Pamela Anderson steps into the limelight in Gia Coppola's "The Last Showgirl," a reflective drama that attempts to balance themes of empowerment and vulnerability but stumbles in execution. Positioned as a potential late-career vehicle for Anderson, reminiscent of Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler, the film struggles to reconcile its ambitions with a thin narrative and inconsistent performances. While Jamie Lee Curtis electrifies the screen with a show-stealing supporting role, Anderson's subdued presence often makes her feel like a spectator in her own story.
Set against the neon-drenched backdrop of Las Vegas, the film explores the fading glory of Shelly (Anderson), a veteran dancer of the Razzle Dazzle revue. Once a star attraction, Shelly now finds herself grappling with the closure of the show and her own obsolescence in an industry that worships youth. The story opens with Shelly auditioning for a new act-a sequence as painful as it is poignant, capturing the vulnerability of a performer desperate to hold onto relevance. Anderson's delivery of the line, "I'm 57, and I'm beautiful, you son of a bitch," elicited applause at the film's Toronto Film Festival premiere, though it resonates more as a meta-statement about Anderson herself than as an organic moment within the film.
Curtis, in contrast, delivers a vibrant and unabashedly campy performance as Annette, Shelly's brash and glamorous best friend. Annette's larger-than-life antics, including a standout scene where she dances to "Total Eclipse of the Heart," bring much-needed energy to the film. Curtis imbues Annette with a mix of humor and pathos, offering a glimpse of the resilience and camaraderie among women in the twilight of their careers. Her scenes highlight the lack of depth in Anderson's portrayal, which, while earnest, lacks the charisma needed to anchor the film.
The screenplay by Kate Gersten draws clear inspiration from The Wrestler, echoing its themes of estranged familial relationships and the struggle for dignity in the face of professional decline. Shelly's attempts to reconnect with her daughter, played by Billie Lourd, feel underdeveloped, robbing the narrative of emotional weight. Similarly, the romantic subplot with Eddie (Dave Bautista), a stage manager and former lover, offers moments of tenderness but fails to elevate the stakes.
Visually, Coppola and cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw aim for a stylized aesthetic that captures the faded glamour of Las Vegas. The pink and magenta hues lend the film a dreamlike quality, though the reliance on wide-angle shots often leaves the characters feeling detached from their environment. While this choice may reflect the alienation Shelly experiences, it inadvertently diminishes the intimacy required for the story to resonate fully.
The film's refusal to indulge in the excesses of Vegas spectacle is admirable but also leaves it feeling muted. The audience is denied a glimpse of Shelly's Razzle Dazzle act until the very end, a decision that undercuts the film's exploration of her identity as a performer. When the curtain finally rises on the revue, the moment feels too little, too late, leaving viewers to wonder about the magic Shelly once embodied.
Despite its shortcomings, The Last Showgirl raises important questions about aging, self-worth, and the sacrifices made in pursuit of a dream. Anderson's casting is undeniably symbolic, reflecting her own journey as a cultural icon navigating public perception and personal reinvention. However, the film ultimately fails to capitalize on this meta-narrative, leaving Anderson stranded in a role that demands more than she can give.
Originally Reviewed at The Toronto Film Festival (Special Presentations), Sept. 6, 2024.
