Oh Galaxina, you glitter-covered oddball, you Star Wars cash-in that took all the wrong lessons and turned them into cinematic gold. Or at least, space bronze.
You were supposed to be Crown’s big sci-fi breakout. What you became was something weirder: a horny, low-rent, parody-laced space odyssey starring Playboy’s Dorothy Stratten as an android who learns to love. Or something.
Your sets? Cardboard. Your jokes? Half-baked. Your laser effects? Probably drawn on the negatives with crayons. And yet… you’ve got charm. A strange, slow, sweet charm. You’re like a stoned college student’s bedtime story—equal parts erotic, satiric, and sleepy.
Stratten, tragically gone just months after this released, is genuinely magnetic. Her performance—muted, mechanical, beautiful—feels like someone trying to say something from another planet. Her presence gives you weight that your fart jokes and alien burps don’t deserve, and somehow that’s what makes it all work.
You didn’t become a franchise. You became a footnote. But for those of us who stayed up too late flipping channels, you’re our princess of space. Long live the queen of VHS sci-fi sleaze.
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