‘The Last Showgirl’ offers a distracted portrayal of a dazzling vision

Director Gia Coppola’s glittering new film “The Last Showgirl” opened in theaters on Jan. 10. In her return to screen, Pamela Anderson personifies the epitome of a star as a Vegas showgirl even while the film struggles to redeem a discursive narrative through its haze of stunning, artful visuals.

The heart of the Las Vegas French-style revue “Le Razzle Dazzle” is Shelly Gardner (Anderson), a convivial starlet who shares her home with the women in her act. After 30 years of dancing on the Las Vegas Strip, her world falls into sudden disarray when her show is scrapped to be replaced with a more lucrative circus act. Under the decorative grainy 16mm film and handheld zoom-ins, Coppola explores the larger existentialism of identity that becomes rooted in performance. She hones in on the geriatric showgirl, the cliché of being discarded in her industry as she grapples with the sacrifices her work demanded and where the loss of it all leaves her.

Though a high-strung concept, the slice-of-life vision is never fully realized in the vague scenes. The context of Gardner’s relationships takes far too long to materialize yet the viewer picks up on tensions in her various interactions, at a total loss for what has caused them. It is hard to feel immersed in the serious moments through the dizzying movement of the shots, where focus is pulled every which way in a scene meant to grasp the viewer.

Gardner’s scenes with Hannah (Billie Lourd) remain mysterious for the better part of the film. In her introduction, Gardner is surprised to see her at her door. She then invites Hannah in and asks her very basic things, like her living situation and her major. All these scenes take on a new light once we learn they are mother and daughter — and clearly estranged, but this is revealed far too late into the film. Since Gardner’s role as a mother informs so much of her regret and strife in life, the late reveal makes the confusion of their dynamic more irksome and their narrative hard to follow. 

There are more similarly charged moments between characters where the dialogue and subtle looks are explained further down the line — at which point it becomes difficult to recall what has been said and has not. Gardner’s familial relationship with some of the other showgirls without further context demonstrates a neglect of the show-not-tell rule. Further, her moments with the producer consistently hint at some conspiratorial intrigue that is largely left unresolved in the film.

Perhaps unintentionally, the film attempts to indulge its audience through cinematography. Though without any concrete storytelling, the choice comes across as mostly hollow. As an abundance of montages place Gardner in aesthetic locations staring off into the distance, it appears Coppola relies far too heavily on stylized emotional appeals over establishing depth. 

Gardner’s serious voice-overs throw in brave quotes that feel unjustified with the lack of story developed around them. 

“Our mothers are not saints or saviors, just doing the best they can with the tools they have,” the narration announces minutes after Gardener is revealed to be the mother of Hannah. 

The narrative is further compromised by the over-reliance on montages to progress time, adding to the pile of underdeveloped context between scenes.

In other cinematic scenes, the dazzling dulls in an instant. There is an exciting focus on the dolled-up emergence of these showgirls, righting their headdresses and dabbing makeup backstage. However, all it leads to is traversing clinical halls and stairs with an imposing sterile look. The glam-up leading nowhere is severely underwhelming and far too repetitive an occurrence to not become mystifying. Do these women ever make it to the stage?

One shortcoming in these backstage sequences is strangely a strong contribution to the argument of the female gaze. Amid shots of sometimes nearly nude women, Coppola’s portrayal of showgirls rarely translates as anything sexual. Erotic objectification is decidedly absent from the story as a whole, a choice so entirely foreign to the stereotypical depiction of women in these roles. Instead, they are granted personhood outside this objectification — so apparent that it becomes the primary lens through which you regard the showgirls. It casts their profession into merely a supporting detail. It is unexpected that a movie starring Anderson as a Vegas showgirl offers little enticement to a male audience, marking Coppola’s vision as quite revolutionary next to the clichéd portrayals of women in similar media.

Despite the weak storytelling, Coppola still manages some evocative scenes. A male director informs Gardner that she lacks talent and was once cast for her youth and sex appeal, now diminished by her age. The rejection rattles her, and Gardner tearfully lashes out. 

Anderson’s portrayal of the moment is powerful and raw. The attitudes of her perception compared to her endearing personality throughout the film paint the scene in a much harsher light, the distaste of his words repeating in bold echoes in the viewer’s mind.

The finale follows Gardner giving her last performance for “Le Razzle Dazzle,” and the sequence is shot in total reverence. The camera lingers on her face, capturing the full range of Anderson’s acting, wielding the charm and vitality she brings into the role to deliver a finally meaningful scene. Her movement is magnetic and still conveys her sweetness, her innate joy in being able to dance the dance she has loved all these years, one last time. 

Maryam Qazi is an Arts and Entertainment Intern for the winter 2025 quarter. She can be reached at qazimf@uci.edu.

Edited by Lillian Dunn.

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