The Devil Wears Prada

Directed by David Frankel

Possessing salons nationwide beginning 6/30/2006

What began as a fairly elaborate “screw you” letter to a former boss has morphed into a wish fulfillment fantasy chick flick disguised as a modern morality tale. But even once you finish peeling the layers of The Devil Wears Prada, you have a pretty enjoyable summer entertainment showcasing the work of the greatest film actress of all time as well as a director too silent since his last big screen hit and an ingénue who may turn out to be pretty good now that she has outgrown her princess stage.

Lauren Weisberger poison penned a clever roman a clef entitled The Devil Wears Prada which became the big deal a few years back for the chick lit set. The not-even-barely-disguised Anna Wintour was renamed Miranda Priestly and the Vogue she ran was changed to “Runway.” Mirroring Weisberger’s life, an Ivy League grad with visions of magazine stardom miraculously tumbles into a dream job (“a million girls would kill for this job” we are told endlessly) as the second assistant to Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep), the reigning editor-in-chief of the fashion bible Runway. One of the reasons the job is open is that Miranda’s passive-aggressive demon diva drives everyone nuts. Having gone through a slew of anorexic fashionistas, Miranda decides to take a chance on Andrea (Anne Hathaway) who has arrived at her job interview a schlubby duckling among the designer-clad swans.

But Andy gets the job and even begins to thrive in the pressure cooker world in which grande dame Priestly rules over a cadre of cowed sycophants with equal parts withering sarcasm, arcane rules, and obsessive pedantry. As the title indicates, she is the proverbial “boss from hell” and Andy’s constant challenge is to last out the year which she believes will earn her a dream editorial job with some magazine that is a bit weightier than Runway. Of course, we get the inevitable makeover montage as Hathaway is encouraged to embrace her inner swan, but here it is in response from a withering Streepian takedown in which an Andrea snicker over nuance is noticed by Priestly. The “devil” then delivers a monologue essentially asking her who the hell she thinks she is to be as sanctimonious as to belittle the industry that pays affects even her halt couture as well as paying her salary.

Although Hathaway is promising and Streep remains at the top of her form, an attempt to inject a little dramatic tension into the story by way of some fairly low level ethical dilemmas is the movie’s weakest point. As a modern-day Faust, Andrea faces some fairly minor league difficulties dim enough for even the most star struck members of the audience to vicariously do the right thing. It is also doubtful that the movie’s target demographic will be able to look past the lurid display of designer clothes and accessories (on that level, the movie is borderline porn for the Mirabella set) to see the job as worse than occasionally unpleasant. Similarly, attempts to humanize Miranda by injecting a little sympathy for her ring hollow (we do not really want to see how really sad the Wicked Witch of the West is—unless it comes with singing and dancing). As a cardboard villainess Miranda is delicious. Make us take the whole thing seriously and we see the slightness at the center of Weisberger’s writing.

The rest of the cast rarely surpasses the level of visual props with one exception. Stanley Tucci as Miranda’s most trusted magazine hand, has some terrific scenes including one truly sublime one as a queen who is turned into a pawn in the devil’s hands.

Streep is in her element and seems to be having a lovely time. Although she has played bad girls before, she has not been this evil since she played that rotten Australian mother who killed her baby and tried to blame it on a dingo. Though roughly the same type of movie she has made in the past, Hathaway has much more to work with than in both of her Princes Diaries flicks and is really able to shine. Equal credit goes to screenplay adaptor Aline Brosh McKenna and director David Frankel with both showing a real talent for mixing the thorns into the roses. Frankel in particular is a pleasant presence. The director of Miami Rhapsody (a greatly underrated Sarah Jessica Parker vehicle) a few decades back has returned from television exile with an enjoyable comedy.

–Bill Henry

Images TM and © 2006 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. All rights reserved.
Photo Credit: Barry Wetcher

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