Nomi Malone wants to dance. She wants it so bad she'll claw, thrust, and pool-vomit her way from a Vegas diner to the top of the Stardust Casino's marquee show — and we're along for every glitter-caked, oddly joyless step of it. Paul Verhoeven and Joe Eszterhas set out to make the ultimate NC-17 spectacle and instead produced one of the most gloriously, bafflingly bad movies ever released by a major studio. We're talking about the lap dances that look like seizures, the dialogue that sounds like it was translated into and out of three other languages, and a steak dinner scene that has somehow entered the pop-culture canon.
Join us as we dissect Showgirls — a film so committed to its own vision of sleazy excess that it looped back around into something like camp genius. Is it satire? Is it just bad? Is Elizabeth Berkley giving the bravest performance of 1995 or the most unhinged? We riff, we argue, we never quite agree.
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