reelreviewsandrecommendations
Joined Oct 2021
Welcome to the new profile
We're still working on updating some profile features. To see the badges, ratings breakdowns, and polls for this profile, please go to the previous version.
Ratings206
reelreviewsandrecommendations's rating
Reviews206
reelreviewsandrecommendations's rating
The partnership of Ringo Lam and Chow Yun-fat has resulted in some brilliant films. Their first collaboration, 'City on Fire,' helped establish Chow as a Bonafide action star, influencing many Western films, notably 'Reservoir Dogs.' Their second, 'Prison on Fire', as well as its later sequel 'Prison on Fire II', kept the box office roaring, while 1992's 'Full Contact' was so blisteringly intense that a 2014 Time Out poll ranked it among the greatest action films ever made.
Their third film, 'Wild Search,' is an electrifying, wildly entertaining ride. A very, very loose remake of Peter Weir's 'Witness', it follows widowed detective Lau Chung-pong, better known, for reasons never quite explained, as Meow-Meow. After a botched raid leaves a young girl orphaned, he finds himself protecting her while forging an uneasy alliance with her aunt Cher. Sparks fly- not just from gunfire, but from unexpected romance. However, with ruthless criminals closing in, sentiment can be as dangerous as a loaded gun.
Screenwriter Yin Nam's narrative is a delicate balancing act. While the film delivers bursts of intense action- expertly staged with Lam's signature grit- it also carves out space for humour, romance and surprising tenderness. The relationship that develops between Meow-Meow and Cher is refreshingly organic, unfolding through shared responsibility rather than forced melodrama.
The trio of Meow-Meow, Cher and Ka Ka, the orphan, anchors the film, their bond growing through small moments- gentle humour, unspoken understanding and the kind of trust that doesn't come easily in a world as unforgiving as theirs. Lam never overplays the sentimentality though, keeping emotions grounded in the characters' lived experiences. This restraint makes their connection all the more affecting, ensuring that when the bullets start flying, the stakes feel personal.
Despite its lighter touches, 'Wild Search' never loses its edge. Lam keeps tension simmering, using the looming threat of violence to remind us that sentimentality can be dangerous in a world where criminals don't hesitate to exploit weakness. This constant push-and-pull between warmth and brutality makes the film richer than a straightforward action thriller, elevating it into something more nuanced.
Visually, it is one of Lam's most striking films. Wai Keung Lau's cinematography embraces a naturalistic aesthetic, capturing both the grittiness of urban crime and the softer, more intimate moments with equal finesse. The film's action sequences, though not as bombastic as those in 'Full Contact' or 'City on Fire', are impeccably choreographed- fluid, impactful and always serving the story rather than overshadowing it. Shootouts crackle with tension, and Lam's skilful blocking ensures that even smaller-scale confrontations feel kinetic and immersive.
Moreover, Tung-Nei Chow's editing keeps things tight and propulsive, balancing clarity in action with breathing room for emotional beats. Chow cuts for impact rather than chaos, ensuring the film never feels bloated or indulgent. In addition, Lowell Lo's moody, atmospheric score enhances both the film's tension and its quieter moments. Avoiding the dramatic swells of typical Hong Kong action films, his music subtly underscores the romance while hinting at the ever-present threat of violence.
Chow Yun-fat, known for his effortless charisma, dials back his usual cocky bravado to play Meow-Meow as a world-weary but compassionate cop, a man whose tough exterior softens as he bonds with Ka Ka and her aunt, played with warmth and depth by his frequent co-star Cherie Chung. She brings quiet strength to the role, making the budding romance with Chow feel natural rather than obligatory. Their chemistry adds an emotional core to the film, giving the quieter scenes as much weight as the shootouts.
Alongside them, Cheuk Yan Chan is fantastic as the young Ka Ka, demonstrating a natural ability and emotional intelligence quite beyond her years. Ku Feng does sterling work as Ka Ka's ornery Grandpa, while Kwong-Leung Wong is similarly good as Meow-Meow's partner Nam. Further, as the villains of the piece, Paul Chun and Roy Cheung ooze menace, bringing a ruthlessness to proceedings that keeps the tension simmering.
