Unlike most professional endeavours, to commit yourself to the life of an artist, an ample amount of self-delusion is needed to survive. In Gia Coppola’s critically acclaimed indie flick, The Last Showgirl, we meet Shelley (Pamela Anderson), the longest-running performer at Le Razzle Dazzle and one of the few remaining topless showgirls on the infamous Vegas strip. Following dwindling ticket sales and increasing competition from a local circus, stage manager Eddie (David Batista) informs the staff that the show is closing its curtains for good. The film then follows the performers’ remaining final fortnight, and depicts Shelley’s struggle to accept the end of the career she’s committed her life to.
The dancer, now in her late 50s, has been the backbone of the once illustrious establishment, so she is unsurprisingly distraught at its closure, which symbolically marks the death of the art form itself. Perhaps even more heartbreaking is the dismissive responses she receives for her grief from her coworkers, her family, and from the casting director of another local show she auditions for, as she comes to terms with her impending unemployment. Even her closest friend, Anette (Jamie Lee Curtis), who acknowledges the magnitude of this loss for Shelley, tries to convince her to settle down with Eddie in order to gain some financial security.
As the cast prepares for its few remaining performances, Shelley maintains a sense of self-delusion about the show’s decline and her own future. She clings to the glamorous memories of her past (likely adorned with rhinestoned nostalgia), and refuses to acknowledge changes in pop culture along with her own ageing. It’s clear that even those closest to Shelley see her as delusional, but is she just a dreamer? And, given the three decades that she’s been able to call her dream her job, is she wrong for it?
As creative people, it’s natural for many of us to produce creative work – artists love to paint or draw, musicians love to write songs, and dancers love to perform, whether that’s on stage or in their living room, as Shelley does throughout the film as her source of comfort and reconnection to her craft. This is not the hard part of creativity; that comes afterwards. No matter how much rejection you face or self-doubt that creeps in, you have to not only act, but actively believe in your creativity and advocate for this, because on the other side of your goals is the success you wish to achieve. It’s easy to glamorise this success, particularly in creative industries where career success is so often synonymous with public notoriety and admiration, but that in-between, long nights, hard-graft stage is gruelling, and requires a significant amount of self-delusion to make it through with your creativity still intact.
No matter how much rejection you face or self-doubt that creeps in, you have to not only act, but actively believe in your creativity and advocate for this, because on the other side of your goals is the success you wish to achieve.
Through a series of hazy, Super 16mm vignettes, Shelley reflects on the sacrifices she’s made in her staunch devotion to her work – most notably, her strained relationship with her estranged adult daughter, Hannah (Lourdes Leon). The pain in Anderson’s voice is apparent as Shelley justifies the decisions she’s made that have resulted in their distance, and hopes her career choices serve as an inspiration to Hannah to follow her dreams.
There are obvious and almost eerie parallels between Shelley’s and Anderson’s careers, as both navigate changes in the way society views them – once pedastalled as a sex symbol to be adored, then cruelly tossed aside by the very same audience. Anderson’s touching, and only slightly self-referential, performance has been hailed as the return of her career, and this irony is not lost on its lead actor. “You can talk to your best friend, you can go to therapy, but doing an art project heals parts of you that you don’t even know are hurt, all these places that we lock away in ourselves,” Anderson told The Guardian following the warm reception. “If you can unlock those things. And that’s what Shelly did for me. She’s unlocked parts of me that I locked away, and I know I repressed in some way.”
There are stark differences between the actor and character, too. Anderson says her sons are “fiercely protective” of their mother. In fact, it was her son Brandon who sent her the script after it had been rejected by her former agent. Meanwhile, Hannah appears equally disinterested and disappointed with her mother. As well as this relationship, Shelley also sacrifices any chance at a romantic relationship, as we see during her attempted reconciliation with a former flame.
These strained relationships speak to the sacrifices she’s had to make as an artist and as a woman – where society expects you to prioritise motherhood above all personal aspirations – and to the difficulty of maintaining your commitment to your dreams when you don’t have a supportive community around you. Unlike Anderson, it’s clear Shelley has been alone in pursuing her dreams for some time now, and this has undoubtedly contributed to the idealised vision only she still sees about her job.
But, while we see these sacrifices in her relationships and their negative ramifications, Coppola stops short of depicting this as a moral failure. Pursuing any dream will demand sacrifices from you, and ultimately, you will have to become your own biggest cheerleader if you are to have any chance at achieving individual success.
These are powerful takeaways for us all, but especially for those pursuing creative goals – it can be lonely when you’re the only one who sees the value of your creativity. But, while we see these sacrifices in her relationships and their negative ramifications, Coppola stops short of depicting this as a moral failure. Pursuing any dream will demand sacrifices from you, and ultimately, you will have to become your own biggest cheerleader if you are to have any chance at achieving individual success.
Shelley’s colleagues at Le Razzle Dazzle, Jody (Kiernan Shipka) and Mary-Anne (Brenda Song), are considerably younger and don’t hold the same esteem for their job and its rich Parisian history that Shelley frequently reminds them of. Jody, only 19, is also a dreamer like Shelley, albeit perhaps too naive to even consider her future career beyond her next paycheck. Meanwhile, Mary-Anne appears beaten down by industry rejection, and her passion for performing is jaded as she struggles to secure a new role.
This is another important reminder for young creatives, who can observe a unique look at the characters’ varying relationships with their work and their beliefs in their ability to reach their dreams. While Mary-Anne’s perception of the show can be seen to be more accurate to reality, it’s also clear that amongst that, she’s lost the drive and devotion to her job that took her to Le Razzle Dazzle in the first place.
While remaining in touch with reality is, of course, essential to adulthood, The Last Showgirl shows us the need for a somewhat delusional outlook in order to achieve your dreams, especially in the merciless and unpredictable environment of the creative industries.
While remaining in touch with reality is, of course, essential to adulthood, The Last Showgirl shows us the need for a somewhat delusional outlook in order to achieve your dreams, especially in the merciless and unpredictable environment of the creative industries. In the face of judgmental onlookers, competitive peers and repeated rejection, it takes sizeable self-belief to hold strong on the tumultuous journey to long-term success.
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