Friday Night with Pamela (and My Parents)

The process started Wednesday.

My mom texted; she'd bought tickets for The Last Showgirl, including one for me, whether I could go or not. I misread the night and said I couldn't go. When she corrected me, saying the show was on Friday, I was faced with a moral dilemma.

My Friday night was open. However, to accept her invitation was to accept that I was, again, going to spend a weekend evening with my folks. As I get older, it hasn't become easier to hang with my parents on weekend nights. Those are reserved for living to my fullest, making mistakes and embracing my finite existence, supposedly. I could have created some yarn about a date or a boys night, but I'm not much of a liar. What if she asked follow-up questions? I'd fold like a cheap tent. I had to accept my fate. Friday night with the parents. I'd done it before; I'll do it again.

My misery was short lived, because I learned that Pamela Anderson was attending the screening. Pam and The Last Showgirl team had decided to host two screenings at the Fifth Avenue Cinema to promote their movie. My mind's prepubescent recesses began whirling. I'd really see Pam in the flesh. Expectations of my social life aside, I was now truly down for movie night.

After a couple drinks with coworkers, I travelled to the theatre. I arrived and was shocked to see Fifth Ave buzzing. A lineup out the door. A step-and-repeat wall, with the movie's title blazoned across it, set up in the foyer. It was perfect for a photoshoot, but I only wanted a picture if it was with Pam. I never had the chance. Woe is me.

My folks were at the seats. I quickly stopped at the theatre bar (Fifth Ave allows you to drink in the theatre, ideal for sober-adjacent folk). Waiting in line for a frosty pint, I started to observe the crowd. Lots of women in their 50s, with botox smiles, long, acrylic nails, and straightened, frayed, blonde hair. It was like Pam Anderson cosplay, only these weren't costumes.

I headed in. My folks sat in a side row of four chairs. My mom by the wall, my dad by the aisle, and two seats between them but only one me. My confusion must've shown, because my mom said, “Your father is being weird.”

That checked out. He's an aisle guy and aisle guys are gonna aisle. I sat next to mom and we chatted. While the theatre filled, a middle-aged woman, not like the one's in the lobby but rather more reserved, stopped at our row. Dad was in her seat. He politely explained why he liked aisle seats and asked if she was comfortable sitting in his seat instead. Luckily, she didn't mind. It was actually a decent icebreaker, as they started talking about leg lengths and what I do for a living.

Then came what I'd waited for. The emcee from the Vancouver Sun introduced Pam. Cheers abound, as she walked the aisle with her two massive security guards, one ahead and one behind.

Pam looked like her peak 2025 self. She dressed conservatively, wearing a long, flowing, beige coat. Her hair was a beautiful, fading blonde. As is her MO, she wore no makeup.

She took the mic and thanked us for attending. She said that she'd picked Vancouver for these screenings because it was near her home in Ladysmith, B.C. That got a pop from the appreciative crowd. Vancouverites are very grateful for special cinema events. We receive so few. Toronto's the bigger market and PR maestros can't see past population numbers. They don't see our passion, but Pam did. The Last Showgirl played at 7:00 and 7:15. Both were sold out.

Pam finished her speech and the lights dimmed. It was showtime. For this special screening, there was no Colonel Kernel and no previews. Straight to the movie.

I'd read articles on Peliplat that critiqued the movie's soft focus. While The Last Showgirl does utilize soft focus, it is not to its detriment. It's a stylistic choice that reflects how Las Vegas, known for its vivid lights, becomes a blur for those that live and work there. The lights lose their lustre and become like any other backdrop of any other city. The soft focus undercuts the city's hypnotic glow. It makes Vegas feel real and tangible, unlike the dream that Sin City sells.

I had not seen Pam in a serious role, before The Last Showgirl. She was stellar as Shelly, and I'm not saying that because I got to see her in person. She not only should be nominated for Best Actress at the Oscars, but she should win. From Shelly's breathy voice to her appreciation for her craft, I believed every beat that Pam performed. One special scene was the dinner date with Dave Bautista's Eddie. Pam's face throughout the scene exposes her racing mind as she struggles between what's right and what's necessary.

You could say that this is the role Pam was destined to play. Her public life has parallels with that of Shelly's. She too is an aging sex symbol who has coped with losing her youth and losing her demand in show business. However, Pam, unlike Shelly, has fantastically pivoted. Pam became a vocal animal-rights supporter and her quiet revolution of never wearing makeup deserves our appreciation.

The small act of refusing makeup has spoken volumes about beauty standards. Her beauty without it reminds us that makeup is an accent, not an essential. It is a reassuring message to everyone that we don't need to cover our skin in toxins to find beauty. It may smooth your skin and hide your blemishes, but it's who you are on the inside that shines to the rest of the world.

I kept waiting for The Last Showgirl to slip. I waited for it to do something cringe or redundant or boring, but it never did. It was a tight 88 minutes and I was entertained the whole time.

The Last Showgirl is a story for disenfranchised workers. It's known that aging people sometimes lack transferrable skills. Retirement, especially forced retirement, doesn't always mean that you can stop working. Sometimes, retirees must still work to cover their basic needs, while retirement cheques can cover the bigger bills. What are a showgirl's transferrable skills? Shelly must continue doing what she knows. However, for her, it's more than a job. It's her passion and her identity.

I understood Shelly's passion for a bygone art form. To her, being a showgirl still meant something. It was her craft. I've studied the Paris of the 1890s, the Belle Époque. Showgirls were at their zenith. They would often double as courtesans and were famous celebrities. Shoutout La Goulue. Shoutout Liane de Pougy. Shelly longs for the past, as I have too, although I try to yearn less and less. Her house feels like it belongs in a second-rate museum, with its plush couch, built-in wall phone and television flanked by red show curtains. We see that Shelly is stuck in the past, but how does one move on from a world that they love?

When it ended, I was in awe. Surprisingly, I had loved The Last Showgirl. Pam was a revelation and the supporting cast was stellar. The director, Gia Coppola, showed great control behind the camera. She has created her best movie so far.

After the credits, Pam returned to the cinema and answered questions from the Vancouver Sun reporter. They were softballs about how she learned about the role and what it was like filming in Vegas. I was curious to learn more about taking direction from Gia and how she prepared to play Shelly, but I never had the chance to ask. Still, it was a treat to see Pam in person and I applaud her for choosing to host these screenings in Vancouver. Most importantly, the movie was fantastic. I enjoyed it; my parents enjoyed it; the random lady sitting with us enjoyed it. It actually turned into a pretty fun Friday night.