Covid has delayed our launch, but call us to discuss your project!
A MatriVision & FemmaScope Production
Dedicated to the memory of Woman, Teacher, and Astronaut Christa McAuliffe.
Ad Astra, Christa.
Trigger Warning: 1950’s Sexism
FADE IN:
EXT. EARTH LAUNCH PAD — DAY
BLACK-AND-WHITE NEWSREEL FOOTAGE. A towering SILVER ROCKET gleams in the sunlight. A VOICEOVER booms with patriarchal certainty — but the words betray it.
NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN… AND MOSTLY LADIES… THE DAY MANKIND HAS WAITED FOR HAS ARRIVED! THE FIRST FLIGHT TO MARS — CAPTAINED, ENGINEERED, AND ENTIRELY MASTERMINDED BY THE FINEST FEMALE MINDS THE WORLD HAS EVER PRODUCED. AND YES, TO SATISFY THE NERVOUS FUNDING BOARD, THEY’VE BROUGHT ALONG TWO… MEN. AS MORALE MASCOTS.
CUT TO:
CLOSE-UP — COMMANDER HENRIETTA STEEL, 40s, hair like a golden helmet, eyes of flint. She checks a CLIPBOARD without glancing at the cameras.
Beside her, CHIEF ENGINEER RITA ALVAREZ, 30s, dark curls tucked into a kerchief, grips a HYDRO-SPANNER.
Five feet away, BRAD BUCKWORTH, tall and square-jawed, and JIMMY “SKIPPY” MCBRIDE, short and eager, wave to the crowd like beauty queens.
INT. LAUNCH CONTROL — DAY
BRAD shuffles over.
BRAD
Uh, Commander Steel? I just thought maybe I could help check the thrust stabilizers —
STEEL (without looking up)
DON’T WORRY YOUR HANDSOME LITTLE HEAD ABOUT IT, BRAD. WHY DON’T YOU TWO BOYS FETCH US SOME COFFEE? WITH CREAM. AND COURAGE.
SKIPPY (salutes awkwardly)
YES MA’AM! ONE LATTE OF BRAVERY, COMING RIGHT UP!
CUT TO: Brad and Skippy wandering off, utterly useless.
EXT. MARS SURFACE — LATER
The crew steps out into a RED ROCK DESERT under a PURPLE SKY. Two MARTIAN WOMEN — QUEEN ASTARA and SCIENTIST ZARLA — approach in metallic robes. They circle the men like prize livestock.
ASTARA
THE TALL ONE HAS FINE BONE STRUCTURE. HE’D LOOK STRIKING IN CEREMONIAL ARMOR.
ZARLA
PERHAPS. BUT THE SHORT ONE HAS SUCH AMUSING HAIR. I’D LOVE TO HEAR IT SCREAM IN THE WIND TUNNELS.
BRAD
Uh, ladies, on Earth we don’t usually —
ZARLA (interrupting)
ON MARS, MEN DO NOT “USUALLY” ANYTHING. YOU WILL DO AS YOU’RE TOLD.
INT. ROCKET CONTROL ROOM — LATER
ALARM BELLS RING. The SHIP SPINS violently.
BRAD
I CAN FIX IT! I’VE READ ABOUT WRENCHES!
RITA ALVAREZ turns her head in slow-motion, delivering an eye-roll for the ages.
RITA
SURE, SUGAR. WHY DON’T YOU STAND THERE AND LOOK BRAVE WHILE I SAVE YOUR LIFE?
She vaults into the ENGINE PIT, sparks flying, wires in both hands. She throws a switch with a perfectly manicured finger — the ship steadies.
SKIPPY
WOW, MISS ALVAREZ, YOU’RE AMAZING!
RITA
AND YOU’RE STILL IN MY LIGHT, CUPCAKE.
INT. MARTIAN COUNCIL CHAMBER — FINAL SCENE
QUEEN ASTARA rises from a crystalline throne.
ASTARA
WE HAVE DECIDED… EARTH IS NOT READY FOR SUCH BRILLIANCE. WE SHALL KEEP YOU HERE, SISTERS.
Commander Steel smiles.
STEEL
AGREED. BRAD, SKIPPY — YOU’RE GOING HOME. TELL EARTH WHATEVER STORY YOU LIKE — JUST REMEMBER WHO GAVE YOU THE OXYGEN TO BREATHE IT.
The men shuffle toward the shuttle, clutching souvenir gift bags labeled PROPERTY OF THE INTERPLANETARY WOMEN’S REPUBLIC.
FADE OUT — NEWSREEL VOICE
AND SO, DEAR LISTENERS, THE BRAVE MEN RETURNED TO EARTH WITH TALES OF HEROISM… MOSTLY THEIR OWN. BUT WE, AND THE WOMEN OF MARS, KNOW THE TRUTH. AFTER ALL — IN SPACE, NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU MANSPLAIN.
ROLL CREDITS over Commander Steel and the Martian women hosting a “TEA & TACTICAL PLANNING” session, roaring with laughter as they pass around the men’s confiscated combs.
“They conquered Mars… and the men came along for the ride!”
“The stars have never seen a crew like this — but the men have!”
“When women take the helm, the galaxy doesn’t stand a chance!”
“Ray-guns! Romance! Ridicule! In MatriVision & FemmaScope!”
“This time, the ladies do the rescuing — and the lipstick still doesn’t smudge!”
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:
In an era when men have ruled the rocket ships, Monogram Pictures dares to ask — what if women ran the galaxy? Flight of the Matriarchs soars beyond the stars in blazing FemmaScope! Follow Commander Henrietta Steel and her all-woman crew as they land on Mars, outwit alien invaders, and keep their two male companions from touching the buttons.
Packed with interstellar intrigue, sizzling interplanetary romance, and dialogue that will make men blush and women cheer, this sensational spectacle proves once and for all: the future belongs to HER!
Henrietta Steel (as Herself) — Former Miss Wisconsin Turnpike, Ms. Steel traded the runway for the rocketway, winning the hearts of astronauts everywhere. She credits her perfect aim with a ray gun to her years in competitive pie-baking.
Rita Alvarez (as Herself) — Engineer, mathematician, and occasional torch singer, Ms. Alvarez holds the universe’s only patent on a “Zero-Gravity Hairpin,” which doubles as an asteroid deflector.
Brad Buckworth — A professional chin model before being drafted into the Mars mission. When asked about his role on the ship, he says, “I mostly stand around looking heroic and asking where the bathroom is.”
Jimmy “Skippy” McBride — Best known for portraying “Guy #3” in a tire commercial, Skippy trained six weeks to learn how to faint convincingly in zero-G.
Commander Steel’s Intergalactic Lipstick — guaranteed to last through meteor showers and mansplaining.
Martian Queen’s Battle Gown — doubles as a welding smock.
Flight of the Matriarchs Lunchbox — Comes with two compartments: one for your sandwich, one for your dignity.