In conclusion, Ringo Lam's 'Wild Search' is a marvellous crime flick, expertly balancing romance, comedy and drama. Boasting striking cinematography and a fine score, as well as pulse-pounding action sequences, it fires on all cylinders. Featuring brilliant performances across the board- especially from Chow Yun-fat and Cherie Chung- it is well worth a watch, especially for fans of Hong Kong cinema. In short, 'Wild Search' is worth hunting down.
Their third film, 'Wild Search,' is an electrifying, wildly entertaining ride. A very, very loose remake of Peter Weir's 'Witness', it follows widowed detective Lau Chung-pong, better known, for reasons never quite explained, as Meow-Meow. After a botched raid leaves a young girl orphaned, he finds himself protecting her while forging an uneasy alliance with her aunt Cher. Sparks fly- not just from gunfire, but from unexpected romance. However, with ruthless criminals closing in, sentiment can be as dangerous as a loaded gun.
Screenwriter Yin Nam's narrative is a delicate balancing act. While the film delivers bursts of intense action- expertly staged with Lam's signature grit- it also carves out space for humour, romance and surprising tenderness. The relationship that develops between Meow-Meow and Cher is refreshingly organic, unfolding through shared responsibility rather than forced melodrama.
The trio of Meow-Meow, Cher and Ka Ka, the orphan, anchors the film, their bond growing through small moments- gentle humour, unspoken understanding and the kind of trust that doesn't come easily in a world as unforgiving as theirs. Lam never overplays the sentimentality though, keeping emotions grounded in the characters' lived experiences. This restraint makes their connection all the more affecting, ensuring that when the bullets start flying, the stakes feel personal.
Despite its lighter touches, 'Wild Search' never loses its edge. Lam keeps tension simmering, using the looming threat of violence to remind us that sentimentality can be dangerous in a world where criminals don't hesitate to exploit weakness. This constant push-and-pull between warmth and brutality makes the film richer than a straightforward action thriller, elevating it into something more nuanced.
Visually, it is one of Lam's most striking films. Wai Keung Lau's cinematography embraces a naturalistic aesthetic, capturing both the grittiness of urban crime and the softer, more intimate moments with equal finesse. The film's action sequences, though not as bombastic as those in 'Full Contact' or 'City on Fire', are impeccably choreographed- fluid, impactful and always serving the story rather than overshadowing it. Shootouts crackle with tension, and Lam's skilful blocking ensures that even smaller-scale confrontations feel kinetic and immersive.
Moreover, Tung-Nei Chow's editing keeps things tight and propulsive, balancing clarity in action with breathing room for emotional beats. Chow cuts for impact rather than chaos, ensuring the film never feels bloated or indulgent. In addition, Lowell Lo's moody, atmospheric score enhances both the film's tension and its quieter moments. Avoiding the dramatic swells of typical Hong Kong action films, his music subtly underscores the romance while hinting at the ever-present threat of violence.
Chow Yun-fat, known for his effortless charisma, dials back his usual cocky bravado to play Meow-Meow as a world-weary but compassionate cop, a man whose tough exterior softens as he bonds with Ka Ka and her aunt, played with warmth and depth by his frequent co-star Cherie Chung. She brings quiet strength to the role, making the budding romance with Chow feel natural rather than obligatory. Their chemistry adds an emotional core to the film, giving the quieter scenes as much weight as the shootouts.
Alongside them, Cheuk Yan Chan is fantastic as the young Ka Ka, demonstrating a natural ability and emotional intelligence quite beyond her years. Ku Feng does sterling work as Ka Ka's ornery Grandpa, while Kwong-Leung Wong is similarly good as Meow-Meow's partner Nam. Further, as the villains of the piece, Paul Chun and Roy Cheung ooze menace, bringing a ruthlessness to proceedings that keeps the tension simmering.
In conclusion, Ringo Lam's 'Wild Search' is a marvellous crime flick, expertly balancing romance, comedy and drama. Boasting striking cinematography and a fine score, as well as pulse-pounding action sequences, it fires on all cylinders. Featuring brilliant performances across the board- especially from Chow Yun-fat and Cherie Chung- it is well worth a watch, especially for fans of Hong Kong cinema. In short, 'Wild Search' is worth hunting down.
