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In a setting that is undoubtedly not far from the truth, “The Devil Wears Prada” takes place in a fashion industry that is an unforgiving, cutthroat business where only the beautiful and strong-minded need apply. One would think that a business that takes itself so seriously would be ripe for a satire, but director David Frankel’s film is curiously short on laughs and long on a tedious main character who isn’t even remotely interesting.
That character is the bland and naïve Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway), who just moved to New York and dreams of becoming a writer. The good news is that she gets a job “a million girls would kill to have.” The bad news is that it’s as an assistant to “Runway” magazine editor Miranda Priestly (a superb Meryl Streep, in a role reportedly based on real life “Vogue” editor Anna Wintour), an industry icon who rules with a piercing glare and not a hint of kindness.
Although Miranda’s normal staff — which includes right hand man Nigel (the always stellar Stanley Tucci) and another assistant named Emily (Emily Blunt) — is used to her domineering ways, the fashion-starved Andy is taken aback by the new job, or at least is until she becomes immersed in all that the superficial, enchanting industry has to offer. When she does change and become “one of them” in a montage set to the tune of Madonna’s “Vogue,” it’s much to the chagrin of her boyfriend (Adrian Grenier), who is left to wonder what happened to the girl he fell in love with.
Hathaway is at her best during the frumpy, fashion-inept beginning when Andy is just a normal girl who is in over her head. When her inevitable transformation into a glamour girl does occur, Hathaway never flips the right switch to make her come alive. It’s not just that Hathaway is of average beauty regardless of the clothes she’s wearing; it’s that a certain sassiness and confidence remains missing from the new Andy, and that’s supposedly what she’s been in need of in order to make the most of the opportunity.
A lack of verve is certainly not missing from Streep, who channels her inner Cruella de Vil to create a bastion of power, intimidation and intelligence. And it’s not just the gazes of contempt for incompetence, or the glistening silver hair that seems extravagant in a world where extravagance is the norm. It’s also her great skill and ability to unleash a litany of harsh invectives to her subordinates without making it seem as though she’s trying to be mean. That Streep can master Miranda is no surprise; it’s a shame Hathaway can’t keep her end of the bargain.
The script by Aline Brosh McKenna (based on Lauren Weisberger’s best-selling novel of the same name) doesn’t help either, as it only allows Andy to go through the standard coming-of-age motions without adding new twists to the mix. If this movie were promoted as a “hot new fashion trend,” it would soon be dismissed as tired, redundant and wholly unoriginal, with only a lone highlight to keep it from immediately getting tossed into the trash.
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