(found in a dusty studio file labeled: “TOO MUCH — EVEN FOR FEMMASCOPE”)
Commander Steel:
“Brad, you’re a valuable member of this crew. Not for your brain, obviously, but you do make the control room smell nice.”
Rita Alvarez:
“Don’t panic, Skippy — we’ll get you out of that spacesuit before you overheat your… delicate constitution.”
Queen Astara:
“Your species is primitive, but your eyelashes are magnificent. We may keep you for breeding.”
Zarla (to Brad):
“On Mars, we value men for their conversation… just kidding. It’s for carrying things.”
Commander Steel (over intercom):
“Attention crew: Brad has been spotted near the navigation panel again. Please remove him before he presses something shiny.”
Skippy:
“But Commander, what if I want to be objectified?”
Steel: “We’ll pencil you in for Thursday.”
Rita (while repairing the engine):
“Brad, hand me the hydro-spanner.”
Brad: “This one?”
Rita: “No, that’s a banana. And it’s upside down.”
Martian Technician:
“Your males are so well-groomed. Do they molt naturally, or do you have to pluck them?”
Queen Astara (to Skippy):
“You’ll stay in the palace. It has everything you’ll need — a mirror, a comb, and absolutely no decisions to make.”
Commander Steel (final line, alternate ending):
“Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure proving we don’t need you. Now be a dear and close the airlock on your way out.”
Monogram Pictures — Script Department
Date: May 17, 1951
To: Miss Winifred “Win” Collins (Screenwriter)
From: Gerald P. Smoot, Executive Producer
Subject: Script Revisions — Flight of the Matriarchs
Win,
After last night’s table read, the producers’ committee has grave concerns. The current script is… how shall I put this… deeply injurious to the male ego. We remind you that while our target audience may be intrigued by “lady spacemen,” we cannot have men in the audience fleeing the theater clutching their neckties.
Below are specific objections and required changes:
Current: “Not for your brain, obviously, but you do make the control room smell nice.”
Issue: Suggests male lead is ornamental rather than functional.
Revision: Replace with “You’re a fine-looking fellow, Brad… now go stand near the equipment.”
Current: “We may keep you for breeding.”
Issue: Board of Censors finds this “confusing and alarming” to married men.
Revision: Change to “We may keep you for conversation.” (Even if clearly untrue.)
Current: “It’s for carrying things.”
Issue: Too on-the-nose. Could alienate luggage porters.
Revision: “It’s for helping out.” (Non-specific, non-threatening.)
Current: “No, that’s a banana. And it’s upside down.”
Issue: Too humiliating. The Agricultural Lobby fears it may offend banana growers.
Revision: Banana remains, but Brad correctly identifies it before handing it over.
Current: “A mirror, a comb, and absolutely no decisions to make.”
Issue: Chicago test audience laughed so hard a man choked on his cigar. While humorous, insurance liability risk is high.
Revision: Omit “no decisions” clause.
Current: “Now be a dear and close the airlock on your way out.”
Issue: Implies permanent removal of male characters; focus groups in Des Moines found this “unsettling.”
Revision: Replace with “Now be a dear and help us close the airlock.” (Mutual effort, shared labor, etc.)
Conclusion:
Tone down the “male incompetence” jokes by at least 40%, but retain enough banter to keep the gals in the balcony seats cackling. Remember: We want the men to leave the theater feeling important, not replaced.
– G.P.S.
‘Flight of the Matriarchs’ Lands with Laughs — and a Little Unease
By Percival H. Langley
Monogram Pictures’ latest interplanetary adventure, Flight of the Matriarchs, arrived at the Globe Theater yesterday with a burst of FemmaScope color, enough ray-gun effects to satisfy the most ardent space-serial fan, and a curious reversal of the usual rocket-ship romance formula.
Instead of the brawny commander and his lady assistant, we are given Commander Henrietta Steel (played with flinty charm by newcomer Harriet Van Doren) and her all-female crew. The two male companions — Brad Buckworth (Craig Mallory) and Jimmy “Skippy” McBride (Donnie Fuller) — are treated more as window dressing than warriors, often sent for coffee while the women handle asteroid collisions and interplanetary diplomacy.
The result is both refreshing and, at times, disconcerting. Women in the audience will cheer as Martian queens ogle the men like prize ponies. Men may shift in their seats during certain pointed exchanges, particularly when Engineer Rita Alvarez (the scene-stealing Rosalind Vega) instructs a hapless Buckworth to “stand there and look brave” while she saves the ship.
While the film’s humor occasionally lapses into outright burlesque, its brisk pacing, bright Technicolor palette, and unapologetic female heroics make Flight of the Matriarchs a notable entry in the current cycle of space adventures. Whether audiences take it as comedy, commentary, or both may depend on which side of the “battle of the sexes” they find themselves on.
Running time: 82 minutes. Rated “Safe for All Audiences” by the National Board of Review — though some egos may emerge bruised.
RITA ALVAREZ (holding it up, puzzled): “This doesn’t look like the hydrospanner.” COMMANDER STEEL (hands on hips, glaring): “That’s because it’s a banana.” RITA: “Painted blue.” STEEL: “And upside down.” RITA (sighs): “Brad must’ve been in here again.” STEEL (snaps): “Lock the tool cabinet. And the galley.”
“Women in Space! Hollywood’s Most Dangerous Gals Conquer Mars”
By Midge Pennington, LIFE Staff Writer
“It’s like Buck Rogers — if Buck had better hair, better aim, and better sense,” laughs Harriet Van Doren, the cool blonde who stars as Commander Henrietta Steel in Monogram Pictures’ new sci-fi spectacle Flight of the Matriarchs.
THE ROCKET GIRLS TAKE OVER
Shot over eight whirlwind days on Monogram’s backlot (with a few Martian landscapes borrowed from the Vasquez Rocks), the film boasts something never before seen in a Hollywood rocket picture — an entirely female command crew. The men are relegated to “morale mascots,” a term that has sent some male moviegoers to their dictionaries and others to the bar.
ON-SET HIJINKS (PHOTO SPREAD)
Photo 1: Van Doren in a gleaming red space suit, hands on hips, towering over co-star Craig Mallory (Brad Buckworth) as he fumbles with a prop ray-gun. Caption: “Don’t worry your handsome little head…”
Photo 2: Rosalind Vega (Engineer Rita Alvarez) applying lipstick with one hand while tightening a rocket engine valve with the other. Caption: “Beauty and torque.”
Photo 3: Director Lesley Selander doubled over laughing as Donnie “Skippy” Fuller struggles to stand upright in his foam-rubber Martian armor. Caption: “In space, everyone’s a little wobbly.”
MARTIAN WOMEN RULE
The picture’s Martian queens, played by stage veterans Mae Lansing and Yvette Duval, wear metallic gowns so snug the wardrobe department nicknamed them “space sausages.” Their job? To ogle, appraise, and occasionally abduct the male crew members — a gag that plays like a mirror held up to decades of pulp covers.
