The Last Showgirl started and I couldn’t tell
If the movie sucked or I was unwell
Saw it with somebody calling it art
Five stars glowing from their Letterboxd heart
So maybe I’m bitter, maybe I’m mean
Maybe I just wanted more from the screen

Step the fuck back with the camera lens
I can see her face, don’t zoom again
Shaky close-ups, blurry lights
Making one hour feel like nine

This could’ve been a short film masterpiece
Forty tight minutes, bittersweet
Instead it wandered, overdressed
Beautiful mess at absolute best

Pamela Anderson was good — let me say that first
That dinner scene absolutely hurt
Outside of that? Rehearsal energy
Like everybody still finding the key
And Kiernan Shipka felt dropped in from another film
While Billie Lourd mostly just existed within

But Brenda Song?
Baby, she ate
Give her ten more scenes and raise my rating
Meanwhile the wig stylist saw Jamie Lee Curtis
And chose violence without hesitation

Step the fuck back with the camera lens
I can see her face, don’t zoom again
Shaky close-ups, blurry lights
Making one hour feel like nine

This could’ve been a short film masterpiece
Forty tight minutes, bittersweet
Instead it wandered, overdressed
Beautiful mess at absolute best

And maybe I’m exhausted
By Hollywood family trees
Every Coppola branch keeps growing
Till it blocks the light from me
Drain the swamp of nepo dreams
Take the industry badges please
If I see one more artsy montage
I may dissolve dramatically

Step the fuck back with the camera lens
You don’t need another fence shot again
One good dinner scene can’t save
Pacing digging its own grave

Still there’s something tragic underneath
About faded stars and lost belief
I wanted more than almost-great
But “almost” was the film’s whole fate