Sometimes, a twist can make a good horror all the better. Films like Alfred Hitchcock's 'Psycho,' Bong Joon Ho's 'Parasite' and Park Chan-wook's 'Oldboy' each contain unexpected twists in their respective tales that heightens the impact of their narratives. However, tepid efforts like Joseph Ruben's 'The Forgotten,' Sylvian White's 'I'll Always Know What You Did Last Summer' and many of M. Night Shyamalan's offerings prove that not every story warrants a last-minute curveball. Sometimes, a predictable but well-executed scare is far better than a forced 'gotcha'.
Alexandre Aja's 'Haute Tension' (known in English as 'High Tension,' or by the far better title 'Switchblade Romance') falls into the latter category. It follows Marie and Alex, two friends on a trip through rural France, who are targeted by a vicious serial killer. What begins as a taut, brutal slasher with genuine suspense ultimately stumbles under the weight of a twist that strains both logic and patience.
Written alongside Grégory Levasseur, Aja's film begins as a relentless, nerve-shredding experience, paying clear homage to the brutal, no-frills exploitation horrors of the 1970's. Thriving on stripped-down simplicity, there's little in the way of excess, just pure, unrelenting suspense. The kills are visceral, bloody and executed with a savage intensity that will satisfy even the most hardened horror fans.
For much of its runtime, the film is a masterclass in sustained dread. However, instead of delivering a knockout blow in the final act, Aja stumbles at the finish line. The film's momentum comes to a screeching halt, derailed by a twist so absurd it retroactively undermines everything that came before it. Instead of elevating the horror, it forces one to re-evaluate the entire story- not with shock or awe, but with frustration and disbelief.
When this twist is finally revealed, it feels not only unnecessary but out of place, turning what had been a tense slasher into a convoluted mess betraying its earlier effectiveness. The carefully crafted atmosphere of dread is shattered, leaving viewers questioning the film's logic and whether the horror was ever truly genuine. What had been a terrifying experience collapses under the weight of its own contrivance, and the emotional stakes feel cheapened.
This is only worsened by the fact that the characters themselves are thinly drawn, lacking the depth needed to make their fate feel truly impactful. With little to latch onto beyond the immediate terror of their predicament, the film struggles to sustain emotional investment once its central conceit begins to unravel.
In the end, despite a strong start, 'High Tension' becomes a cautionary tale about the dangers of forcing a twist into a story when there is no need for one. Having said that, it does contain some bloody brilliant scenes of gory grotesquerie. From its opening moments, the film throttles one with scenes of unrelenting brutality. The kills are savage, designed not just to shock, but to immerse you in a Thomas Hobbesian world where life is nasty, brutish and short.
Additionally, it is visually striking, with Maxime Alexandre's stark cinematography contrasting the serene beauty of the French countryside with claustrophobic, blood-soaked interiors. This juxtaposition heightens the unsettling atmosphere, amplifying the film's tension.
Complementing this is François-Eudes Chanfrault's minimalistic and urgent score, mirroring the narrative's escalating terror. His use of songs by the likes of Muse and Ricchi e poveri also creates an ironic contrast, adding a layer of dark humour that deepens the film's dissonance.
Furthermore, the performances are strong, especially that of Cécile de France as Marie. Her ability to shift between fear, determination and terror adds emotional depth to her character, making Marie a (mostly) relatable and sympathetic figure amidst the brutal violence. Her performance anchors the film, grounding the escalating chaos even as the narrative grows increasingly outlandish. She elevates the material, making the most out of Levasseur and Aja's scant characterisation.
Maïwenn isn't given much to do other than scream and cry in the role of Alex- though she does that quite brilliantly. In addition, Philippe Nahon makes for a most menacing and memorable villain, elevating a criminally (and perhaps purposefully) underwritten part.
Ultimately, Alexandre Aja's 'High Tension' is a missed opportunity- a brutal ride sabotaged by its own twist. It bears comparison to Greg McLean's far superior 'Wolf Creek', both following a similar premise of two women being stalked by a serial killer in a rural location. While 'Wolf Creek' excels in its seedy realism, sustained tension and pitch-black humour, Aja's film falters with an unnecessary, convoluted twist that detracts from its terror. In the end, despite good performances, an evocative score and some creative scenes of bloodshed, it is high tension in name only.
Alexandre Aja's 'Haute Tension' (known in English as 'High Tension,' or by the far better title 'Switchblade Romance') falls into the latter category. It follows Marie and Alex, two friends on a trip through rural France, who are targeted by a vicious serial killer. What begins as a taut, brutal slasher with genuine suspense ultimately stumbles under the weight of a twist that strains both logic and patience.