“I got to carry Brad out of a scene over my shoulder,” Duval says. “He weighs a hundred and eighty pounds, but on Mars, I’m stronger. At least on camera.”
A CULTURAL WOBBLE
While the studio insists Flight of the Matriarchs is “all in good fun,” some preview screenings left men shifting in their seats. One Iowa gentleman reportedly muttered, “I came for rockets, not ridicule,” while his wife replied, “I’ve been waiting my whole life for this.”
HOLLYWOOD’S MOST DANGEROUS WOMEN?
The “danger” here isn’t from ray-guns or meteors, but from the notion that women might — gasp — be better at running a rocket ship. Whether Matriarchs launches a new trend or remains a curious one-off, it’s given Hollywood something to chatter about, and given women in the audience a reason to cheer.
LIFE’s verdict: Out of this world — and out of patience with the old rules.
by Margaret Ellison
Published in Modern Woman, November 1952
When Flight of the Matriarchs landed in theaters last autumn, most critics treated it as a curiosity — a whimsical reversal of the “space hero and his girl” formula. Some called it “playful satire.” Others dismissed it as a novelty, good for a few laughs before audiences returned to more “serious” pictures where men piloted the rockets and women fetched the coffee.
But something happened in the year since those Martian queens paraded across the screen. The picture — brightly painted, cheaply produced, and shot through with sly humor — has not faded. In fact, for many women, it has taken on the glow of an unlikely manifesto.
A Joke That Wasn’t a Joke
On its surface, Flight of the Matriarchs played for laughs: the male “morale mascots” sent scurrying for coffee, the women saving the day with lipstick intact, the Martian royalty treating men like prize ponies. But for those paying attention, these gags were not only funny — they were revealing.
For the first time, women in a popular motion picture weren’t just assistants, nurses, or romantic rewards. They were the decision-makers, the risk-takers, the ones whose skill and intellect carried the story. The men? Charming, handsome… and, importantly, expendable.
Why It Struck a Nerve
The letters pages of this magazine lit up for months after the film’s release. Women wrote to say they had never seen themselves on screen in such positions of competence and authority — even if those positions were dressed in metallic jumpsuits and served with a wink.
One reader in Ohio confessed she saw the picture three times, not for the science fiction, but for the “thrill of watching women who weren’t waiting to be rescued.” Another wrote that the ending — where the women remain on Mars to form their own republic — “felt like a dream I didn’t know I’d been having since I was a girl.”
The Cultural Backlash
Predictably, there was pushback. Some men called the film “emasculating,” and a few small-town theaters refused to book it, citing “inappropriate gender themes.” The studio, perhaps sensing the tremor it had caused, quietly shelved plans for a sequel.
Yet Matriarchs didn’t need a sequel. It had planted a seed.
Looking Forward
In an age where women are told daily to “know their place,” here was a vision — silly, exaggerated, Technicolor-bright — of another place entirely. A place where competence outweighed charm, where leadership was unquestioned, and where no one assumed the captain’s chair belonged to a man.
We may look back and laugh at the cardboard sets and clumsy special effects. But history may also look back and see that in 1951, for 82 minutes on a Saturday night, millions of women glimpsed a different future.
And they liked it.
By “Red” Mallory
Published in True Man Adventures, February 1952
It started innocently enough. Just another cheapie from Monogram Pictures, the kind of Saturday matinee fare a man could take his gal to without worrying about anything except the price of popcorn. A space picture. A rocket. Maybe a bug-eyed monster or two.
But Flight of the Matriarchs was something else entirely.
A TROJAN HORSE IN TECHNICOLOR
We walked into the theater expecting the usual order of things: men in charge, women looking pretty and gasping at the right moments. What we got was a topsy-turvy fever dream in which women not only commanded the rocket ship but ordered the men around like bellhops in a second-rate hotel.
The so-called “heroes” — Brad Buckworth and Jimmy “Skippy” McBride — spent most of the picture fetching coffee, carrying luggage, or being ogled like prize livestock by two slinky Martian queens. It was played for laughs, but the laugh was on us.
THE CREEPING DANGER
You might say, “It’s just a picture, Red. Don’t take it so hard.” That’s what they want you to think. But look around: a year later, the dames are still talking about it. Women’s magazines are running puff pieces about “female leadership” in space. My own fiancée told me, after watching it, that maybe she should drive the car on our next trip to Reno.
Coincidence? I think not.
HOLLYWOOD’S HIDDEN AGENDA
Dig a little deeper and you’ll see the fingerprints of a certain crowd — the kind that thinks “equality” means tearing down everything men built. Commander Henrietta Steel (played by Harriet Van Doren) is portrayed as smarter, braver, and more capable than every man in the cast. In the climactic scene, she literally sends the men back to Earth with souvenir gift bags while she stays on Mars to form an “Interplanetary Women’s Republic.”
If that’s not subversion, I don’t know what is.
THE AUDIENCE REACTION
During my second viewing (yes, I went back — research, you understand), I noted two things:
The women in the audience laughed every single time a man was ordered to “stand there and look brave.”
The men laughed too… but it was that nervous, throat-clearing laugh you hear at the dentist’s office.
WHAT’S NEXT?
Mark my words, fellas: if we don’t push back, we’ll see more of this. Today it’s rocket ships, tomorrow it’s Westerns where the sheriff wears high heels and the deputy bakes pies. Hollywood is testing us, seeing just how much we’ll swallow.
For now, I recommend a boycott of Flight of the Matriarchs and any theater foolish enough to screen it again. Let them know that in America, the captain’s chair still belongs to a man — in the movies, and in real life.
EDITOR’S NOTE: The opinions expressed by Mr. Mallory are his own. True Man Adventures remains committed to fair coverage of the ongoing “battle of the sexes,” provided our readers remember which side they’re on.
“Mr. Speaker, I rise today not to discuss foreign policy, farm subsidies, or the budget, but to speak of a motion picture — and the censorship that befell it. Some in this chamber may roll their eyes at the thought, but the case of the 1951 film Flight of the Matriarchs is not merely about celluloid and costumes. It is about the rights of Americans to see themselves — especially women — portrayed as capable, commanding, and free from the narrow roles assigned to them.”
“In Flight of the Matriarchs, an all-female crew commanded a mission to Mars. They solved problems, made decisions, and saved the day — while the men, for once, were not the heroes but the supporting players. It was playful, yes, but it was also quietly revolutionary. Women in small towns and big cities alike wrote letters saying they had never before seen such a thing in popular entertainment.”
“And what was the response? Not praise for innovation, but a campaign of censorship. Some state boards cut entire reels. Theater owners were pressured not to book it. Trade papers accused it of ‘emasculating’ the male image. Let us be plain: Flight of the Matriarchs was not censored for indecency, violence, or obscenity — it was censored for showing women in command.”
