The Last Showgirl plays like an unofficial remake of The Wrestler, swapping the blood and sweat of the ring for the sequins and spotlight of Vegas. Both films follow ageing performers—past their prime, clinging to fading identities—wrestling (pun intended) with obscurity, regret, and the desperate need to feel seen. Pamela Anderson's turn as Shelly echoes Mickey Rourke's Randy "The Ram"—not just in character, but in career. Both actors bring the weight of their public personas, blurred and bruised, to deliver raw, redemptive performances.
The film itself? It's a solid, humanistic take on female ageing, but what truly sets it apart is its clear feminist lens. It's engaging enough, though the ending lands with a bit of an "Oh… that's it?". The film lacks resolution in its conclusion and throughout, as several scenes and characters feel abandoned, seemingly sacrificed for a shorter runtime. It often feels like a longer, more refined film was chopped up in the editing suite, leaving behind unresolved fragments. A co-worker tearfully bangs on Shelly's door in the middle of the night, only to be turned away with no follow-up, leaving an emotional thread dangling. Then there's Jamie Lee Curtis' indulgent, unexplained Bonnie Tyler dance routine: an act of rebellion? A sign of desperation? Or just there to fill time?
What truly elevates the film above its script is the cast. Pamela Anderson's performance is not just magnetic; it's transformative. She becomes Shelly in a way that blurs the lines between character and actor. Dave Bautista's performance, though quiet, is reverential and a departure from his previous roles. Jamie Lee Curtis adds a touch of comic relief and makes the most of her limited screen time.
With this performance, Pamela Anderson has shown a new side of her acting abilities. This could mark a new chapter for her onscreen, a promising future having reclaimed her personal narrative, just as Shelly fights to reclaim hers.