Her POV: ‘The Last Showgirl’ is a moving glimpse of an artist’s journey

Published Feb. 2, 2025, 11:31 p.m., last updated Feb. 3, 2025, 12:09 a.m.

Editor’s Note: This article is a review and includes subjective thoughts, opinions and critiques.

I often bristle at the term “career-defining performance” because it flattens the work required of acting in different genres. However, it is an apt way to describe Pamela Anderson’s work as Shelly in “The Last Showgirl” (2024). Anderson is given the best material of her career, and in turn, she elevates it and makes up for the minor weaknesses of the film.

Directed by Gia Coppola, “The Last Showgirl” is a workplace and family drama centered on a Las Vegas cabaret act, Le Razzle Dazzle, the only remaining show of its kind with grand costumes, elaborate sets and glamorous dancers. Shelly is the reluctant matriarch — a performer who has been with the show since the 1980s and was once the face of the brand. Her brood includes Mary-Anne (Brenda Song) and 19-year-old Jodie (Kiernan Shipka). Stage manager Eddie (Dave Bautista) and former Razzle Dazzle dancer turned cocktail waitress, Annette (Jamie Lee Curtis), serve as the stoic father figure and eccentric aunt, respectively. 

During an impromptu girls’ night at Shelly’s home, Eddie shows up and causes a major vibe shift. He reveals that Le Razzle Dazzle is being canceled to dedicate more resources to a popular bawdy circus act. Mary-Anne and Jodie  must scramble to find new gigs, while Shelly faces the possibility that she might have to find a new career due to her age. An analog woman uneasy in the digital era, Shelly clings to the time when Las Vegas showgirls were “treated like movie stars” and served as “ambassadors for style and grace.” There is a running bit used to position her as an analog woman who is uneasy in the digital era. From the self-checkout register that refuses to scan her items to a finicky car door and smoke detector, modern devices constantly give her trouble. 

Another challenge is Shelly’s strained relationship with her daughter Hannah (Billie Lourd). In one scene, Hannah expresses her reservations about pursuing a career as a photographer. Her mother excitedly encourages her to follow her dreams. Hannah regards the outpouring of emotional support with disbelief — artist is the role Shelly was too busy playing during Hannah’s childhood to be a reliable mother to her.

Anderson’s incandescent turn as Shelly makes it clear why the actress was first-time screenwriter’s Kate Gersten first choice for the part. The role trades in on Anderson’s status as a sex symbol who couldn’t shake being objectified. Much of the action occurs in transitional spaces —the parking lot outside of the venue, backstage and in the hallway and staircases of the venue — and it’s a pleasure to watch her inhabit these spaces. When she’s not contemplatively taking a drag on a cigarette, she is practicing her moves. Shelly declares that she enjoys feeling good and beautiful on stage, and Anderson’s portrayal reveals how a performer gains mastery over her stage persona: the repetition of movements, but with the intention of making them look fresh when done in front of an audience. 

Lourd is similarly well-suited to play Hannah. She and Anderson do not look alike, but their shared scenes show the genius of the casting. Their faces telegraph the same incredulity at the fact that their characters have been dealt bad hands. Shelly may not have been an active mother, but she was present enough for Hannah to pick up on her mannerisms.

Although the conflicts between several characters are well-defined in the first act, the resolutions are unsatisfying. The development of Jodie’s connection with Shelly comes at the expense of Mary-Anne’s character arc, which is given the short shrift. The mom-shaming Shelly receives from Hannah is warranted, albeit difficult to watch. Whether Shelly was aware of the impact of her negligence is the right question. However, when a coworker presses the issue, Shelly avoids wrestling with how she plans on showing up for adult Hannah, instead litigating her past choices. 

Ultimately, I enjoyed watching Anderson so much that I hung around the theater for twenty minutes after the credits rolled to buy another ticket to watch the movie a second time. My desire to see it again was informed by feeling as if I didn’t spend enough time with the characters, — the film’s run time is a compact 89 minutes — but I was too impatient to wait for the next screening. 

On the drive back to campus, I noted the irony of how much I enjoyed watching an artist hone her craft during interstices, yet I couldn’t keep myself occupied for a little under two hours. Art can present us with a portrait of how we would like to be — dedicated and focused — instead of how we really are in the present moment.

Blyss Cleveland is an Arts & Life staff writer and Screen columnist for Vol. 266. “A Place in the Sun” is one of her favorite movies, but she dislikes the ending.

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