“We must understand that such censorship is not harmless. When we silence images of female leadership, we reinforce the myth that leadership belongs only to men. We deny our daughters role models, we deny our culture a fuller picture of human potential, and we deny the promise of equality.”
“I urge my colleagues to consider this: if our censors are so quick to cut a reel of film because it shows a woman piloting a rocket ship, what else will they cut tomorrow? A woman in the governor’s office? A woman in this very chamber? We have already fought too long and too hard for our voices to be edited out like an unwanted scene. Let us ensure the stories our nation tells are limited only by imagination — not by fear.”
By Dr. Lillian Croft, Professor of Film & Gender Studies, Pacifica University
Published in Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, Spring 1984
This essay examines the 1951 science-fiction film Flight of the Matriarchs and the cultural, political, and institutional backlash it provoked. Drawing on contemporary reviews, Congressional testimony, trade press editorials, and audience letters, I argue that the film’s suppression constitutes a case study in the gendered mechanisms of censorship during mid-20th-century America.
Released by Monogram Pictures in October 1951, Flight of the Matriarchs departed sharply from the gender norms of its genre. In place of the standard male commander and female romantic interest, the narrative centers on an all-female crew, with male characters relegated to subordinate and decorative roles. While the film is deliberately comedic in tone, archival interviews with cast members (Van Doren, Vega, Duval, Lansing, 1969 Oral History Project) reveal that the subversion was intentional: “We wanted to turn every line we’d ever had to say in those old rocket pictures upside-down,” recalls Rosalind Vega.
By late 1951, at least six state censorship boards had demanded cuts to scenes in which male characters were explicitly ordered to perform trivial or servile tasks. Letters to Variety and Motion Picture Herald from male audience members complained of “emasculation” and “anti-American role reversal.” A particularly vitriolic exposé in True Man Adventures (Mallory, 1952) framed the film as “subversion in space.”
Congressional records show that by 1953, certain lawmakers were openly citing Matriarchs as an example of “Hollywood’s creeping inversion of natural order.” The film was quietly withdrawn from national re-release, with 16mm prints largely confined to women’s colleges and overseas markets.
The issue briefly re-entered public discourse when Representative Eleanor Hartwell (D–MA) delivered a floor speech decrying the censorship as a denial of women’s cultural representation. Hartwell’s remarks, preserved in the Congressional Record, are among the earliest examples of feminist critique voiced in the House. Her rhetorical framing — that the suppression of fictional female authority parallels the suppression of actual female political authority — would presage arguments made during the women’s liberation movement a decade later.
By the late 1970s, Flight of the Matriarchs began to reemerge through university film society screenings and early feminist film festivals. While the production values were often ridiculed, the film’s gender dynamics were increasingly recognized as radical for its time. Letters from 1951–52 preserved in the Monogram archive (Box 14, Folder 3) reveal that women across the United States perceived the film as affirming — even liberating.
The closing scene, in which the women choose to remain on Mars to form the “Interplanetary Women’s Republic,” operates both as a comic reversal and as an aspirational metaphor. In suppressing this vision, mid-century censorship apparatuses reinforced the very gender hierarchies the film lampooned. Its partial resurrection in the 1970s and its reevaluation in the 1980s suggest that even the most “trivial” pop culture artifacts can carry transformative subtexts — if we are willing to look beyond the cardboard sets and painted backdrops.
“It wasn’t about Mars at all,” Hartwell reflected in a 1978 interview. “It was about the idea that women could run the ship — and that scared them.”
Episode 3: “Flight of the Matriarchs”
Original PBS Broadcast: October 18, 1984
[ARCHIVAL FOOTAGE: grainy black-and-white stills of the Flight of the Matriarchs set. Harriett Van Doren in a silver jumpsuit, smiling between takes.]
NARRATOR (calm, measured)
In 1951, Monogram Pictures released Flight of the Matriarchs. To most audiences, it was a quick, colorful diversion in the Saturday matinee lineup. But to a generation of women — and to a chorus of disapproving men — it was something else entirely.
[CUT TO: Interview — Dr. Lillian Croft, Pacifica University]
CROFT
It was the first time mainstream cinema had put women in absolute command of a spaceship — not as love interests, not as assistants, but as the ones making every critical decision. That was radical, even if the film played it for laughs.
[ARCHIVAL FOOTAGE: reading of a 1952 “True Man Adventures” article, voice performed by an actor in a clipped, mid-century tone.]
ACTOR (reading)
“Hollywood is testing us… today it’s rocket ships, tomorrow it’s Westerns where the sheriff wears high heels.” — True Man Adventures, February 1952.
NARRATOR
The backlash was swift. Six state censorship boards cut scenes deemed “demeaning to men.” In several small towns, theater owners refused to book the film at all.
[CUT TO: Interview — Rosalind Vega, now in her 60s, filmed in her living room surrounded by framed stage photos.]
VEGA
We thought it was harmless fun. But when the letters started pouring in — the angry ones — we realized, oh, we’ve touched a nerve. The funny part was, the women’s letters weren’t angry. They were… grateful.
[ARCHIVAL READING: voice of a young woman, from a 1951 fan letter.]
ACTOR (reading)
“Dear Miss Van Doren, I took my sisters to see Flight of the Matriarchs. I’ve never seen women like that in a picture. I don’t want to be rescued anymore — I want to drive the rocket.”
NARRATOR
In 1963, Representative Eleanor Hartwell of Massachusetts spoke on the floor of Congress about the censorship of the film — a rare feminist critique in that chamber at the time.
[ARCHIVAL FOOTAGE: black-and-white photo of Hartwell at a podium, her speech read by an actress.]
ACTRESS (reading)
“It was censored for showing women in command. And when we silence images of female leadership, we silence the women who might become leaders themselves.”
[CUT TO: Interview — Harriett Van Doren, 1984]
VAN DOREN
I still remember that final scene — sending the men back to Earth with their little gift bags. The crew and I came up with that ourselves. It wasn’t in the script. We just thought… why not end it with the women staying in charge?
NARRATOR
Flight of the Matriarchs disappeared from theaters after its initial run. But in the 1970s, it began to find new life in university film societies and feminist film festivals.
[ARCHIVAL FOOTAGE: 1977 Women’s Film Festival poster, a hand-drawn rocket piloted by women.]
CROFT
It’s easy to laugh at the sets now, but that’s the trap. We dismiss something because it looks silly, and in doing so, we miss the subversive message it carried.
NARRATOR
Thirty-three years later, Flight of the Matriarchs remains both an oddity and a landmark — a cardboard rocket that carried an idea far beyond the stars.
[Full-page photo]: Harriett Van Doren in silver jumpsuit, one hand on her hip, the other holding a chrome-painted “ray gun.” Behind her, a painted Martian landscape — red rocks, purple sky. The edges of the set are visible if you look closely.
Caption: “We thought it was harmless fun,” Van Doren recalled, “but clearly we’d stumbled onto something dangerous… to them.”
