There is always something harsh about aging, especially when pertaining to women. As example, when I reached my 40s, the thing that bothered me was not the typical onset of wrinkles, added cellulite, or grey hairs. But instead it was that people no longer asked what my life plans were. It’s as though they thought, ‘Oh, you’re here now, and this is how you ended up.’ The same can’t be said about the twenty-something who still has not only many years to go but still holds the ‘possibility’ that he or she will develop into someone important. Perhaps it is the mystery of youth—the guesswork that goes into wondering about the success a young child will achieve (or receive) in life. But once that child ages, the situation is not so interesting anymore.
Gia Coppola’s The Last Showgirl is a film about aging, sadness, and dreams. It’s about those who still live in the hope that there is more to come in life, yet to live forever in hope and possibility requires, to an extent, one to lie to one’s self. Pamela Anderson plays Shelly, a 57-year-old Las Vegas Showgirl who has performed in the Razzle Dazzle show since the 1980s—or 30 years. She loves what she does, however when her manager informs her that the show will be closing, she is devastated. This is all she knows. Now what?
Shelly has a 22-year-old daughter named Hannah (Billie Lourd) who is graduating college with a photography degree. Their relationship is strained, but Hannah’s interest in art is an important element of her character, as she is aware that ‘living as an artist’ is difficult, and that to pursue one’s dream can often come with obstacles. This is a significant contrast to her mother, Shelly, who has spent the last 30 years ‘living a dream,’ but to what end? ‘It’s French,’ Shelly says, with regard to the Razzle Dazzle. ‘It has roots in Paris.’ Hannah, however, disagrees. ‘It’s pretty much just a nudie show,’ she says.
Interestingly, The Last Showgirl is shot in such a way that makes us feel like we’re in the women’s dressing room, as the film isn’t about the show but what goes on behind it. The dancers seem to be aware of their situation—‘it pays American dollars,’ one performer says, and none considers herself a ‘great artist.’ Many are just trying to get by because this is ‘good enough’ for now. Yet Shelly is convinced that this show is somehow ‘classy’—even high brow, without actually saying it. Her reasons for loving it are that she likes the lights upon her and ‘feeling beautiful’,( which she equates with power even though she is delegated to the back row, given her age). It’s as though the Razzle Dazzle is the one thing that she can call ‘hers’ and what makes her feel important. Oh, and what is odd about Shelly is that she continually lives in the past, like someone still stuck in the 80s. As example, she uses a wall phone with a cord and dances around with a Walkman. When checking out at the grocery store, she seems bewildered by the self-check lane. It’s as though the world has continued and left her behind.
Her friend, Annette, is a 60-something cocktail waitress played by Jamie Lee Curtis. Her face carries too much spray tan, and she gambles her money away, so much so that she ends up having to live in her car. Yet Annette seems to know what she is and doesn’t delude herself. In one sad scene, Annette gets up to dance to Bonnie Tyler’s ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart,’ yet no one—and I mean no one—looks at her. She might as well be invisible. When it comes time to working the floor, Annette is told to go home, while the younger waitresses get to stay.
One of the most compelling aspects of this film is that it poses the question of who decides what dream is worth living. Who is to say that Shelly ‘wasted it,’ if dancing in the Razzle Dazzle is really what she wanted? Who is to judge? Hannah, however, thinks her mother’s pursuits were frivolous. She even holds resentment towards Shelly for leaving her alone all those years with a Nintendo Game Boy, while she went to work. ‘Was sacrificing my childhood worth this?’ Hannah asks.
Yet Shelly has a gentleness and vulnerability that Anderson renders well. We get the sense that she tried and did what she could to help her daughter, but like anyone, is flawed. And while this is not an Oscar-worthy performance, Anderson is convincing. Granted, there were moments where it felt like she was speaking too much with an affected whisper, but I can’t imagine anyone else in this role.
I must admit this film delivered much better than I anticipated. Finishing at just under 90 minutes, Coppola presents a realistic character and I caught more while watching the second time. To contrast, The Substance was also released the same year, and is a film that also involves women’s aging. While The Substance does present a good horror element, the last quarter tanks into oblivion and absurdity (it is also too long). The Last Showgirl, however, presents many of the same themes, albeit more sympathetically. You actually come to care about the characters (as opposed to Demi Moore’s rendering of Elizabeth Sparkle, who is a rather vain woman).
The Last Showgirl opens with Shelly’s audition for a dancing role (she insists she is a dancer, yet regrettably is not very good). We later witness the same scene near the end, where Shelly ultimately is rejected, and rightfully so. She is simply not very good. (The director doing the rejecting is played by Jason Schwartzman, who I did not even recognize.) ‘You were beautiful and sexy 30 years ago,’ he says. Ouch. Yet nothing he tells her is incorrect. I mean, she simply isn’t that good.
I recommend young writers watch this film because it serves as an excellent exercise in character building. This is conveyed via the small moments (such as when Shelly watches a plane taking off while she remains stuck on the ground—conveying the longing she feels). It also serves as a good source of narrative structure, indicating that characters, even with limited screen time, can create a memorable impact.
Think about it—how many tourists visit Las Vegas, or anywhere, only to stay for a short while and then depart? What of those who remain? Whose modest jobs exist to entertain? What of them? And what if the dream is deemed by some to be not good enough? What is success? Who defines it? Watch to find your answer.
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More from Jessica Schneider: Speaking In Celebrity: Irek Dobrowolski’s “Life and Lost Art of Szukalski” (2018), Forget Bergman, Eat Éclairs: on John Waters’ “Hairspray” (1988), Rhythmic Articulation: Rob Epstein & Jeffrey Friedman’s “Howl” (2010)