08 Sep TIFF REVIEW – ‘The Last Showgirl’ is the role of a lifetime for Pamela Anderson
With The Last Showgirl, director Gia Coppola crafts a visually lush and emotionally resonant love letter to the women who defined the golden age of Las Vegas. In the process, Coppola delivers Pamela Anderson the role of a lifetime and the kind of redemption comeback story she’s always deserved. Like the city itself, the film brims with a heady mix of glamour and melancholy, celebrating the vibrancy of the world of Vegas showgirls while acknowledging its impermanence. Coppola’s signature sensitivity as a filmmaker shines through in her depiction of Shelly’s story, a character study steeped in grace and poignancy.
Set against the fading neon glow of Las Vegas, The Last Showgirl tells the story of Shelly (a revelatory Anderson), a veteran performer in “Le Razzle Dazzle,” a once-iconic casino stage revue. For decades, Shelly has been the heart and soul of the spectacle, her image still emblazoned on the show’s memorabilia despite its dwindling audience. As the revue faces its final curtain call, Shelly finds herself at a crossroads, grappling with the end of a life she’s always known and the uncertainty of what comes next.
At the same time, Shelly struggles to repair her strained relationship with her daughter, Hannah (Billie Lourd), a burgeoning photographer who resents the sacrifices Shelly made for her seemingly frivolous career. Amidst these personal battles, Shelly forms a tender connection with younger dancers Jodie (Kiernan Shipka) and Mary-Anne (Brenda Song) and finds a steadfast ally in Eddie (Dave Bautista), the gruff yet caring stage manager with whom she shares a complicated history. Together, they navigate the end of an era, revealing resilience, vulnerability, and the power of chosen families.
Anderson delivers a career-defining performance as fading starlet Shelly, a woman both luminous and wounded. Anderson captures the complex interplay of strength and fragility that defines Shelly, infusing her with an authenticity that makes her journey deeply affecting. As noted in many reviews, Anderson’s ability to convey vulnerability without veering into sentimentality is remarkable. Her scenes with Jamie Lee Curtis’s Annette—a former dancer turned confidante—are especially compelling, their camaraderie a testament to the bonds formed in the crucible of shared experience.
Showcasing a depth and openness rarely explored in her previous work, Anderson steps into Shelly’s sequined shoes with a quiet grace, capturing the character’s fragility and resilience in equal measure. Anderson’s Shelly is a woman deeply aware of the passage of time, and that awareness colours her every movement and expression. Her sensitivity is not a weakness but a testament to her strength, as she navigates the uncertainties of a life in transition. Anderson imbues Shelly with a natural charisma that makes her compelling in both her most glamorous and her most unguarded moments, demonstrating an emotional range that elevates the film.
What makes Anderson’s portrayal so remarkable is her ability to communicate so much with so little. Shelly is not a woman prone to grand declarations; instead, her inner world is revealed in fleeting glances, hesitant smiles, and the way she holds herself both onstage and off. Anderson’s performance captures the dichotomy of Shelly’s life: the dazzling showgirl the world sees and the introspective, sometimes lonely woman she is behind the scenes. In her scenes with Curtis, Bautista, and Lourd, Anderson shines brightest, her interactions layered with unspoken history and mutual understanding. This is a role that not only redefines Anderson’s career but also cements her as a performer of extraordinary ability that simply hasn’t been tapped previously.
Curtis delivers a standout performance, bringing her signature blend of wit, warmth, and gravitas to the role of Annette, Shelly’s closest ally. As a retired showgirl who has transitioned into a life behind the spotlight, Curtis captures Annette’s pragmatic wisdom and enduring affection for a world she has left behind. Curtis masterfully portrays Annette as both a grounding force and a mirror for Shelly, reflecting the choices and compromises that come with time.
Whether offering sage advice or sharing a drink during a quiet moment, Curtis infuses the character with authenticity, creating a portrayal that is as memorable as it is heartfelt. Bautista, meanwhile, brings surprising tenderness to Eddie, whose gruff exterior belies a deep well of empathy. Together, they form a found family that grounds the film’s emotional core.
If there’s a weak spot in The Last Showgirl, it’s the subplot involving Shelly’s estranged daughter, Hannah. While Lourd delivers a typically solid performance, the dynamic between mother and daughter feels underdeveloped, lacking the emotional weight necessary to fully anchor their reconciliation. This thread, while essential to the narrative, occasionally feels overshadowed by the film’s more captivating explorations of Shelly’s friendships and professional struggles.
Another minor critique lies in the film’s pacing. At times, Coppola’s commitment to introspection risks slowing the narrative, particularly in the second act. While these moments of stillness are often poignant, they occasionally feel overindulgent, testing the patience of viewers eager for narrative momentum.
That being said, Coppola’s direction is marked by a delicate balance between reverence and realism. While she celebrates the glittering spectacle of Shelly’s life onstage, she doesn’t shy away from its hardships. The backstage moments—conversations over makeup mirrors, quiet tears after a performance—are just as compelling as the grandest dance numbers. Coppola’s ability to find beauty in the mundane is a testament to her skill as a storyteller, turning even the smallest gestures into meaningful beats.
The film’s visual style is nothing short of breathtaking. Cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw frames Las Vegas in a haze of nostalgia, her lens bathing the city in golden light by day and electric vibrancy by night. The use of custom lenses that blur the edges of the frame adds a dreamlike quality, reflecting Shelly’s inner turmoil and the ephemeral nature of her world. The result is a film that feels both intimate and cinematic, drawing viewers into its shimmering, bittersweet atmosphere.
Despite the film’s tendency to fall into melodrama, The Last Showgirl soars as a heartfelt tribute to the resilience of women who have carved out spaces for themselves in a world that often seeks to sideline them. Written with Kate Gersten, the screenplay is peppered with moments of wry humour and sharp insight, capturing the wit and wisdom of characters who have seen it all. And perhaps that’s what lingers most here; its unwavering empathy for its characters.
Coppola’s direction refuses to objectify or pity Shelly, instead presenting her as a fully realised individual whose worth extends far beyond her physical beauty. This perspective is a refreshing departure from the way women in similar roles have often been depicted onscreen, lending the film a quiet but powerful feminist undertone.
By the time the credits roll and Miley Cyrus’ gorgeous original song “Beautiful That Way” starts blaring, The Last Showgirl leaves you with a profound appreciation for the artistry and humanity of its titular character. Shelly may be a relic of a bygone era, but her story is timeless, a testament to the enduring power of reinvention and the beauty of lives lived in full. With its heartfelt performances and nuanced storytelling, The Last Showgirl cements Coppola’s place as a filmmaker of rare sensitivity and vision—and Anderson as a star whose light has only grown brighter with time.
Distributor: Roadside Attractions (U.S.) / Madman Films (Australia)
Cast: Pamela Anderson, Jamie Lee Curtis, Dave Bautista, Brenda Song, Kiernan Shipka, Billie Lourd, Jason Schwartzman
Director: Gia Coppola
Producers: Robert Schwartzman, Natalie Farrey
Screenplay: Kate Gersten
Cinematography: Autumn Durald Arkapaw
Production Design:
Costume Design:
Editors: Blair McClendon, Cam McLauchlin
Music: Andrew Wyatt
Running Time: 89 minutes
Release Date: 10th January 2025 (U.S.) / 20th February 2025 (Australia)