Society’s Indictment of Women in ‘The Last Showgirl’
Society’s Indictment of Women in ‘The Last Showgirl’
Behind the scenes of the Vegas glitz-and-glamour typically depicted on the screen, The Last Showgirl is the other, more aptly, darker side of Vegas where neon lights flicker, and dreams are both made and shattered. In the film, director Gia Coppola explores the struggles particularly experienced by women—objectification, commodification of beauty, and ageism—through the poignant story of Shelly, a seasoned performer facing the end of her 30-year tenure in the revue Le Razzle Dazzle.
As the curtains close on her beloved show, Shelly, portrayed with raw vulnerability by Pamela Anderson, confronts the harsh realities of aging in an industry obsessed with youth and beauty. From the film’s slow and mundane opening, one is confronted with the question: what does it mean to be a woman? A woman is usually defined by her uterus and ovaries. To quote Simone De Beauvoir in The Second Sex, “tota mulier in utero: she is a womb.” However, the evolving societal dynamics changed this dictum: she is not a womb but an object. Beauty is her currency and will always define her worth.
Beauty and nature’s unkindness to women
While the commodification of beauty is a familiar narrative, The Last Showgirl reframes it through a deeply personal lens, exposing the brutal reality of a world where a woman's worth is so often tied to her appearance.
As the film unfolds, it reveals beauty as both a gift and a burden; something that holds power but fades with time. Shelly, once admired for her looks, now feels distant from the image that once defined her. In quiet, reflective moments, she runs her fingers over her wrinkles, haunted by the memory of her younger self. These scenes capture the sorrow of living in a culture that worships youth and discards those who age. Coppola treats Shelly’s struggle with care, portraying her not just as a victim of an unfair system but as someone who understands it all too well and refuses to disappear quietly.
Pamela Anderson as Shelly in The Last Showgirl | Roadside Productions
The film mirrors society’s obsession with appearances and challenges the idea that aging is a loss rather than a natural transformation. As Shelly faces the end of her career, she struggles to find a place in a world that no longer sees her as valuable. The dwindling opportunities and the industry's constant pursuit of youth highlight the quiet but cruel ways in which aging individuals are cast aside. Here, the film not only calls out ageism but also the epistemic nature of the way we treat people, particularly women, as they grow older.
Yet within this struggle, the film offers a different perspective on beauty, one that isn’t centered around youth or perfection but experience, resilience, and authenticity. Shelly’s relationships, particularly with her estranged daughter Hannah (Billie Lourd) and her best friend Annette (Jamie Lee Curtis), bring out this idea in a meaningful way. These connections remind us that beauty isn’t something to be held onto desperately but something that changes and potentially deepens over time.
How art becomes an imitation of life
In many ways, The Last Showgirl feels like Pamela Anderson’s own reflection on her career. Once seen as the ultimate symbol of beauty and desire, Anderson steps into Shelly’s world with a sense of truth that feels deeply personal. Shelly, much like her, is not just a person but a figure shaped by how others see her—defined more by expectations than by her own choices.
Anderson’s performance is sincere and free of irony; she doesn’t embody Shelly with distance or detachment but with an openness that feels like an act of trust. She reveals the quiet pain of a woman who has spent years under the public’s gaze, judged and admired in equal measure. Coppola’s approach to feminism in the film is subtle but powerful. I truly appreciate how such feminism doesn’t rely on bold statements or strong, triumphant moments but rather finds strength in vulnerability, in stripping away the illusion of grandeur and showing a woman as she truly is: unfiltered, complex, and simply, human.
Shelly Gazing at Pamela in the Mirror | Roadside Productions
As the film reaches its final moments, Shelly remains the same: unchanged yet fully present, not seeking redemption but simply refusing to disappear; this alone acts as a symbol of defiance. Her ending is not tied to a grand resolution, nor does it offer easy answers about what comes next. Instead, the film lingers in ambiguity, mirroring the uncertainty of real life. The closing scenes blur the line between reality and memory, leaving us to wonder whether Shelly’s final moments on stage are happening or if they exist only in her mind.
Instead of a clear conclusion, Shelly’s future seems unresolved, much like everyone else’s in real life. Towards the end, we are given a sense of recognition of the character—an acknowledgment of her existence beyond the limits of youth, beauty, or relevance. The film does not ask whether she will be okay, nor does it need to: one must simply imagine Shelly happy. It simply affirms that she is here, that she matters, that she is seen. And in that quiet affirmation, there is dignity, resilience, and the possibility of happiness yet to come.
This film reminds us that recognition should not be conditional; that existence itself is enough. Shelly’s journey is not about clinging to the past but about asserting that she and other women like her have always belonged. And perhaps in watching her stand firm, we are forced to reconsider who we allow to take up space, who we choose to see, and what it truly means to be recognized.