Written alongside Grégory Levasseur, Aja's film begins as a relentless, nerve-shredding experience, paying clear homage to the brutal, no-frills exploitation horrors of the 1970's. Thriving on stripped-down simplicity, there's little in the way of excess, just pure, unrelenting suspense. The kills are visceral, bloody and executed with a savage intensity that will satisfy even the most hardened horror fans.
For much of its runtime, the film is a masterclass in sustained dread. However, instead of delivering a knockout blow in the final act, Aja stumbles at the finish line. The film's momentum comes to a screeching halt, derailed by a twist so absurd it retroactively undermines everything that came before it. Instead of elevating the horror, it forces one to re-evaluate the entire story- not with shock or awe, but with frustration and disbelief.
When this twist is finally revealed, it feels not only unnecessary but out of place, turning what had been a tense slasher into a convoluted mess betraying its earlier effectiveness. The carefully crafted atmosphere of dread is shattered, leaving viewers questioning the film's logic and whether the horror was ever truly genuine. What had been a terrifying experience collapses under the weight of its own contrivance, and the emotional stakes feel cheapened.
This is only worsened by the fact that the characters themselves are thinly drawn, lacking the depth needed to make their fate feel truly impactful. With little to latch onto beyond the immediate terror of their predicament, the film struggles to sustain emotional investment once its central conceit begins to unravel.
In the end, despite a strong start, 'High Tension' becomes a cautionary tale about the dangers of forcing a twist into a story when there is no need for one. Having said that, it does contain some bloody brilliant scenes of gory grotesquerie. From its opening moments, the film throttles one with scenes of unrelenting brutality. The kills are savage, designed not just to shock, but to immerse you in a Thomas Hobbesian world where life is nasty, brutish and short.
Additionally, it is visually striking, with Maxime Alexandre's stark cinematography contrasting the serene beauty of the French countryside with claustrophobic, blood-soaked interiors. This juxtaposition heightens the unsettling atmosphere, amplifying the film's tension.
Complementing this is François-Eudes Chanfrault's minimalistic and urgent score, mirroring the narrative's escalating terror. His use of songs by the likes of Muse and Ricchi e poveri also creates an ironic contrast, adding a layer of dark humour that deepens the film's dissonance.
Furthermore, the performances are strong, especially that of Cécile de France as Marie. Her ability to shift between fear, determination and terror adds emotional depth to her character, making Marie a (mostly) relatable and sympathetic figure amidst the brutal violence. Her performance anchors the film, grounding the escalating chaos even as the narrative grows increasingly outlandish. She elevates the material, making the most out of Levasseur and Aja's scant characterisation.
Maïwenn isn't given much to do other than scream and cry in the role of Alex- though she does that quite brilliantly. In addition, Philippe Nahon makes for a most menacing and memorable villain, elevating a criminally (and perhaps purposefully) underwritten part.
Ultimately, Alexandre Aja's 'High Tension' is a missed opportunity- a brutal ride sabotaged by its own twist. It bears comparison to Greg McLean's far superior 'Wolf Creek', both following a similar premise of two women being stalked by a serial killer in a rural location. While 'Wolf Creek' excels in its seedy realism, sustained tension and pitch-black humour, Aja's film falters with an unnecessary, convoluted twist that detracts from its terror. In the end, despite good performances, an evocative score and some creative scenes of bloodshed, it is high tension in name only.
When you think of Las Vegas, an odd assortment of images comes to mind, generally harkening back to another time: classy casinos draped in neon cutting into the night sky, Elvis Presley resplendent and sweaty in a rhinestone jumpsuit, Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra smoking and joking on stage. At the heart of all that spectacle, strutting through the haze of old-school glamour, is the showgirl, the stunning, dancing fixture of Vegas that seems to have been around for as long as time itself.
It may be surprising, but the showgirl has actually all but vanished. 'Jubilee!', the last grand revue, closed in 2016 after 35 years at Bally's. Cultural shifts, changing tastes and finances all played a role- audiences now favour superstars like Adele and Garth Brooks over sequined spectacle. When casinos stopped subsidizing productions in the 1980's, producers ditched the risk, paving the way for residencies, Broadway imports and the odd allure of Cirque du Soleil. While showgirls haven't disappeared entirely, the era of grand, glitzy revues has faded, leaving only traces of its former glory.
