In the 2022 HBO docuseries “The Last Movie Stars,” Ethan Hawke raises the possibility that the great Joanne Woodward’s risky role – which could have won the “Three Faces of Eve” star a second Oscar – if she were gone Anders – played a failed starlet who resorts to burlesque to make ends meet. In the adaptation of the William Inge play “A Loss of Roses,” the role was intended for the late Marilyn Monroe, so Woodward stepped in and methodically gave her full throttle. Unfortunately, the studio lost faith, recut the film and gave it a cheesy new title: “The Stripper.”

In another world, The Last Showgirl could have been such a vehicle for its leading lady, Pamela Anderson. Walking the fine line between objectification and empowerment, the project lands amid a charitable reassessment of Anderson’s career, in which memoirs, a Netflix documentary and countless thinkpieces have led some to question whether they may have underestimated the one-time sex symbol. Based on the evidence here, this was not the case. Anderson is a star, but her range is limited and brings little to a sparsely written role – a conclusion reinforced by Jamie Lee Curtis’ natural supporting turn as a slightly older but still sizzling cocktail waitress.

Admittedly, there’s something poignant and vulnerable about Anderson’s decision to play a Las Vegas dancer who’s lost her sparkle. Shelly joined the revue “Razzle Dazzle” in 1987 (two years before “Baywatch” debuted on television) and sacrificed everything – including the traditional duties expected of parents – to pursue her dream of appearing on the Strip. More than three decades later, she finds it difficult to keep up with the younger girls, whom she treats like adopted daughters. While Jodie (Kiernan Shipka) and Marianne (Brenda Song) are flexible enough to get other jobs, Shelly is blown away when she hears from stage manager/old flame Eddie (an unusually gentle Dave Bautista doing his best, Kris Kristofferson). that the show closes.

Director Gia Coppola’s The Last Showgirl opens with Shelly’s first audition in ages. It’s painful to watch. She’s rusty and the guy doing the hiring (played by another member of the Coppola clan) is harsh in his feedback. Shelly’s knee-jerk response – “I’m 57 and I’m beautiful, you son of a bitch” – drew applause at the film’s premiere at the Toronto Film Festival as the audience heard Anderson, not Shelly, speak those confident words. Her statement may be valid, but there is something pathetic, not to mention unprofessional, about the way she delivers it. Does Shelly not know how an audition (or her industry) works?

“The Last Showgirl” is more realistic than usual and makes it clear that Shelly has standards. She could have been a Rockette, but chose Vegas over the chorus. She doesn’t accompany on the side and she doesn’t do the kind of raunchy adult show that Las Vegas audiences are looking for these days. Shelly tells her daughter (Billie Lourd) that her routine has its roots in France, sounding self-deluded. Coppola holds back any footage of the “Razzle Dazzle” show – in which Shelly and her posse preen like peacocks in their sequined bodices and feathered headpieces – until the end, instead promising a behind-the-scenes look at these deities.

But without that magical spotlight, they seem ordinary or sometimes endearingly cheesy. No one wants to see a fantasy object buying groceries or balancing their checkbook, and lest that seem sexist, know that the same goes for racers, soldiers, and superheroes. “The Last Showgirl” aims to recapture the nobility of these women and remind them that they are real people with their own dreams and disappointments. But a little more dimension would have gone a long way. While this lack of detail means you can read pretty much whatever you want into the role, Anderson’s hesitant performance drains the character of her supposed charisma.

This is especially true in scenes with Curtis, who plays her outgoing best friend Annette like she’s the MVP in a Christopher Guest movie. While Anderson does her WYSIWYG no-makeup thing, a Kabuki-crazed Curtis applies silver eyeshadow and a more fluorescent orange bronzer than Donald Trump, outshining her shy, whispery co-star. Not that anything can match the sight of Curtis gyrating on the casino floor to “Total Eclipse of the Heart” – a spectacular exercise in trust that the film can’t handle.

Although Anderson ends up feeling like a supporting character in her own film, her involvement certainly felt like a coup for Coppola, who treats her casting the way The Wrestler did a former Mickey Rourke. This film is so clearly the model that screenwriter Kate Gersten had in mind – right down to the title character’s bumbling attempts to patch things up with an estranged daughter – that it’s hard not to compare the two. Where “The Wrestler” was about life and death, “The Last Showgirl” just asks how Shelly will cope when “Razzle Dazzle” comes to an end. For those who have dedicated their entire careers to a single company or activity only to be put out to pasture, this might be enough.

Vegas is an ideal place to explore the washed-up debris of the American dream, just as The Misfits did with Reno. But this film had a heartbreaking script, and it had Marilyn. “The Last Showgirl” has access to Las Vegas but defies the cliched shots Paul Verhoeven did in his polar opposite “Showgirls” film. DP Autumn Durald Arkapaw observes with a floating wide-angle camera, reducing the city—and the recently demolished Tropicana casino—to a blurry background (sometimes not even the characters are in focus). A final pass in post-production emphasizes the pink and magenta tones in particular, giving the entire film a distinct, faded glossy feel. Still, you know something is wrong when Anderson disappears into the woodwork in a film.