere. Even a spaceship journeying through straight space can become a lesbian space welcoming of sapphic amour, as long as you first turn off the male AI pilot.
Thus, lesbian spaces are also places where norm-shattering and liberating ways of being are created. That is why building lesbian spaces is a political act: it is the act of creating new spatial possibilities and resistance against the structures of compulsory heterosexuality.
The Importance of a Lesbian Perspective
When Saira floats into straight space for the first time in Lesbian Space Princess, she looks around terrified and cries: “This is so much worse than I could ever expect!” The scene is a humorous depiction of how the heterosexual norm, invisible in its obviousness, can suddenly be made visible when seen from a lesbian perspective. The heteronormative and binary performance of gender is shown to be like drag, eccentric theatre.
Many queers have experiences of being surprised by the ordinary. Sara Ahmed, for example, recounts an experience where, while at a restaurant with her partner, she was shocked to realise that every other table had a man and a woman facing each other in the exact same order. Ahmed and her partner were the only exception to this repeating manner of being in space (Ahmed 2006, 80–84). Lesbians can be surprised by the baffling uniformity of a space’s heterosexual structure, because they are not a part of it. Lesbian life is led somewhere outside of the heterosexual norm and the gender binary (see e.g. Wittig 1992, 30–32), and that is why lesbians have the unique opportunity to see clearly and question the order offered by heterosexual spaces.
This is why art by lesbians – as all other queer art – is so important. It not only makes it possible to transmit marginalised experiences, but it also makes norms visible and challenges what we take for granted.
Conclusion
Although Je tu il elle and Lesbian Space Princess represent different genres, cinematic techniques and decades, the pictures they paint about the themes of lesbian and heterosexual spaces are similar. In heterosexual spaces lesbians are not merely vulnerable outsiders, but also keen-eyed remakers. The scarcity of lesbian spaces limits the scope of lesbian life, but on the other hand, lesbian spaces can be created, at least temporarily, almost anywhere. These films inspire me to continue our work with Lilat-zine to build lesbian spaces, and to carve out burrows in my everyday life, in which lesbian life could freely bloom.
Elina Andelin (Translated by Adrian Murtomäki)
Elina Andelin is a doctoral researcher in philosophy and the editor-in-chief of the lesbian-feminist Lilat zine. Andelin’s doctoral research examines experiences of violence from the perspective of body phenomenology. Andelin is interested in the intersections of research, art, and political activism.
Illustrated by Nina Andelin
Nina Andelin is a visual communication designer who has worked as a graphic designer ans illustrator. She is the art directoe of Lilat-zine. In her practice, she studies and comments on conventional ways of making images and design.
References
Films
Akerman, Chantal (director). 1974. Je tu il elle [film]. Paradise Films.
Hough Hobbs, Emma ja Varghese, Leela (directors). 2025. Lesbian Space Princess [film]. We Made A Thing Studios.
Literature
Ahmed, Sara. 2006. Queer Phenomenology: Orientations, Objects, Others. Duke University Press, Durham.
Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 2012. Phenomenology of Perception. Kääntänyt Donald Landes. Routledge, Lontoo.
Rich, Adrienne. 2003. ”Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence”. Journal of Women’s History 15(3), 11–48.
UN Women. 20.11.2023. ”Tuore kyselytutkimus: yhdeksän kymmenestä suomalaisnaisesta on kokenut seksuaalista häirintää”. UN Women Suomi. www.unwomen.fi/uutiset/yhdeksan- kymmenesta-naisesta-kokenut-hairintaa
Wittig, Monique. 1992. The Straight Mind and Other Essays. Beacon Press, Boston.tu il elle and Lesbian Space Princess