Warning: This film might just make you question everything you thought you knew about political satire. A Super Progressive Movie, the latest animated venture from Pauline Hanson, promises a wild ride through a dystopian Australia. But does it deliver on its bold premise, or does it get lost in its own rhetoric? Let’s dive in—because this is the part most people miss: satire, when done right, should leave no one unscathed. And here’s where it gets controversial...
Pauline Hanson’s Please Explain cartoons are often a riot—sharp, unapologetic, and delightfully indiscriminate in their mockery. They harken back to an era when Australian political satire was fearless, taking aim at anyone in power without fear of backlash. Remember How Green Was My Cactus? It didn’t matter if you were left, right, or somewhere in between—everyone was fair game. Australia once boasted a rich tradition of this kind of humor, with legends like Barry Humphries, Max Gillies, and the Chaser boys leading the charge. Satire wasn’t just entertainment; it was a public service, holding power to account without taking itself too seriously.
A Super Progressive Movie clearly aims to revive that spirit. But here’s the problem: it tries to stretch a single joke into an 80-minute runtime—and it doesn’t quite stick the landing. The film opens with a bold declaration: ‘This is a true story. If you don’t believe it, you’re racist.’ It’s a provocative start, but the execution falls flat. The story centers on Pete, a ‘cisgender straight white male,’ whose very existence is deemed a crime in the progressive dystopia of Naarm. Pete isn’t evil; he’s just inconvenient. In this world, victimhood is currency, and Pete is the wrong denomination. He’s sentenced to death by the Feelings-Based Court, not for any real wrongdoing, but because he’s an easy target.
Naarm itself is a caricature of modern progressivism, sealed under a literal bubble-dome and held together by a glowing rainbow called ‘The Virtue Signal.’ It’s ruled by King Albo and populated by over-the-top characters who enforce daily rituals of humiliation. Pete is paraded, punished, and nearly executed—not because he’s dangerous, but because he’s convenient. Just as things reach their peak, prophecy intervenes. The Virtue Signal flickers, elders warn of ‘Naarmageddon,’ and Pete is suddenly reclassified as essential. Alongside Uncle Murray (1/16th Aboriginal and very much in charge), Princess Stacy (a transgender royal with a square jaw and a permanent scowl), and a purple-haired non-binary prison guard, Pete is sent on a quest to Uluru to recover the ‘Victim Hood’—a magical cloak that grants infinite grievance and moral immunity.
But here’s where it gets controversial: Princess Stacy, drawn with a square jaw and a flowing gown, exists primarily to deliver lectures and demand affirmation. She’s a walking, talking embodiment of the film’s central joke—that in Naarm, identity trumps achievement. The point is hammered home repeatedly, long after the audience has gotten it. Pete, meanwhile, is no hero. He’s a blank slate, a stand-in for anyone who feels left behind by the cultural conversation. The film is crude, silly, and occasionally funny—but it never evolves beyond its initial premise.
Written by Mark Nicholson and Sebastian Peart of Stepmates Studios, the film clearly wants to revive a style of political comedy that’s become rare in Australia. There’s no shortage of appetite for offense here, but what’s missing is discipline. The same points are repeated ad nauseam, turning satire into a lengthy argument with cartoons attached. Compare this to Britain’s Dead Ringers, which lampoons everyone from Keir Starmer to Boris Johnson without picking sides. Power rotates, and ridicule follows. No one is spared, and no one is crowned the hero.
In A Super Progressive Movie, Hanson increasingly positions herself as the grown-up in the room. With her polling higher than ever, the film drifts from satire into self-congratulation. She governs calmly while everyone else melts down. Politically, it might play well, but comedically, it’s a misstep. The film loses its edge when it stops making fun of everyone and starts declaring who’s right and who’s wrong. Certainty kills the laugh.
There are genuinely funny moments, especially early on. Some ideas are sharp and provocative. But once the film fully commits to its politics, the jokes flatten. What works in a five-minute cartoon can’t sustain an 80-minute victory lap. The surrounding controversy—cancelled screenings, free speech debates, and high ticket prices—has done more to market the film than its content. Hanson’s declaration that ‘You can’t have real free speech unless you’re able to take it as well as you give it’ is a sharp line, but it’s sharper than much of what’s on screen.
What begins as bold and provocative ends up narrow and preachy. If you’re a fan of Hanson’s cartoons, you’ll recognize the spark that’s trying to break through. You might even laugh more than once. But too often, when Labor is in power, political satire seems to retreat, as though mocking the left is too risky or impolite. A Super Progressive Movie is the moment where satire gives way to sermon. It needed fewer talking points, more mischief, and the courage to butcher sacred cows without demanding applause.
Now, here’s the question for you: Is political satire still effective when it takes sides? Or should it always aim to mock everyone equally? Let us know in the comments—because this is one debate that’s far from over.