With the showgirl now a relic of Vegas's past, Gia Coppola's 'The Last Showgirl' steps in to explore what's left of that glittering legacy. Inspired by the closure of 'Jubilee!', the film follows Shelly, a veteran performer in Le Razzle Dazzle, a classic French-style revue. After three decades on stage, her world is upended when the show's closure is announced. Unsure of what comes next, Shelly must navigate an uncertain future while confronting what it truly means to leave the spotlight behind.
It is a touching drama, resonating on multiple levels. Kate Gersten's screenplay deftly examines the waning days of the showgirl era, serving as both a love letter to classic Vegas and a poignant meditation on aging in showbusiness. Much like Coralie Fargeat's 'The Substance'- though far less grotesque- it explores the physical and emotional toll of an industry built on youth and beauty.
At its core, it is a character study, anchored by Shelly's journey from center stage to a foot-note in the wings. Coppola lingers on the quiet moments- empty dressing rooms, fading lights, the weight of sequins that once felt like armour- painting a deeply human portrait. Through Shelly, the film contemplates the inevitable question for any performer whose identity is tied to the stage: when the curtain falls, who are you without the spotlight?
Beyond Shelly's personal reckoning, the film also explores the toll of her choices on those around her, particularly her strained relationship with her daughter. The screenplay excels in these interactions, with sharp, lived-in dialogue that adds depth to both Shelly and the richly drawn supporting cast.
In this way, the film shares DNA with Darren Aronofsky's 'The Wrestler', Bob Fosse's 'All That Jazz', and again, in a less grisly sense, 'The Substance'. It also has striking real-world parallels to the life of star Pamela Anderson, who, like Shelly, once embodied an era's idea of beauty and spectacle, then to see her status dwindle. Anderson's recent return to Broadway in 'Chicago' was a reclamation of her own narrative- proof that reinvention is possible, but never easy.
These intimate character moments are further elevated by the striking cinematography from director of photography Autumn Durald Arkapaw, as well as Natalie Ziering's lush production design. The neon glow of old Vegas flickers like a fading memory, captured in warm, nostalgic hues that contrast with the stark, impersonal corporate sheen of the city's modernity.
Moreover, Jacqueline Getty and Rainy Jacobs's costumes- especially Shelly's extravagant stage attire- serve as both a reminder of past glory and a symbol of the identity she struggles to hold onto. Complementing it all is Andrew Wyatt's evocative score, full of dreamy, melancholic undertones, mirroring Shelly's own emotional highs and lows. Together, these elements don't just recreate the lost world of the Vegas showgirl- they immerse one in it, making the film not just a story of one woman, but an elegy for an entire era.
Yet, without a strong lead, the film could have easily faltered. Pamela Anderson delivers a career-best performance as Shelly, capturing her fragility beneath layers of feathers and rhinestones. As Shelly- a woman who spent decades in the spotlight, now struggling to find her place in the shadows- Anderson is quietly devastating. While her own public persona adds an intriguing meta-layer to the role, it's her vulnerability, grace and effortless authenticity that make Shelly feel so achingly real.
Furthermore, Jamie Lee Curtis does typically fine work as Shelly's friend Anette, a feisty cocktail waitress whose best years are behind her. Brenda Song and Kiernan Shipka bring nuance and depth to their roles as younger showgirls at different crossroads, while Billie Lourd is equally impressive as Shelly's estranged daughter Hannah. Additionally, Dave Bautista brilliantly underplays the role of Shelly's producer Eddie, and Jason Schwartzman makes a delightfully insidious cameo as a seedy casting director.
Much like the fading neon of old Vegas, 'The Last Showgirl' glows with a bittersweet beauty, paying tribute to an era that refuses to be forgotten. With a spectacular Pamela Anderson at its heart, Gia Coppola's film is both elegiac and deeply human, capturing the quiet heartbreak of life beneath the greasepaint. Showgirls may no longer rule the Strip, but if Shelly- and Anderson's luminous performance- prove anything, it's that true stars never really fade. They just find a new way to shine.
