The Last Showgirl (2024) Review
When you think of Las Vegas, an odd assortment of images comes to mind, generally harkening back to another time: classy casinos draped in neon cutting into the night sky, Elvis Presley resplendent and sweaty in a rhinestone jumpsuit, Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra smoking and joking on stage. At the heart of all that spectacle, strutting through the haze of old-school glamour, is the showgirl, the stunning, dancing fixture of Vegas that seems to have been around for as long as time itself.
It may be surprising, but the showgirl has actually all but vanished. ‘Jubilee!’, the last grand revue, closed in 2016 after 35 years at Bally’s. Cultural shifts, changing tastes and finances all played a role- audiences now favour superstars like Adele and Garth Brooks over sequined spectacle. When casinos stopped subsidizing productions in the 1980’s, producers ditched the risk, paving the way for residencies, Broadway imports and the odd allure of Cirque du Soleil. While showgirls haven’t disappeared entirely, the era of grand, glitzy revues has faded, leaving only traces of its former glory.
With the showgirl now a relic of Vegas’s past, Gia Coppola’s ‘The Last Showgirl’ steps in to explore what’s left of that glittering legacy. Inspired by the closure of ‘Jubilee!’, the film follows Shelly, a veteran performer in Le Razzle Dazzle, a classic French-style revue. After three decades on stage, her world is upended when the show’s closure is announced. Unsure of what comes next, Shelly must navigate an uncertain future while confronting what it truly means to leave the spotlight behind.
It is a touching drama, resonating on multiple levels. Kate Gersten’s screenplay deftly examines the waning days of the showgirl era, serving as both a love letter to classic Vegas and a poignant meditation on aging in showbusiness. Much like Coralie Fargeat’s ‘The Substance’- though far less grotesque- it explores the physical and emotional toll of an industry built on youth and beauty.
At its core, it is a character study, anchored by Shelly’s journey from center stage to a foot-note in the wings. Coppola lingers on the quiet moments- empty dressing rooms, fading lights, the weight of sequins that once felt like armour- painting a deeply human portrait. Through Shelly, the film contemplates the inevitable question for any performer whose identity is tied to the stage: when the curtain falls, who are you without the spotlight?
Beyond Shelly’s personal reckoning, the film also explores the toll of her choices on those around her, particularly her strained relationship with her daughter. The screenplay excels in these interactions, with sharp, lived-in dialogue that adds depth to both Shelly and the richly drawn supporting cast.
In this way, the film shares DNA with Darren Aronofsky’s ‘The Wrestler’, Bob Fosse’s ‘All That Jazz’, and again, in a less grisly sense, ‘The Substance’. It also has striking real-world parallels to the life of star Pamela Anderson, who, like Shelly, once embodied an era’s idea of beauty and spectacle, then to see her status dwindle. Anderson’s recent return to Broadway in ‘Chicago’ was a reclamation of her own narrative- proof that reinvention is possible, but never easy.
These intimate character moments are further elevated by the striking cinematography from director of photography Autumn Durald Arkapaw, as well as Natalie Ziering’s lush production design. The neon glow of old Vegas flickers like a fading memory, captured in warm, nostalgic hues that contrast with the stark, impersonal corporate sheen of the city’s modernity.
Moreover, Jacqueline Getty and Rainy Jacobs’s costumes- especially Shelly’s extravagant stage attire- serve as both a reminder of past glory and a symbol of the identity she struggles to hold onto. Complementing it all is Andrew Wyatt’s evocative score, full of dreamy, melancholic undertones, mirroring Shelly’s own emotional highs and lows. Together, these elements don’t just recreate the lost world of the Vegas showgirl- they immerse one in it, making the film not just a story of one woman, but an elegy for an entire era.
Yet, without a strong lead, the film could have easily faltered. Pamela Anderson delivers a career-best performance as Shelly, capturing her fragility beneath layers of feathers and rhinestones. As Shelly- a woman who spent decades in the spotlight, now struggling to find her place in the shadows- Anderson is quietly devastating. While her own public persona adds an intriguing meta-layer to the role, it’s her vulnerability, grace and effortless authenticity that make Shelly feel so achingly real.
Furthermore, Jamie Lee Curtis does typically fine work as Shelly’s friend Anette, a feisty cocktail waitress whose best years are behind her. Brenda Song and Kiernan Shipka bring nuance and depth to their roles as younger showgirls at different crossroads, while Billie Lourd is equally impressive as Shelly’s estranged daughter Hannah. Additionally, Dave Bautista brilliantly underplays the role of Shelly’s producer Eddie, and Jason Schwartzman makes a delightfully insidious cameo as a seedy casting director.
Much like the fading neon of old Vegas, ‘The Last Showgirl’ glows with a bittersweet beauty, paying tribute to an era that refuses to be forgotten. With a spectacular Pamela Anderson at its heart, Gia Coppola’s film is both elegiac and deeply human, capturing the quiet heartbreak of life beneath the greasepaint. Showgirls may no longer rule the Strip, but if Shelly- and Anderson’s luminous performance- prove anything, it’s that true stars never really fade. They just find a new way to shine.