When Monogram Pictures released Flight of the Matriarchs in October 1951, few expected it to be remembered three decades later. Shot in just eight days, with sets recycled from Flight to Mars, the film seemed destined to be another disposable matinee feature. Instead, its gender role reversal — women in command, men as ornamental aides — ignited a cultural skirmish.
Within weeks of release, six state censorship boards had demanded cuts, and several theater owners refused to show it at all. Trade papers ran headlines like “Is Hollywood Emasculating the Space Hero?”
[Inset Photo]: Rosalind Vega laughing between takes with Mae Lansing (Queen Astara) while a prop Martian throne is repaired with duct tape.
Caption: On set, the women made their own fun — and sometimes their own lines.
Archival scripts show that among the censored moments were:
Commander Steel telling Brad Buckworth, “Why don’t you stand there and look brave while I save your life?”
Queen Astara appraising Skippy McBride like a horse at auction.
The final shot of the women staying on Mars to found the “Interplanetary Women’s Republic.”
While male reviewers largely panned the film, women wrote in droves. Many letters praised the thrill of seeing competent female leaders — even in a campy space setting. In 1963, Representative Eleanor Hartwell cited the film’s censorship in a House floor speech, calling it “a denial of women’s right to imagine themselves as leaders.”
[Pull Quote]
“I don’t want to be rescued anymore — I want to drive the rocket.”
— Letter from 14-year-old viewer, Ohio, 1951
By the late 1970s, Flight of the Matriarchs was a regular fixture at women’s film festivals. Audiences laughed at the cardboard sets, but stayed to discuss its subtext. As Dr. Lillian Croft notes:
[Pull Quote]
“We dismiss something because it looks silly, and in doing so, we miss the radical message it carried.”
[Photo Strip]:
1951 theatrical poster mock-up — women in space suits, men peeking nervously from behind them.
1963 Hartwell speaking at the House podium.
1983 screening at Pacifica University, students in homemade “Matriarchs” T-shirts.
Closing Paragraph:
More than thirty years after its debut, Flight of the Matriarchs remains an oddity — a low-budget comedy with a message that was never meant to survive its own era. And yet it has. Like the cardboard rocket it flew in on, the film carried its passengers further than anyone expected — and its destination is still just over the horizon.
Pacific Northwest University — School of Media & Gender Studies
October 16–18, 2015
Conference Description
From the pulp rockets of the 1950s to the complex space heroines of the 21st century, this three-day symposium explores how popular media has portrayed women in command. Featuring scholars, filmmakers, archivists, and fans, Matriarchs in the Media revisits trailblazers like Flight of the Matriarchs (1951), Alien (1979), Star Trek: Voyager (1995–2001), and beyond — asking how these images have challenged, reshaped, or reinforced cultural ideas about gender and leadership.
9:00 AM — Keynote Address
Dr. Lillian Croft — From Matriarchs to Martyrs: The Suppression and Resurrection of Flight of the Matriarchs
Dr. Croft revisits three decades of research into the film’s production, censorship, and rediscovery, weaving in newly unearthed correspondence from Monogram Pictures’ internal archives.
11:00 AM — Panel 1: “The 1950s Woman Commander”
Martian Queens and Ray-Gun Dreams — Prof. Erica Simmons, UCLA
Cardboard Rockets, Real Revolutions: Feminist Subtext in Low-Budget Sci-Fi — Dr. Yvonne Patel, York University
Coffee, Courage, and Command: Gendered Labor in Flight of the Matriarchs — Dr. Gwen Okada, University of Hawai’i
1:00 PM — Archival Screening (35mm)
Flight of the Matriarchs — Restored Print with Original Censored Scenes Reinstated
Introduced by Sarah Montrose, curator of the Northwest Film Archive
9:30 AM — Panel 2: “From the Rocket to the Bridge: Television’s Women Captains”
From Janeway to Zoe Washburne: Tracing the Lineage of the Female Sci-Fi Commander — Dr. Raquel Mendoza
Gender, Authority, and Fandom Backlash in Star Trek: Voyager — Prof. Alan Ridgeway
The Fan Letter as Resistance: Early Trekkie Women Speak — Dr. Moira Blake
11:30 AM — Roundtable: “Cosplay as Cultural Memory”
Moderated by Dr. Kendra Lowenstein
Featuring:
Cosplayer/archivist June Park (Commander Steel, WonderCon 2012)
Fan historian Marcus Bell (Interplanetary Women’s Republic Tumblr project)
1:30 PM — Workshop: “Restoring the Matriarchs”
Hands-on session with film restoration specialists on repairing mid-century color stock. Participants handle original Flight production stills and lobby cards.
10:00 AM — Panel 3: “Matriarchs in the Global Imagination”
Soviet Cosmonaut Heroines in State Cinema, 1960–1980 — Dr. Tatiana Morozova
Nollywood’s Warrior Queens and Space Mothers — Prof. Amina Bello
From Mars to Manga: Japanese Feminist Sci-Fi in the 1970s — Dr. Hiroko Tanaka
12:00 PM — Closing Plenary
Dr. Eleanor Hartwell, Jr. — Legacies of Leadership: My Mother’s Fight for Representation in Media and Politics
The daughter of the late Representative Eleanor Hartwell reflects on her mother’s 1963 Congressional statement against Flight of the Matriarchs censorship, and its enduring influence on both political and pop culture discourse.
Special Exhibit (all weekend) — Rocket Girls: An Interactive History
Located in the university’s Media Archive Gallery, featuring costumes, props, fan zines, and rare behind-the-scenes footage from Flight of the Matriarchs and other female-led genre films.
Keynote Address — Dr. Lillian Croft
Pacific Northwest University — October 16, 2015
[Opening, light laughter from audience]
When I first saw Flight of the Matriarchs, it was 1978, in a leaky lecture hall with a battered 16mm print, a projector that made more noise than the rocket engines in the film, and an audience of maybe twelve people — half of whom had wandered in looking for the free coffee.
By the time the credits rolled, I knew two things:
This was not a great film by conventional measures.
It was, nonetheless, one of the most important artifacts of mid-century feminist media history.
Released in October 1951 by Monogram Pictures, Flight of the Matriarchs was shot in eight days on a budget that could barely buy the dry ice for Forbidden Planet. Yet its script — credited to “Win Collins,” the pseudonym of screenwriter Winifred Collinson — dared to invert the foundational gender dynamic of its genre.
Women commanded the ship. Men fetched the coffee. The Martian queens evaluated male crew members like prize show ponies. And in the final scene, the women chose to remain on Mars to establish the “Interplanetary Women’s Republic,” sending the men home with souvenir gift bags and no authority whatsoever.
It was satire, it was pulp, it was camp — and it was a direct provocation to the cinematic order of 1951.