It may be surprising, but the showgirl has actually all but vanished. 'Jubilee!', the last grand revue, closed in 2016 after 35 years at Bally's. Cultural shifts, changing tastes and finances all played a role- audiences now favour superstars like Adele and Garth Brooks over sequined spectacle. When casinos stopped subsidizing productions in the 1980's, producers ditched the risk, paving the way for residencies, Broadway imports and the odd allure of Cirque du Soleil. While showgirls haven't disappeared entirely, the era of grand, glitzy revues has faded, leaving only traces of its former glory.
With the showgirl now a relic of Vegas's past, Gia Coppola's 'The Last Showgirl' steps in to explore what's left of that glittering legacy. Inspired by the closure of 'Jubilee!', the film follows Shelly, a veteran performer in Le Razzle Dazzle, a classic French-style revue. After three decades on stage, her world is upended when the show's closure is announced. Unsure of what comes next, Shelly must navigate an uncertain future while confronting what it truly means to leave the spotlight behind.
It is a touching drama, resonating on multiple levels. Kate Gersten's screenplay deftly examines the waning days of the showgirl era, serving as both a love letter to classic Vegas and a poignant meditation on aging in showbusiness. Much like Coralie Fargeat's 'The Substance'- though far less grotesque- it explores the physical and emotional toll of an industry built on youth and beauty.
At its core, it is a character study, anchored by Shelly's journey from center stage to a foot-note in the wings. Coppola lingers on the quiet moments- empty dressing rooms, fading lights, the weight of sequins that once felt like armour- painting a deeply human portrait. Through Shelly, the film contemplates the inevitable question for any performer whose identity is tied to the stage: when the curtain falls, who are you without the spotlight?
Beyond Shelly's personal reckoning, the film also explores the toll of her choices on those around her, particularly her strained relationship with her daughter. The screenplay excels in these interactions, with sharp, lived-in dialogue that adds depth to both Shelly and the richly drawn supporting cast.
In this way, the film shares DNA with Darren Aronofsky's 'The Wrestler', Bob Fosse's 'All That Jazz', and again, in a less grisly sense, 'The Substance'. It also has striking real-world parallels to the life of star Pamela Anderson, who, like Shelly, once embodied an era's idea of beauty and spectacle, then to see her status dwindle. Anderson's recent return to Broadway in 'Chicago' was a reclamation of her own narrative- proof that reinvention is possible, but never easy.
These intimate character moments are further elevated by the striking cinematography from director of photography Autumn Durald Arkapaw, as well as Natalie Ziering's lush production design. The neon glow of old Vegas flickers like a fading memory, captured in warm, nostalgic hues that contrast with the stark, impersonal corporate sheen of the city's modernity.
Moreover, Jacqueline Getty and Rainy Jacobs's costumes- especially Shelly's extravagant stage attire- serve as both a reminder of past glory and a symbol of the identity she struggles to hold onto. Complementing it all is Andrew Wyatt's evocative score, full of dreamy, melancholic undertones, mirroring Shelly's own emotional highs and lows. Together, these elements don't just recreate the lost world of the Vegas showgirl- they immerse one in it, making the film not just a story of one woman, but an elegy for an entire era.
Yet, without a strong lead, the film could have easily faltered. Pamela Anderson delivers a career-best performance as Shelly, capturing her fragility beneath layers of feathers and rhinestones. As Shelly- a woman who spent decades in the spotlight, now struggling to find her place in the shadows- Anderson is quietly devastating. While her own public persona adds an intriguing meta-layer to the role, it's her vulnerability, grace and effortless authenticity that make Shelly feel so achingly real.
Furthermore, Jamie Lee Curtis does typically fine work as Shelly's friend Anette, a feisty cocktail waitress whose best years are behind her. Brenda Song and Kiernan Shipka bring nuance and depth to their roles as younger showgirls at different crossroads, while Billie Lourd is equally impressive as Shelly's estranged daughter Hannah. Additionally, Dave Bautista brilliantly underplays the role of Shelly's producer Eddie, and Jason Schwartzman makes a delightfully insidious cameo as a seedy casting director.
Much like the fading neon of old Vegas, 'The Last Showgirl' glows with a bittersweet beauty, paying tribute to an era that refuses to be forgotten. With a spectacular Pamela Anderson at its heart, Gia Coppola's film is both elegiac and deeply human, capturing the quiet heartbreak of life beneath the greasepaint. Showgirls may no longer rule the Strip, but if Shelly- and Anderson's luminous performance- prove anything, it's that true stars never really fade. They just find a new way to shine.