The first feature film directed by Gia Coppola, Eleanor and Francis’s granddaughter, is a respectable but unmemorable vehicle for former Baywatch and Playboy pin-up Pamela Anderson. The script has been custom-tailored for her and she comes off well, but the film has only one note to play and that is revealed in the title.
Anderson portrays a forty-ish woman whose old-school Vegas stage show—awash in sequins and feathers—is coming to an end. She has no idea what comes next, as this has been her livelihood for decades and she has no other skills to draw upon. Her now-grown daughter (Billie Lourd) resents the fact that she left her in the car as a child in order to perform—and make a living—and has no idea that the show’s stage manager (Dave Bautista) fathered her.
Jamie Lee Curtis enlivens every scene she’s in as an aging, over-tanned cocktail waitress at the casino who refuses to throw in the towel. She, too, is approaching a dead end in her career (as opposed to Curtis in real life, where she is going from strength to strength.)
The screenplay for this watchable but pedestrian film was written by Kate Gersten, who is married to Matthew Shire, Gia Coppola’s cousin. It’s a family affair up and down the line: the executive producers include cousin Robert Schwartzman and the star’s son Robert Thomas Lee. Another cousin, Jason Schwartzman, turns up as a cold-hearted director who presides over Pam’s audition for a new Vegas show.
I have no issue with anyone who works with their family; after all, nepotism begins at home. I came away from this film with a positive feeling for Anderson who, unlike the character she plays, will probably win other parts on the strength of this endearing performance. I certainly wish her well.