Anne Hathaway, Meryl Streep, Adrian Grenier, Tracie Thoms, Simon Baker, Emily Blunt, Alexie Gilmore, Rebecca Mader, Stanley Tucci
Movie Report
"The Devil Wears Prada," as that spot-on title would indicate, takes place in the world of haute couture. And that pretty much sums up the movie. Otherwise, it would be just another Queen of Mean, boss from hell movie. But, oh, what delicious fun Meryl Streep and her conspirators -- co-star Anne Hathaway, director David Frankel and writer Aline Brosh McKenna -- have with that world and with a woman who would be considered its god except for the fact that Miranda Priestly would probably consider that a demotion. This comic chick flick should enjoy boxoffice success with female audiences in urban markets in North America and Europe.
The film is based on the best-seller by Lauren Weisberger, who did a stint as an assistant to Anna Wintour, the all-powerful editor of Vogue. That novel and now this movie are her revenge: Here is an insider's view of the insane, pressure-cooker atmosphere an outrageously demanding boss can establish in her architecturally pristine executive suite. You might want to sit back from the screen, though, so that Miranda's morning barrage of wraps and overcoats flung at her assistant doesn't hit you.
Hathaway plays Andy Sachs, a fashion-challenged Northwestern graduate who takes a job as an assistant to Miranda, editor of Runway magazine. Her idea is that a year at Runway on her resume will help her achieve her goal of working at the New Yorker. But Andy so doesn't fit the mode.
Nigel (Stanley Tucci in perfect casting), Miranda's fey but tough right-hand man, takes one look at Andy and wonders, in one of the movie's better lines, if there is "a before-and-after piece I don't know about." Yet it is this awkward fashion sense and naivete that actually land Andy the job. All of Miranda's previous assistants, fashion horses in clacking stilettos, have disappointed her. So why not try the nerd?
Installed as Assistant No. 2 under Assistant No. 1, Andy is swiftly cut down to size by Miranda. That would be a size 6, which causes one Clacker to call Andy "fat." (The problem with this line, which is funny, is that Hathaway is the thinnest person onscreen -- a size 4 at worst. Then again, maybe that's why it is funny.)
One day, while whining to Nigel and getting no sympathy, something clicks in Andy's head. She inveigles Nigel into an instant makeover in the magazine's wardrobe room: Gliding out in a Chanel outfit with stiletto Jimmy Choos and a new hairstyle, Andy has now entered the world of fashion.
Frankel and McKenna do a smart thing in not completely demonizing Miranda. Fashion is a serious business in America, and Runway means to remain the bible of that industry. Only a killer editor who takes no prisoners can maintain those standards. So Miranda, and for a while Andy, put their jobs first. Everything else -- husbands, twins and any social life outside of fashion for Miranda, and a boyfriend (Adrian Grenier), coterie of friends (Tracie Thoms, Rich Sommer) and a dreamy novelist (Simon Baker) with romantic ideas for Andy -- come a distant, distant second.
It eventually becomes clear that there is method to Miranda's madness: Her incessant demands are tests to purge staff members who are not up to her own ruthless quest for perfection. Indeed the virtuous moral at the movie's end -- that this is no way to live a good life -- feels hallow because the film displays an unmistakable ambivalence toward Runway. With its grudging admiration for fashion-fabulous costumes and for this glamorous lifestyle, the film idolizes that which it would skewer.
Streep makes Miranda a bit sad and lonely without allowing for even an ounce of sympathy for her character: She has made her choice in life and clearly loves it. Hathaway's Andy has gotten momentarily swept up in the excitement of anticipating and exceeding her boss' demands but realizes she has lost her career focus.
However, Tucci's Nigel has passed the point of no return: He can meet Miranda's demands but has lost control of his life. And Emily Blunt, as Miranda's Assistant No. 1, delivers a comic gem as a woman so enthralled with fashion and service to its diva that her life is in free fall. Only she fails to recognize it.
Designer Jeff Gonchor, costumer Patricia Field and cinematographer Florian Ballhaus outdo themselves in realizing a rarefied world not unlike the one which Cole Porter once satirized in song as "Down in the Depths on the 90th Floor."
(src: hollywoodreporter.com)