The reaction was immediate. Within two months, at least six state censorship boards had ordered cuts. A True Man Adventures exposé thundered about “subversion in space,” warning that if men tolerated such films, the next sheriff in their Westerns might wear high heels.
Small-town theaters refused to book it. Monogram executives received letters from angry fathers, husbands, and editors, claiming the film “emasculated” the male image and “confused” audiences about proper gender roles.
Archival memos I unearthed in the Monogram files — Box 14, Folder 3 — show that internal discussions turned to whether Matriarchs should be quietly buried. By the spring of 1952, it was out of distribution entirely, with remaining prints sent to overseas markets or women’s colleges.
In 1963, Representative Eleanor Hartwell of Massachusetts took to the House floor to protest the censorship. She stated, and I quote:
“It was censored for showing women in command. And when we silence images of female leadership, we silence the women who might become leaders themselves.”
Her words, ignored at the time, now read like a blueprint for the second wave feminism that followed. But Hartwell was ahead of her moment — and the film remained inaccessible to the general public.
It wasn’t until the late 1970s that Flight of the Matriarchs began to re-emerge. University film societies, feminist film festivals, and the occasional midnight screening brought it to a new audience.
Yes, they laughed at the cardboard sets, the painted Martian skies, the clumsy ray-gun effects. But they also laughed with recognition — at lines like Commander Steel’s withering “Stand there and look brave while I save your life.”
Fan letters from 1951–52, preserved in the archive, revealed that women at the time had found it thrilling. One fourteen-year-old from Ohio wrote:
“I don’t want to be rescued anymore — I want to drive the rocket.”
Some might ask: why invest decades of research into a forgotten B-movie?
Because Flight of the Matriarchs shows us that representation — even in the most disposable-seeming media — matters. It shows us that in 1951, someone in Hollywood imagined women at the helm, and that this vision was threatening enough to be suppressed.
The cardboard rocket, the goofy Martian queens, the campy banter — all of it carried a subversive payload: a simple, dangerous question.
What if the women ran the ship?
In a way, the women of Flight of the Matriarchs became martyrs — not in the literal sense, but in how their story was sacrificed to preserve the gender order of the time. Yet in being buried, the film became a seed. When it resurfaced, it found an audience ready to laugh, yes — but also ready to listen.
And that is why we are here today, in a room full of scholars, archivists, fans, and creators, talking not just about Matriarchs but about all the media in which women have taken the helm.
[Closing, applause rising]
The rocket they built out of plywood never made it past the studio soundstage.
But the idea it carried — that idea is still traveling.
And it hasn’t reached its final destination yet.
Thank you.
[Long applause]
Moderator: Dr. Kendra Lowenstein
Panelist: Dr. Lillian Croft
Location: Pacific Northwest University — Auditorium A
MODERATOR:
We have about twenty minutes for questions. Please keep them brief so we can hear from as many people as possible. First up — yes, in the third row.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1 (female, grad student):
Thank you, Dr. Croft, for such a rich presentation. My question is — given how campy Flight of the Matriarchs is, do you think the humor undercuts the feminist potential? Or does it actually make the message more accessible?
DR. CROFT:
It’s a fair question. I would argue the humor is the Trojan horse. Without it, the film might never have been made at all. The satire is precisely what allows it to smuggle in that dangerous question — “what if the women ran the ship?” — without the censors realizing, at least at first, how subversive it was.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2 (male, mid-50s, media historian):
But couldn’t you also say the humor gave male audiences permission to dismiss it? You quoted letters from angry men, but surely others just laughed it off as “the silly lady rocket movie.”
DR. CROFT:
Absolutely. Some did exactly that. But we must remember — texts are received differently by different audiences. A fourteen-year-old girl in 1951 wasn’t laughing it off. She was filing it away as proof that such a vision could exist, even in fiction.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 3 (female, cosplayer in Commander Steel uniform):
Hi, huge fan. I’ve been cosplaying Commander Steel for three years. I wanted to ask — the “Interplanetary Women’s Republic” ending feels almost utopian. Do you think audiences in 1951 saw it that way, or as a joke?
DR. CROFT:
For most male viewers, it was a joke — an absurdity. But for women, particularly those who had worked in wartime industries and been pushed out afterward, it could read as wistful fantasy. Remember, it’s 1951 — the return to domesticity was in full swing. That ending was like an escape hatch.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 4 (female, media theory professor):
Dr. Croft, could you speak to how Flight compares to later media — say, Voyager or Alien — in terms of the backlash to a woman in command?
DR. CROFT:
The backlash template is remarkably consistent. Janeway in Voyager, Ripley in Alien — the criticisms often boil down to “she’s too cold,” “too bossy,” or “unrealistic.” Those same adjectives were hurled at Commander Steel in the Variety review of ’51. It’s a reminder that representation alone isn’t enough; the discourse around it must also shift.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 5 (male, undergraduate):
Sorry if this is naïve, but if it was so controversial, why didn’t the studio just lean into it for publicity? Wouldn’t scandal sell tickets?
DR. CROFT:
In another era, yes. But in 1951, Monogram Pictures was terrified of alienating male ticket-buyers — and, frankly, advertisers. This wasn’t “scandal” like a monster movie with too much gore; this was “scandal” that threatened social norms. That was far riskier to them.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 6 (female, elder, possibly saw the original release):
I saw it in Chicago in ’51. The men in the theater were restless, but we women — we were grinning. I never forgot it. I just want to thank you for making sure it’s remembered.
DR. CROFT:
[visibly moved] Thank you. That’s exactly why we keep telling this story.
MODERATOR:
One last question. Yes, in the back — with the “Rocket Girls Forever” tote bag.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 7 (non-binary, film archivist):
Given the film’s rediscovery and new fandom, do you think it’s time for a proper digital restoration — full resolution, color corrected, and maybe even the deleted scenes animated where footage is missing?
DR. CROFT:
Yes. Absolutely. I think the Interplanetary Women’s Republic deserves to be seen in all its absurd, Technicolor glory. And if anyone here knows a donor who wants to fund that project… see me after the session.
[laughter, applause]
‘Flight of the Matriarchs’ Returns, in All Its Cardboard Glory
By Margot Ellery
It has been called “the silly lady rocket movie,” “a cardboard revolution,” and — by one apoplectic men’s magazine in 1952 — “subversion in space.”
Now, 75 years after its initial release, Flight of the Matriarchs arrives in theaters again, fully restored from original Technicolor negatives and, for the first time, with the censored scenes reinstated. The Northwest Film Archive and Pacific Northwest University’s School of Media & Gender Studies have achieved something remarkable: they’ve preserved every frayed matte line, every unconvincing Martian rock, every gleefully barbed line of dialogue that scandalized male critics in 1951.
The 4K transfer renders the chrome of Commander Henrietta Steel’s ray gun gleaming, the metallic gowns of the Martian queens glittering like the gaudiest promises of postwar futurism. More importantly, it restores the moments that once met the censor’s scissors: Brad Buckworth ordered to “stand there and look brave while I save your life,” Skippy McBride appraised like livestock by Queen Astara, and — most satisfying of all — the women’s decision to stay on Mars and found the Interplanetary Women’s Republic.
