Director - Gia Coppola 
Cast - Pamela Anderson, Jamie Lee Curtis, Dave Bautista, Brenda Song, Kiernan Shipka, Billie Lourd, Jason Schwartzman
Duration – 85 Minutes
 
“The Last Showgirl” is the kind of movie that pulls you in with all the glitz and glam of Vegas, but leaves you feeling like you’ve been whirled through a kaleidoscope of neon lights, memories, and dreams. It’s a dizzying ride that plays with the space between fantasy and reality, and it’s absolutely worth the trip.
 
Directed by Gia Coppola, this 85-minute jewel opens with a moment of pure tension: Pamela Anderson, playing Shelly, a fading burlesque dancer, lies about her age—claiming she’s 36 while getting ready for her big audition. The camera lingers on her face, all hesitation and longing, as if she’s desperately trying to hold onto a youth she knows is slipping away. If you were expecting the typical glammed-up starlet, think again. Shelly is messy, complex, and frazzled. And Anderson? She’s stunning. This is no campy comeback; it’s an understated performance that makes you realize how much we’ve underestimated her.
 
Now, let’s talk Vegas. The city of dreams—or should I say, the city of artificial dreams. Where the lights shine so bright, they almost blind you to the fact that there’s nothing real behind the dazzle. This is the world Shelly occupies. She’s been part of the Le Razzle Dazzle revue for decades. Backstage, she’s like a mother figure to the younger dancers—complaining, reminiscing, and most importantly, talking. She has this mix of confidence and insecurity, the kind that comes from being in the business for too long but never quite accepting that maybe it’s time to step off the stage.
 
The film, which feels as textured as Shelly’s glittering costumes, spends a lot of time showing us her world: the mundane moments of costume changes, the forced cheerfulness of the backstage banter, and the growing weight of Shelly’s unspoken regrets. These women are holding onto a dream, but it’s clear—Vegas doesn’t care about dreams anymore. They are disposable. But Shelly refuses to let go of hers, no matter how washed-up or worn out she feels.
 
Then, enter The Daughters. Shelly's estranged daughter, Hannah (played by Billie Lourd), serves as a bittersweet reminder of the real consequences of Shelly’s choices. Their relationship is fractured, painful, and, honestly, so real—like that one conversation you have with your mom that cuts deep but also makes you realize just how much you’re like her.
 
But here’s the genius of The Last Showgirl: it’s not just Shelly’s story. The movie delves into the lives of other women—older dancers like Annette (Jamie Lee Curtis), who’s traded burlesque for a waitress job at a casino. The chemistry between these women is electric, but it’s also tender. They’ve seen it all, but they still have to face each other’s truths, all while clinging to a job that’s slipping through their fingers.
 
Coppola’s choice to omit the actual dance numbers for much of the film is fascinating. We’re left to imagine what these women are really like on stage. When the performances finally appear on screen, they don’t come with judgment—they come with context. By the time Shelly takes the stage, we aren’t just seeing a showgirl. We’re seeing someone who has fought, struggled, and, most importantly, lived to be there.
 
The cinematography by Autumn Durald Arkapaw is a visual feast. The 16mm grain and the swirly, dreamy framing capture not just the physicality of Vegas but its soul—grimy, dazzling, and altogether unreal. You can almost feel the heat of the stage lights and the weight of Shelly’s decades-old regrets through the lens. The framing, the colors, the slight distortions—it all feeds into the themes of aging, memory, and illusion.
 
Anderson shines, not in a “look-at-me” kind of way, but in a subtle performance that takes you on a rollercoaster of emotions. She’s fragile and bold in equal measure, unafraid to show Shelly’s vulnerable, self-loathing side. It’s painful to watch—and yet, you can’t look away. The best part? Her breakdowns aren’t neat. They’re messy and raw, the kind you might experience in the dark, alone, wondering where the years have gone.
 
However, while the movie is visually stunning and filled with evocative moments, it does leave a few things underexplored. The subplot with Shelly’s former lover, or the quick resolution of conflicts within the showgirl ensemble, feels a little rushed. But hey, this isn’t about neat resolutions. It’s about the uncertainty, the waiting, the what’s next?—which is why it works.
 
In short, The Last Showgirl is a meditation on what happens when the spotlight fades, and we’re left with nothing but our own reflections. It’s about the price of beauty, the cost of time, and the way life’s biggest regrets always seem to catch up with you. The dazzling lights of Vegas might promise you everything, but at the end of the day, they can’t hide the mess beneath.
 
And if you’re looking for a film that’s both introspective and a sensory overload, this one’s got all the answers—wrapped in glitter, regret, and a whole lot of soul.