Words by JANE CROWTHER
We wait ages for a film about older women challenging the patriarchal box they’ve been put in and then a slew come along at once. Where The Substance raged at societal stands of beauty and Babygirl rallied women to own their own orgasm (glass of milk or not), The Last Showgirl explores the liminal moment that women age out, lose relevance in a world driven by youth, beauty, novelty.
Much has been made of Pamela Anderson’s ‘comeback’ as lead, playing Shelly, a sequin-clad cabaret girl whose dreams were made by becoming a star in a Las Vegas cabaret show that boasts rhinestones, feathers and boobs. Now 57, Shelly still clings to the magic she sees in her role while Vegas changes around her. The show she’s taken so much validation from is set to close (edged out by a cleaner vibe for Sin City) and as she struggles to reconnect with her daughter (Billie Lourd) she goes through a grieving process – not only for the end of a Vegas era but the close of a chapter of her life.
As she auditions for other shows and lies about her age under the glare of a bored producer (Anderson’s dated routine seems almost quaint and is strangely moving), Shelly talks through the new future that might face her with her friends; former hoofer turned casino cocktail waitress, Annette (Jamie Lee Curtis), gentle giant stage manager Eddie (Dave Bautista) and fellow dancers Jodie (Kiernan Shipka) and Mary-Ann (Brenda Song). While the two younger showgirls might continue in the business, it’s clear that Shelly’s next steps lie either in a change in direction or in following Annette into the humiliation of wearing sexy uniforms for gambling punters who don’t want to look at her in them.
While Anderson is a delight as Shelly – soft, gentle, beguilingly delusional – she almost loses the film to Curtis. Both women have dancing sequences that stick in the memory long after the slight, well-worn narrative has faded; Anderson a final bow of self-respecting shimmying in a spotlight that aches with yearning for the past, and Curtis, in a rageful wig-out on the casino floor. With her mahogany tan, pearl lipstick and cheap costume, Curtis puts a world of experience into her furious gyrating that the script does not afford her.
As a dreamy salute to the women who danced for Vegas, The Last Showgirl works thanks to its engaging and empathic performances. And serves as an opening act to tease what Anderson might surprise with next…
Words by JANE CROWTHER
Pictures courtesy of Roadside Attractions
The Last Showgirl is in cinemas now
