The last Showgirl

Las Vegas, a city of neon promises and whispered illusions, has always had a particular talent for seizing beauty, bathing it in light, then discarding it when the glow begins to fade. Gia Coppola's The Last Showgirl is not just a film about this phenomenon, it's a melancholy ballad about women who have abandoned themselves to the spectacle, only to find themselves alone in an empty theater when the music stops. At the center of this film is Shelly Gardner, played with heartbreaking vulnerability by Pamela Anderson, a performer who has spent her life on the Las Vegas strip, believing in the transformative power of feathers, rhinestones and perfectly timed high kicks. Now, as her beloved show Le Razzle Dazzle closes its doors, she must face the one thing she never prepared for: the future.

There's something poetic about Pamela Anderson in this role. The actress, once the epitome of '90s bombshell allure, has spent decades battling an industry and culture that has reduced her to a mere swimsuit fantasy. In Shelly, she finds a kindred spirit - an aging showgirl desperately clinging to a past the world has decided no longer has any use for. Shelly doesn't see Le Razzle Dazzle as just a topless revue; to her, it's a living piece of the Parisian showgirl tradition, a grand spectacle that elevates nudity to an art form. But while she talks of legacy and heritage, her young co-stars, Jodie (Kiernan Shipka) and Mary-Anne (Brenda Song), see it for what it has become: outdated, a relic in a city still thirsting for novelty. They accept the closure with a sigh and a look ahead to the next audition, while Shelly fights it with all her might.

Gia Coppola's film, shot in soft, dreamlike 16 mm, wraps itself around the blurred boundary between memory and reality. The dressing rooms at Razzle Dazzle, with their flickering bulbs and racks full of barely visible clothes, become a sanctuary, a place where time seems to stand still. Outside, the world is on the move. Producers want something fresh, younger, more marketable. Even Eddie (Dave Bautista), the gruff but tender stage manager who clearly harbors deep feelings for Shelly, knows it's impossible to fight the inevitable. Yet Shelly refuses to accept it.

Her resistance is not just about the show, but also about her identity. Shelly has spent decades transforming herself into the perfect showgirl, perfecting every pose, every twirl, every amused wink to the audience. Without the stage, who is she? It's this question that haunts the film, lingering like a last note played in an empty theater. Her estranged daughter Hannah (Billie Lourd) sees her mother's devotion to Razzle Dazzle as a betrayal, a selfish choice that left her to grow up in someone else's house. Their relationship is fragile, marked by unspoken resentment. In one of the film's most painful exchanges, Hannah finally attends a performance, which she coldly dismisses as “a stupid nudist show”. The words fall like a slap in the face, and in Anderson's eyes, we see the crushing weight of a lifetime of sacrifice swept away in a single breath.

If Shelly has a mirror in the film, it's Annette (Jamie Lee Curtis), a former showgirl who saw the writing on the wall years ago and turned to cocktail waitressing. Annette, with her garish red lipstick and wardrobe that screams youth in defiance, clings to the past in her own way, drowning in gambling debts and empty flirtations. In a stunning, almost surreal scene, she climbs, drunkenly dead, onto a table in the middle of a casino and begins to dance - her last desperate attempt to grab the spotlight. No one looks at her. No one cares. The casino floor is filled with the cold hum of slot machines, indifferent to her performance. It's the film's most brutal moment, a stark reminder of how quickly the world forgets the women who made it shine.

Yet The Last Showgirl is not a film about bitterness. There's sadness, yes, but also a strange, quiet beauty in Shelly's refusal to give up. When she auditions for a new show, she does so with unwavering conviction, twirling and posing under fluorescent lights, while the casting director (Jason Schwartzman, deliciously cruel) barely looks up from his notes. When he tells her they're looking for someone younger, she barely reacts. It's a moment of pure devastation, but Pamela Anderson plays it with such grace, such quiet dignity, that it becomes one of the most heartbreaking scenes of the year.

This is not a comeback in the traditional sense. There's no grandiose reinvention, no triumphant final act where Shelly finds a new purpose and rides off into the sunset. The film's final scenes show her dancing alone in her living room, bathed in the light of old black-and-white musicals projected on the walls. She's still beautiful, still moving with the grace of a woman who has spent her life in motion. But the audience is gone. There's only her. And maybe, for the first time, that's enough.

The Last Showgirl
Directed by Gia Coppola
Written by Kate Gersten
Based on Body of Work by Kate Gersten
Produced by Robert Schwartzman, Natalie Farrey, Gia Coppola
Starring Pamela Anderson, Jamie Lee Curtis, Billie Lourd, Dave Bautista, Brenda Song, Kiernan Shipka
Cinematography : Autumn Durald Arkapaw
Edited by Blair McClendon, Cam McLauchlin
Music by Andrew Wyatt
Production companies: Utopia, High Frequency Entertainment, Pinky Promise, Digital Ignition Entertainment
Distributed by Roadside Attractions (United States), Sony Pictures Releasing France (France)
Release dates : September 6, 2024 (TIFF), December 13, 2024 (United States), March 12, 2025 (France)
Running time : 89 minutes

Seen February 18, 2025 at MK2 Bibliotheque, ROOM A

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