3.5 out of 5 stars

Shelley (Pamela Anderson) is the titular last showgirl, working in the “Razzle Dazzle” revue since 1987, sacrificing everything to live out her dreams of performing on the Las Vegas strip. And when she learns from stage manager Eddie (Dave Bautista) that her revue is closing down, Shelley’s heartbroken. While her young co-stars Jodie (Kiernan Shipka) and Marianne (Brenda Song) will easily find work elsewhere, fiftysomething Shelley knows she’ll struggle to find work as a performer.

The Last Showgirl does something similar to Anora (2024), which is to humanise the figures on stage. Here, it strips away the mythology behind the iconography of the Las Vegas showgirl. Gia Coppola (granddaughter of Francis Ford Coppola and niece of Sofia) spends more time following the characters when they’re off duty. She’s more interested in portraying an underdressed Shelley, in jeans with no make-up, walking around the grocery store and making dinner with her friends rather than her on stage in feathers and sequins.

This film wants to give these women their dignity back, portraying their work as a noble profession that was the backbone of Vegas. The Last Showgirl could easily have been about any dying working-class industry, from retail to factories. Entertainment isn’t the only world where people are struggling to get back on their feet after losing their jobs in middle age.

It’s reminiscent of Mickey Rourke’s turn in The Wrestler (2010), in stripping back a larger-than-life performer to its essence. Both films have a sense of ambiguity to them; like in real life, nobody is sure where they’re going and the path ahead isn’t clear. It’s frustrating to watch, at times, but it accurately portrays life’s uncertainty.

Shelley has delusions about her career, or perhaps she has high standards for herself. She proudly declares she turned down being a Rockette because it didn’t have the class of Vegas. She has never been an escort, is no chorus line girl, and refuses to lower herself to the vulgarity of modern Vegas shows. To Shelley, modern life lacks the glamour of the past, too crass and degrading compared to her heyday.

The film’s strongest moments are between Shelley and her resentful daughter Hannah (Billie Lourd). Shelley believes she’s been building a better life for her daughter as a single mother, but all Hannah can remember is the loneliness and abandonment of her mother not being there for her. The rawness of the mother-daughter scenes will resonate with any single parent battling the guilt of leaving their child while they work towards their goals. Hannah just sees what Shelley thought was building a career as parading around in rhinestones.

Pamela Anderson (Barb Wire) more than proves herself in her performance. Her acting is remarkably understated and brave. It could be argued that she’s merely playing herself; a former glamour icon struggling to keep up with modern times. However, the former Baywatch (1989-2003) actress bares her soul, especially during the bookended audition scene. There is a sense that Anderson, whose acting roles have been few and far between this century, has lived this character. All the pent-up years of sadness and anger bubble into a three-dimensional and touching portrayal of a middle-aged woman unwilling to give up.

Shelley’s closest friend and mentor is Annette (Jamie Lee Curtis), a former showgirl who aged out of her revue six years prior and now has to earn a living as a casino cocktail waitress. Curtis tries to steal the show with an exaggerated performance that feels like it belongs in a different movie. With bright orange skin and heavy metallic eye shadow, it’s a fearless performance. When Anderson tries to deliver nuance, Curtis is gyrating manically to Bonnie Tyler songs in a scene that is more of a Family Guy cutaway than an organic part of the movie.

Annette and Shelley aren’t pretending to be younger, or trying to keep up with their more youthful colleagues. These women are proud of their age, proud of their lived experiences, and proud of their battle scars. Although both very different performances, Curtis and Anderson embody how many women feel as they reach their fifties and sixties. They’re not pretending to be anything other than middle-aged women, but that doesn’t mean they are ready to give up on their dreams.

Once again, Dave Bautista (Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery) proves he’s more than your standard wrestler-turned-actor. Once you get over his Kris Kristofferson-style wig, he delivers a sensitive performance as a caring yet socially awkward stage manager who has been keeping the lights on at the revue for longer than many others would. He understands his role in the narrative, letting himself step back and let his female co-stars shine.

Unfortunately, Kiernan Shipka’s teenage Jodie and Brenda Song’s millennial Marianne get lost in the mix. Despite being talented actresses, they don’t get the material to match Anderson and Curtis. With three generations of women at the same dressing table, it feels a disservice not to highlight their similarities and differences more. Instead of fully utilising the survivalist Millennial and the peppy teenager’s characters, they turn the pair into cardboard cutouts.

Director Gia Coppola and cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw film the Vegas nightlife with a hazy glow as if someone’s remembering a dream. Their daytime, blue-collar Sin City is raw and aggressive. The cinematography doesn’t always work, as it sometimes looks more like a 1990s home video than a professionally shot movie. The style is better suited to short forms of media, like music videos and commercials, than a full-length film.

Ultimately, this story isn’t about ageing women, showgirls, or Las Vegas. It’s about the death of the American Dream and American iconography. People no longer want showgirls and cowboys, rock and roll, and John Wayne. That version of the US is a fading nostalgia that no longer resonates with people. Every city in America has a discarded industry clinging to tradition, hoping that a sentimental longing for the past can keep the lights on.

The Last Showgirl feels both too short and too long at 89 minutes. The pacing is often slow, lingering too much on irrelevant moments. But, once it’s over, it feels like you could watch another half-hour of these characters and their lives. Despite the short runtime, the movie manages to fully dive into the psychology of a woman struggling to find her place in a world that is moving too fast for her.

USA | 2024 | 89 MINUTES | 2.39:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH

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Cast & Crew

director: Gia Coppola.
writer: Kate Gersten (based on her play ‘Body of Work’).
starring: Pamela Anderson, Jamie Lee Curtis, Billie Lourd, Dave Bautista, Brenda Song & Kiernan Shipka.