Viking Night: Showgirls
By Bruce Hall
April 19, 2016
BoxOfficeProphets.com
All this time, I have dutifully written a weekly column about cult movies, and not once have I written about Showgirls. This is to my eternal shame, and not just because I have deprived my readership of some easily mined comedy gold. It's because I have deprived myself of the experience. I consider myself a fan of Paul Verhoeven and his brilliant, frequently misunderstood eye for satire and social commentary. This is the man who, over the course of a decade, gave us RoboCop, Total Recall, Basic Instinct, and Starship Troopers - all widely considered cult favorites, if not outright bona fide classics.
Right in the middle of all that was Showgirls, a movie that I admit I'd never seen until now. I'd avoided watching it simply because of the way people discussed it. The word “hyperbole” supposedly dates from the 16th century, but I would argue that use of the word was perfected around 1995. It was in that year that America had a collective hissy fit over this trashy, ambitious, baffling film. Everyone has an opinion on it, and none more so than people who've never even seen it. One such individual recently warned me away from Showgirls, claiming that if Hitler were still alive, it would probably be his favorite film.
Because Showgirls sucks. A lot. Worse than anything ever, and according to this person, that is why they had never actually seen it.
That's just no way to judge something (unless you're Tipper Gore, Dan Quayle or Bob Dole), so I decided to proceed on the assumption that Showgirls was as misunderstood as most of Verhoeven's work. This means that somewhere out there was a NC-17 rated film about exotic dancers, stuffed like manicotti with reams of aggressive profanity, glittering costumes, and jiggling boobs - and I had never seen it. It was literally a gift unclaimed, and only one man in the history of cinema could have created such a thing. He is the same brave, wonderful man who stuffed Peter Weller in a suit of armor and taught him to dance.
Yes. I have been a fool. But no more, for I have finally seen Showgirls, and I can confidently report that Paul Verhoeven is a Golden God. I love this movie so very, very much. Yes, it's a satire, and yes, it's deeply flawed. But there's no way you can't have fun with it, if you're willing to allow it. I had some burning questions as I sat down to experience it: Was it really that bad? Would Hitler really like it?
I believe I have your answers. Let us begin.
First of all, the first five minutes of this film are the last five minutes that are not completely bananas. Nomi Malone (Elizabeth Berkley) is a tall, pretty blonde trying to hitch a ride to Las Vegas, so of course she scores a ride in 11 seconds. The first sign of trouble comes when Nomi pulls a stiletto blade on the driver as he tries to make casual conversation. Berkley's jerky, exaggerated movements make it look like she's having some sort of stroke. Later, the driver tricks Nomi out of her belongings, leaving her stranded. She then throws what can only be called a “vomit spraying tantrum” on the sidewalk, before a stranger offers to help. It's hard to find the words to describe how strange this scene is. Just know that I am imagining William Shatner watching it alone in his living room, rising to his feet and performing a reverent slow clap as a single tear rolls down his cheek.
The sympathetic stranger is a local named Molly (Gina Ravera), who generously buys Nomi dinner, and offers to put her up until she finds a job. Long story short, they become best friends. Nomi finds work as a stripper, because Vegas. Molly has a slightly better gig, making costumes for a show called “Goddess” at the (now demolished) Stardust Resort. That comes with some perks, like scoring your stripper friend backstage passes and getting to meet the Goddess herself, Cristal Connors (Gina Gershon). Nomi and Cristal don't exactly hit it off, but for some reason, Cristal becomes intrigued with Molly's strange new emotionally unstable friend.
What happens next is hard to explain, because the plot begins unravelling at an exponential rate early in the second act: Nomi and Molly go to a club, where Nomi flings herself around the dance floor like she's being electrocuted. This draws the attention of a bouncer named James (Glen Plummer), who becomes obsessed with her and starts following her around. Later, Cristal shows up at the club where Nomi works and orders a lap dance for her boyfriend Zack (Kyle MacLachlan), during which he comes to orgasm as Nomi twitches and spasms like a palsy victim.
Then, because...something...something stuff that happens, Nomi ends up working as a backup dancer for Cristal at the Stardust. Can you see where this is going?
