Film Reviews

January 10, 2025

There is a palpable sadness coursing throughout "The Last Showgirl" that makes us want to give all the people in it a great big hug, and for no other reason besides they're human and they're struggling. We want to protect them, to listen to them, to steer them in better directions. Most of all, we want to let them know that even though they've made some misguided decisions, they're still deserving of our and their own respect.

What's refreshing about the film is it doesn't guarantee any particular outcome for any of its six characters, and therefore it doesn't leave us with the typical feelings of closure, which gives it a level of authenticity most films avoid, perhaps out of fear the audience will feel betrayed. On the contrary, we admire the film's honesty, and despite our not knowing what will come of these people, what is certain is that they work hard but have become so enmeshed in their lives that they have a hard time seeing any other modes of existence. Our hope is they'll find a different one.

The characters are all connected by way of a showgirl act titled "Le Razzle Dazzle" in Las Vegas, which is currently facing dire financial straits, and even though we barely see any of the 40-year-old show itself, we can tell by the backstage accommodations and the disillusioned staff that it's from another time, and nowadays, barely attended. Indeed, at one point, a character mentions there were only 18 people in the audience. And yet, the unflagging showgirls press on, still rushing and determined to make their curtain call, jogging lightly and carefully in their high heels and revealing costumes, which are adorned with sparkles, feathers, and wings, and because this is what they know, and maybe because they've deluded themselves into thinking "Le Razzle Dazzle" still means something to someone, they give their all.

Director Gia Coppola, from a screenplay by Kate Gersten, isn't passing judgment on the women in the show, but instead objectively depicting a vocation and its associated lifestyle, which we see can be just as grueling as other physical labor. After we get a feel for the orchestration of the production, the glamour and sexiness we often associate with showgirl revues gives way to the girls' blue-collar lives off stage.

Our main conduit into this world is Shelly (Pamela Anderson), a buxom blonde in her late 50s and probably the oldest veteran of the group still dancing in the showgirls line. Shelly is single and lives in a small, modest house outside the strip. It's hard to say what year "The Last Showgirl" takes place in, because Shelly still uses a corded landline phone, and I didn't notice anyone using a smartphone. In any case, Shelly isn't living the high life and essentially survives paycheck to paycheck.

The same goes for Shelly's friend and former showgirl, Annette (Jamie Lee Curtis), who can be friendly but acerbic; she's resentful for being relegated to a cocktail waitress due to what we presume was her age, and for having to compete with younger women for shifts. But if Annette is bitter and blunt, Shelly balances her out with a cheerful and hopeful disposition. Through all of the curve balls we'll learn that life has thrown at Shelly, she remains upbeat. And yet, this aspect of her personality doesn't feel like a machination on the filmmakers or Anderson's part; we believe this is who she is in her heart and mind, and it's this authenticity that makes the film so fluid and watchable. There's something to be said for watching people simply be who they are, living their lives the best they can; through Shelly, Coppola and Anderson capture and display human pleasantness and resilience.

It's not just us who view Shelly with affection. Her sunny outlook is why Jodie (Kiernan Shipka) and Mary-Anne (Brenda Song) look up to her and view her as sort of a surrogate mother figure. They're both young, just over and under 30, and in the prime of their physical lives, although Mary-Anne has lived long enough to know there are limitations to a showgirl career, whereas Jodie is more naïve. There's a particularly effective scene when Jodie shows up to Shelly's door after what we believe was her first real taste of adulthood.

In spite of Shelly's generosity and gentleness, though, a decades-long career as a showgirl has left her tired, and in the back of her mind, she knew it would one day come to an end and that she would have to make the difficult yet important decision about what to do next. That time comes alarmingly soon when Eddie (a surprisingly earnest and sensitive Dave Bautista), the show's producer, informs the girls that "Le Razzle Dazzle" is shutting down and will be giving its final performances in the coming month, all to make way for a more popular burlesque circus act. Does Shelly still have what it takes to audition for something else? What is someone in her position to do? "The Last Showgirl" is less concerned with definite answers and more with how Shelly internalizes her anxiety, anger, and fear, and we come to genuinely care about her health and survival.

Amidst her career uncertainties, another intriguing development comes about when Shelly reaches out to her distant daughter, Hannah (Billie Lourd), who Shelly treats more like a niece she sees and talks to only once or twice a year. Shelly sent Hannah away to live with family friends before she was a teenager, and now Hannah is graduating college. When the two talk, it's mostly about superficial, quick-answer topics, such as what major Hannah declared, what she plans to do this summer, and whether she has a boyfriend. Anderson and Lourd have a sincere and convincing chemistry. It's hard to believe that Shelly and Hannah are mother and daughter (Hannah calls Shelly by her first name) because the characters are so different, but we do believe Anderson and Lourd as these two characters. The way they exchange looks, dialogue, and requisite hugs is awkward and heartrending but also genuine. We're sad their relationship has come to this, and one of the film's most gut-wrenching moments comes after Hannah finally sees Shelly's show. By the time this happens, we already want so much more for them, and it's this viewers' compassion that Coppola seemed intent on invoking.

Because of her name in the tabloids, her sexuality, her appearances on Playboy, and her longtime stint on "Baywatch," it became very easy not to think of Pamela Anderson as a down-to-earth human being, let alone an actress. For a time, she seemed larger-than-life and one-dimensional, but the operative word here is "seemed," because she has of course always been a person, and as she proves here, a capable actress. The sympathy and likability she and her co-stars garner only make us want to keep watching "The Last Showgirl," which, in spite of its subject matter, has some very relatable themes, not least the idea of committed, kind-hearted individuals trying to keep their heads above water when faced with sudden change and struggling to accept hard truths. What's more is the film works as a parable for staying diligent about not getting too comfortable in our present roles, because one day, someone may come along and tell us we're the last something, and so it's in our best interests to have a new something in mind. The beauty of "The Last Showgirl" is it makes us hope the characters find theirs.