Showgirls Review

Drifting through America seems rather dangerous. Nomi Malone (Elizabeth Berkley) appears dominant in that position though, the lonely drifter armed with a suitcase and a switchblade. Absolute carnage from the very first seconds comes in the way of a Ford pickup truck. It devolves from there, and it is fantastic. Paul Verhoeven’s misunderstood masterclass. One of many. Its reputation, like that of Starship Troopers and lesser so on Hollow Man, precedes it. Her entry into Las Vegas rattles through the high of a win and the low of a permanent loss in record time, and soon chance encounters and an overreaction that sends chips and tomato sauce flying sets this flashy piece on its way. Showgirls, then, is a fascinating underbelly that skips through time and showcases the deeper, darker state of showy Vegas living.

Dance floor fights, drugs and boozy showcases that rely on sexuality and the powers of it. Showgirls is something else, although it does feel typically Vegas. Robert Davi is at the helm somewhat, a fearful character introduced in leopard print. “This is a classy joint,” precedes the view of the stage, the glitz and filthy glam of the light show, neon and grim throughout Cheetahs and all the other grim places that line the halls of Vegas. It is graphic, well-versed and critical of a scene that Martin Scorsese had leathered with villainy just a few years before with Casino. Gina Gershon is, at the core of this, a fascinating character. Seedy, intense, and paired well with Kyle MacLachlan, there is immunity present to certain characters who dip in and out of the strange side of stripping.

Showgirls presents that as a dimly lit display of tensions. There is little love between the characters or even for them as they struggle on through with dreams of this success or that departure. There is sincere allure to the senses, of a power struggle brewing underneath all of it. Incorporating solid performances is of great benefit, but nowhere as important as the tensions and intensity that comes from the unspoken dynamic present between the likes of Berkley and Davi. Beyond all of that though, beyond the back-and-forth, past the solid performances and the inferences so crucially upsetting to the eyes, is a solid film. Showgirls, as a straight narrative and engaged piece, is great.

Verhoeven’s dedication to showing not just the stage itself but underneath, the grisly bits that kept the likes of Elvis Presley locked down and stuck there, is a fascinating addendum to Showgirls. This pairs well with all the other features from Vegas that came out around the time. That same year saw the release of Leaving Las Vegas, an equally seedy yet publicly accepted view of the dark underbelly of showgirls, drugs and drinking. How one achieved grand success and plaudits while the other was sentenced to sin and disgrace is unknowable, but Showgirls has thankfully been seen in a new light. For all that neon and gutsy glamour, there is at its core a very human tragedy, of finding clarity in a place where people go to lose themselves.