Showgirls is a somewhat fractured attempt to give Las Vegas the “A Star is Born” treatment, with Nomi the young protege and Cristal the aging star. What makes it entertaining is that Cristal simply seems to be attracted to Nomi, so on the one hand she does what she can to push the young dancer's career forward, while on the other making sure to keep the youngster under her sadistic heel. What makes it freaky is Elizabeth Berkley's acting, and the small matter of the plot going completely off the rails. The battle of wills between Nomi and Cristal forms the meat of the second act and it's fantastically diabolical, potboiler stuff. There are catfights, lavish, Vegas quality stage shows, sleazy producers, sex, lies, deceit, betrayal, drugs…
For just a little while, Showgirls is hilarious, trashy fun - and in a way that should have made it a smash. But here's the problem - this is clearly meant to be an obnoxious satire of the Vegas show scene. But it has such an uneven tone that it's difficult to tell what you're supposed to take seriously and what you aren't. The look and feel of the shows are authentic (right down to the cheesy synth pop music that often accompanies Vegas productions), and the way the girls play off each other backstage has a realistic component to it. But there is very little to indicate to the audience that what they're seeing is meant to be heightened or exaggerated. The signposts that accompany say, a Coen Brothers film - signifying that you are watching a satire - are just not present here.
It's blistering mockery packaged as a drama, and the result feels off putting more often than not. But sadly, the most dispiriting thing about Showgirls is Berkley herself. As a protagonist she leaves little to be desired - she's annoying, immature, vengeful and petty - and she seems to have a lot of trouble controlling her arms and legs. Verhoeven famously requested that she portray the character this way, and being a good sport, Berkley complied. I assume it was meant to be funny, but instead it completely disrupts the tone of the movie. The only comparison I can think of would be having Daffy Duck sprint onscreen with a seltzer bottle every time there's a quiet moment.
The plot forks off late in the film to address Molly's fascination with a local singer/songwriter who falls somewhat short of her expectations (to say the least). To elaborate further would be to give away perhaps the film's most unsettling moment. I can see the purpose for what happens, But I believe it was a poor narrative choice that does not fit the rest of the story, and could easily have been replaced with something a bit more...organic. As it is, whatever fun you may have been having up to that point will - I guarantee you - come to an abrupt end.
I can only assume that Joe Eszterhas (Basic Instinct) penned this script in the midst of a peyote fever dream.
I wish I could say all that's required to enjoy Showgirls is (peyote, and) the realization that it's supposed to be funny. But Berkley's unfortunate performance robs the film of its heart, and ended up all but ruining her career. Molly is the only character in the film who is NOT annoying, immature, vengeful and petty - and what happens to her at the end of the film takes the only other sympathetic aspect of the story, kills it, and buries it in a shallow grave. And then there's the final scene, which might have redeemed the whole thing with a clever “fourth wall” aside or something - anything to let you know that what you've just seen is a joke.
And...Verhoeven drops the ball there, too.
In the end, a few minor changes might have made this one of the biggest hits of the 1990s (which is actually is, if you include the $100 million in video sales and rentals Showgirls has since enjoyed). It's worth watching for the satire, as long as you think you can spot it. Cast members like Gershon, MacLachlan, Robert Davi (as Nomi's sleazy strip club boss) and Alan Rachins (as a smarmy producer) certainly seem to be in on the joke (I'm not sure Gershon didn't wink at the camera once or twice). And if you've ever been to a big budget Vegas show, you should (in my opinion) be able to laugh at the absurd level of excess present in the production of “Goddess."
Personally, I think I “get” it. And despite (in fact, because of) the uneven tone, half-baked story and the fact that the protagonist is a (seemingly) mentally disabled stripper, I had an absolute blast with Showgirls. Were it not for a handful of critical miscalculations by the director - such as the last ten minutes feeling like Roger Corman was behind the camera - a lot of others might have “gotten” Showgirls, as well. This is just one man's opinion, but for once I can agree with Hitler on something. Showgirls is one of the most ambitious and audacious films ever made, and though it falls short of actual greatness, this in no way precludes it from being great.
You just have to be looking at it in the right way.