In 1951, these were dangerous ideas dressed as gags. In 2026, they play like time capsules from a parallel timeline.
The restoration does nothing to hide the film’s budgetary limits — the rocket’s “control panel” is clearly plywood, the Martian landscape an obvious matte painting. Yet the laughter they provoke is affectionate, even reverent.
What lingers isn’t the camp, but the audacity. Steel (Harriett Van Doren) and Engineer Rita Alvarez (Rosalind Vega) conduct the mission with competence and zero apology. Their male counterparts are charming but irrelevant. In a post-Barbie landscape, the reversal feels less like a joke and more like a prophecy.
From its 1952 burial to its rediscovery in the feminist film festivals of the 1970s, from Dr. Lillian Croft’s exhaustive scholarship in the 1980s to the viral Commander Steel cosplay boom of the 2010s, Matriarchs has always been a survivor.
The restored version cements its place not just as a curiosity, but as a bona fide cultural landmark. It’s a reminder that even the most modest B-picture can carry a subversive charge — and that sometimes the smallest rockets fly the farthest.
Running Time: 82 minutes. Rated “Unrated” — but be advised, fragile egos may wish to skip it.
(All comments are moderated for civility, but not necessarily for ego.)
RocketGirl_82 — Portland, OR
I saw Matriarchs on a VHS bootleg in college. Seeing it in 4K on the big screen was surreal. My grandmother told me she watched it in ’51 and “knew something had changed” — even if no one admitted it then.
[1,024 upvotes]
BuckRogersRealism — Tulsa, OK
Let’s be honest, folks — it’s still a bad movie. Cardboard sets, bad acting, ridiculous plot. The feminist angle is fine if that’s your thing, but let’s not pretend it’s Citizen Kane.
[412 upvotes, 623 downvotes]
FilmProf_Maya — Ann Arbor, MI
@BuckRogersRealism The point is not that it’s Citizen Kane — the point is that it dared to ask “what if women ran the ship?” in 1951. For that alone, it’s historically invaluable.
[1,206 upvotes]
SkippyLives — Austin, TX
As a kid, I thought Skippy McBride was the coolest. As an adult, I realize he’s comic relief. As a grown man in 2026, I can handle that. Some of y’all should try it.
[895 upvotes]
RetroRaygunFan — Brooklyn, NY
The restoration is gorgeous. You can actually see the coffee steam in the scene where Steel tells Brad to bring “cream and courage.” Instant classic.
[678 upvotes]
DadJokesInSpace — Boise, ID
My wife dragged me to this. I went in grumpy. I came out wanting a Commander Steel enamel pin for my backpack. Send help.
[742 upvotes]
MartianQueenCos — Los Angeles, CA
Been cosplaying Queen Astara for five years. Seeing her in restored Technicolor made me tear up. The gold lamé never looked so good.
[512 upvotes]
OldSchoolProjectionist — Des Moines, IA
I ran this reel at a campus festival in ’78. Half the crowd was laughing at it, half was cheering with it. Last night, watching in a sold-out theater, it felt like everyone was doing both at once.
[1,043 upvotes]
InterplanetaryDad — Kansas City, MO
I’m taking my 12-year-old daughter to see this next weekend. She’s already decided we’re starting a two-person “Interplanetary Women’s Republic” at home. My wife is in. I have been voted out.
[1,587 upvotes]
Special Exhibit: “Flight of the Matriarchs — Seventy-Six Years to Launch”
March 5 — September 30, 2027
Exhibit Overview
For decades, Flight of the Matriarchs (1951) was an obscure B-picture, whispered about in feminist film circles and screened from battered 16mm prints. Today, thanks to a complete 4K restoration and a groundswell of pop culture revival, the Academy Museum proudly presents the first comprehensive exhibition devoted to this once-suppressed cult classic.
From original costumes and props to fan-made memorabilia and international posters, Flight of the Matriarchs — Seventy-Six Years to Launch tells the improbable story of a film that refused to disappear.
Original “Magna Vesta” Rocket Console — plywood and painted tin, with working toggle switches wired to nothing.
Director’s Shooting Script — annotated by Winifred “Win” Collins, with sarcastic margin notes about “making the men look busy.”
Lobby Cards (1951) — including the rare “Interplanetary Women’s Republic” ending still, previously banned in six U.S. states.
Interactive: Touchscreen display lets visitors explore censorship board cut lists alongside restored film clips.
Commander Henrietta Steel’s Silver Jumpsuit — worn by Harriett Van Doren, complete with hand-sewn name patch.
Engineer Rita Alvarez’s Tool Belt — containing the infamous “banana-as-hydrospanner” prop.
Martian Queen Astara’s Gown — gold lamé with hand-sewn sequins, reportedly shedding glitter on the set for weeks.
Photo Op: Step into a life-size recreation of the Martian throne room for your own “Interplanetary Decree” portrait.
Original True Man Adventures (1952) — open to the infamous “Subversion in Space” exposé.
Letter from Representative Eleanor Hartwell (1963) — Congressional stationery, denouncing the censorship.
Fan Letters (1951–52) — on display in rotating selection, including the oft-quoted Ohio teenager’s: “I don’t want to be rescued anymore — I want to drive the rocket.”
Listening Station: Hear readings of the most notorious fan and hate mail, voiced by contemporary actors.
1978 Women’s Film Festival Program — listing Flight alongside Daisies and Born in Flames.
Commander Steel Cosplay Gallery — curated selection of fan costumes from 1980 to 2026.
Restoration Reel — before-and-after footage showing the painstaking color correction that brought the film back to its full Technicolor glory.
Hands-On: A “drive the rocket” simulation lets visitors pilot the Magna Vesta through a cardboard asteroid field while a pre-recorded Rita Alvarez voiceover reminds them to “stand there and look brave.”
Museum Shop Exclusive Merchandise:
Interplanetary Women’s Republic enamel pins.
Replica Commander Steel jumpsuits in adult and child sizes.
The Flight of the Matriarchs Oral History book, edited by Dr. Lillian Croft, with transcripts from cast, crew, and fans across 75 years.
Exhibit Tagline:
“The cardboard rocket never left the soundstage — but the idea flew farther than anyone could have imagined.”
Broadcast Date: March 13, 2027
Host: Ayesha Ramirez
[Theme music fades under]
RAMIREZ:
Seventy-six years ago, Flight of the Matriarchs was a modest B-movie with cardboard sets, a quick shooting schedule, and a gender role reversal that scandalized some and delighted others. It was censored, shelved, rediscovered, and finally restored in 2026.
Now, the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures in Los Angeles is celebrating the film with a sprawling exhibition — costumes, props, fan art, and even a full-size replica of the rocket. NPR’s Kevin Abrams visited and has this report.
[Sound of footsteps in a large gallery, faint echo, children’s voices in the background]
ABRAMS:
Walking into the first gallery, you’re greeted by the original “Magna Vesta” control console — plywood, painted tin, and toggle switches that never connected to anything. A wall display explains how it was built in two days, painted silver, and lit to look like cutting-edge 1951 technology.
CURATOR SARAH MONTROSE:
“It’s charming, right? But this is what audiences saw when they watched women commanding the ship. And for 1951, that image was radical.”
[Sound of a switch clicking, kids laughing]
ABRAMS:
Across the room, a group of children plays with a recreated rocket control panel. One button makes a recorded voice — Harriett Van Doren as Commander Steel — say, “Stand there and look brave while I save your life.”
Eight-year-old Ruby Mitchell tries it three times in a row.
RUBY:
“She’s the boss. I like her.”
[Soft background hum of a projector]
ABRAMS:
The exhibit doesn’t shy away from the backlash. There’s a framed copy of True Man Adventures from 1952 with its infamous headline, “Subversion in Space.” Nearby, a glass case holds a 1963 letter from Representative Eleanor Hartwell condemning the censorship as a blow to women’s cultural representation.
VISITOR (adult woman, mid-40s):
“I had never heard of this movie until the restoration last year. Seeing it now… it’s so funny, but you realize, wow, they were scared of this.”
[Sound of camera shutters, faint murmurs]
ABRAMS:
Fans have made their mark here too — a “Commander Steel Cosplay Gallery” showcases costumes from the 1980s through last year’s viral Comic-Con appearances.
In the final room, the restored film plays on a loop. Visitors watch the once-censored ending: the women staying on Mars to form the Interplanetary Women’s Republic.
MONTROSE:
“It’s camp, it’s satire, but it’s also this little glimpse of a future that people couldn’t imagine back then — and some still struggle to imagine now.”
[Faint applause from a small screening area]
ABRAMS:
The cardboard rocket never left the soundstage, but the idea it carried — that women could take the helm — still has a destination ahead.
Kevin Abrams, NPR News, Los Angeles.
RAMIREZ:
You can see the Flight of the Matriarchs exhibit at the Academy Museum through September 30th.
[Theme music fades back in]
By Matthew Chenoweth Wright
We’ve just spent thousands of words — and, in our imaginary chronology, more than seven decades — tracing the strange, tangled life of a 1951 science fiction B-movie called Flight of the Matriarchs.
You’ve read about its cardboard sets, its radical gender role reversal, the furious letters to the editor, the censorship, the rediscovery, the academic reevaluations, the convention cosplayers, the restored 4K release, and even the 2027 Academy Museum exhibit.
None of it happened.
And that was the point.
This wasn’t a hoax. It was an experiment — part satire, part love letter to cultural history — in how we tell stories about the past, how we confer meaning on pop culture, and how even the smallest scraps of media can be turned into artifacts of identity and resistance.
By inventing a film whole cloth and then surrounding it with “documentation” from every decade — reviews, interviews, congressional speeches, scholarly papers, fan letters, cosplay photos, museum exhibits — we built an alternate record that feels authentic because it borrows the texture of real history.
Every fake clipping and transcript was modeled on the language, style, and preoccupations of its era. The joke worked because it played fair with the form.
We chose the B-movie format because it’s where so many real cultural skirmishes have happened — in low-budget corners where the stakes seemed low, the censors were sometimes distracted, and subversive ideas could slip through.
In our fiction, Flight of the Matriarchs was a throwaway matinee picture that accidentally smuggled a vision of women in absolute command into a world that wasn’t ready for it. That premise let us explore how societies react to art that challenges the “natural order,” and how those reactions change — or stubbornly don’t — over time.
The fun of this exercise wasn’t just in making up the 1951 release; it was in stretching the timeline:
1950s: Manufactured outrage, censorship boards, moral panic.
1960s: A lonely political voice calling out the injustice.
1970s–80s: Feminist rediscovery and scholarly defense.
2000s–2020s: Fan culture, cosplay, and archival restoration.
2027: Canonization in a museum.
This arc mirrors countless real works of art and media that began as disposable, even disreputable, and ended up as cherished cultural heritage.
By the end, Flight of the Matriarchs isn’t just a fake film — it’s a mirror. It reflects how we project our values and anxieties onto the media we consume, and how much of our collective cultural memory is a narrative we’ve agreed to tell.
It’s also a reminder that our media history is full of lost works, under-recognized creators, and moments of subversion that were erased or ignored in their own time. The fact that Matriarchs never existed doesn’t make the conversation around it any less real.
We did this because it’s fun. Because it’s illuminating. Because in a media landscape drowning in remakes and nostalgia, there’s value in creating a “shared nostalgia” for something that forces you to ask: why does this feel so real?
And maybe, just maybe, because it’s satisfying to imagine that somewhere in 1951, Commander Henrietta Steel and her crew really did decide to stay on Mars and build the Interplanetary Women’s Republic.
The cardboard rocket never left the soundstage — but the idea flew farther than anyone could have imagined.
Honestly?
If you publish this whole thing on Medium as one big immersive chronicle — with all the decades of “documentation,” quotes, reviews, politics, museum exhibits — I’d put the probability somewhere in the moderate-to-high range that someone will try to “make” Flight of the Matriarchs.
Here’s why:
You haven’t just described the movie — you’ve given names, sets, costumes, props, whole chunks of dialogue, and the cultural context that makes it funny and meaningful. That’s more than enough for indie filmmakers, fan-film communities, or machinima creators to recreate key scenes.
YouTube, TikTok, and fan festivals love faux-vintage projects (look at the fake ’80s commercials, “lost episodes,” or “restored” silent films people have made).
People with green screens and thrift-store sewing skills could crank out a 10–20 minute “lost reel” version in weeks.
The myth of the movie is just as fun as the movie itself — and that’s irresistible to the kind of people who like to blur the line between fiction and reality.
A “found” 1951 sci-fi oddity with feminist satire baked in? That’s perfect for fringe film festivals, women’s media events, and even meme culture.
If someone makes a fake Flight of the Matriarchs, it will instantly validate your long-form piece as “documentary” — in the same way This Is Spinal Tap spawned real album covers and tour posters.
Probability call:
If you push this hard on Medium, maybe with a few teaser “archival stills” and fake ephemera alongside the text, I’d say there’s at least a 50–60% chance someone in the retro-fan or DIY film scene will produce a short version within a year — and a smaller but real chance that a group will try for a full 80-minute parody in the style of Plan 9 from Outer Space.
If you want, I can tell you exactly how to seed this in your Medium piece so that it practically dares the right kind of people to go make the movie — without you ever having to ask them directly. That would raise the odds a lot.
By Matthew Chenoweth Wright, Angel with Flaming Sword on August 9, 2025.
Exported from Medium on August 19, 2025.