In 'The Devil Wears Prada,' Meryl Streep

Plays the Terror of the Fashion World

Meryl Streep, flanked by bodyguards and besieged by paparazzi, in David Frankel's film
version of the best-selling novel "The Devil Wears Prada."Credit...Barry Wetcher/20th
Century Fox
The Devil Wears Prada
Directed by David Frankel
Comedy, Drama
PG-13
1h 49m

By A.O. Scott
 June 30, 2006
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NO man is a hero to his valet. So the saying goes, or used to go, since few men these
days actually have valets. But a great many people, men and women alike, heroic at
least in their own estimation, have assistants, who scurry after coffee and dry
cleaning, endure bursts of foul temper, bask in tiny glimmers of generosity and
dream, for long hours at low wages, of revenge. For the legions who have suffered
the caprice and cruelty of a tyrannical boss, "The Devil Wears Prada," Lauren
Weisberger's best-selling roman à clef about a bright young woman's brief period of
servitude at a fashion magazine, provides the satisfaction of vicarious payback. Its
portrait of Miranda Priestly, the imperious editor of a glossy rag called Runway, is a
collage of unforgiven slights and unforgotten grudges, glued to the page with pure,
righteous venom.

Ms. Weisberger's moral was simple, and hard to dispute: Nobody, however
glamorous, successful or celebrated, has the right to treat another person the way
Miranda treats her assistants, in particular the narrator, an eager Ivy Leaguer
named Andy (short for Andrea) Sachs. But now that "The Devil Wears Prada" is a
movie, starring Anne Hathaway as Andy, the lesson is not quite so unambiguous.
I will leave the business of point-by-point comparison to scholars, who will duly
note that the screenwriter, Aline Brosh McKenna, and the director, David Frankel,
have reimagined a few characters, discarded some plot developments and
implanted others, and switched Andy's alma mater from Brown to Northwestern.
When these specialists convene a learned panel to discuss their findings, a vigorous
debate is likely to emerge. Does the movie, especially in the way it imagines
Miranda, betray the novel or correct it?

The literary Miranda is a monster. Ms. Weisberger, restricting herself to Andy's

point of view and no doubt giving voice to her own loathing of the real-life editor on
whom Miranda is modeled, resisted the temptation to make her villain a complex
(or even a terribly interesting) character. But the screen Miranda is played by Meryl
Streep, an actress who carries nuance in her every pore, and who endows even her
lighthearted comic roles with a rich implication of inner life. With her silver hair
and pale skin, her whispery diction as perfect as her posture, Ms. Streep's Miranda
inspires both terror and a measure of awe. No longer simply the incarnation of evil,
she is now a vision of aristocratic, purposeful and surprisingly human grace.

And the movie, while noting that she can be sadistic, inconsiderate and
manipulative, is unmistakably on Miranda's side. How, really, could it be
otherwise? In Hollywood, for one thing, an abused assistant is, like a Toyota Prius,
an indispensable accessory — an entitlement, really — for anyone who even wants
to seem powerful.

And while the film makes some gestures of sympathy toward the underlings, it does
not stray too far into class-conscious hypocrisy. Quite the contrary. It is a movie
unapologetically, or maybe semi-apologetically, fascinated with power. The worlds
of high fashion and slick journalism, a convenient backdrop for Ms. Weisberger's
Gothic fable of captive innocence, are here held up for knowing, fetishistic
delectation.

In this version the vicarious thrill is not payback but rather conspicuous
consumption: all those lovingly photographed outfits and accessories, those
warehouses' worth of Chanel and Jimmy Choo, those skinny women decked out (by
the tirelessly inventive Patricia Field) in expensive finery. "The Devil Wears Prada"
does exactly what the real-life counterparts of Runway magazine do every month,
which is to deliver the most sumptuous goods imaginable — or fantasy images of
them, in any case — to the eager eyes of the masses.

And why not? Mr. Frankel, who directed many episodes of "Sex and the City" (and
who is a son of Max Frankel, a former executive editor of The New York Times),
knows just how to infuse a spectacle of refinement and exclusivity with a feeling of
democratic good cheer. He and Ms. McKenna also know how to mock without
sneering, and how to acknowledge that fashion is a serious business without taking
it too seriously.
Image
Anne Hathaway, left, Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci in "The Devil Wears
Prada."Credit...Barry Wetcher/20th Century Fox

Several carefully staged, pointedly written scenes defend Miranda on feminist

grounds. Other moments reveal her vulnerability, and she occasionally takes time
from her daily routine of spreading fear and anxiety wherever she goes to extend
meaningful and sympathetic glances in Andy's direction. She also explains that
while her kingdom of couture may seem like a shallow and trivial place, it is also a
domain where power, money and art commingle to influence the choices and
aspirations of women everywhere.

Andy may think that her drab blue cable-knit sweater is an emblem of virtue, a sign
that she can't be bothered with the superficial obsessions that drive Runway, but
Miranda insists otherwise, and the movie supports her view. Further tributes to
Miranda's genius — and to the glorious tradition of journalism she represents — are
offered by Nigel (Stanley Tucci), her loyal lieutenant, who becomes Andy's friend
and protector.

That awful sweater is soon replaced by a series of glorious ensembles presented in

one of many swirling, breathless montage sequences, all of which drive home the
point that fabulous clothes are, well, fabulous. And who will argue? A few people
try, notably Andy's boyfriend, Nate (Adrian Grenier), an aspiring chef who mopes
into view every now and then to remind her that she's losing sight of the things that
really matter. Tell it to Gourmet, pal.

Mr. Grenier, who effortlessly incarnates the shallow hedonism of the celebrity
culture every Sunday night on "Entourage," is maybe not the best guy to be giving
lectures about the ultimate hollowness of fashion and fame. And in any case Nate
doesn't seem to mind the sexy lingerie that Andy brings home from the office.

The scenes in which Andy is warned that she is straying from her down-to-earth,
nice-girl values are flimsy to the point of insincerity. And Ms. Hathaway, even
made over with shiny bangs, flawless makeup and toe-squeezing footwear, is
nowhere near as interesting to watch as Mr. Tucci, who has never been better, or
Ms. Streep, whose perfectionism has rarely seemed so apt. Nor, for that matter,
does Ms. Hathaway hold the screen against Emily Blunt, the British actress ("My
Summer of Love") whose portrayal of Emily, Miranda's senior minion and Andy's
office rival, is a minor tour de force of smiling hostility.

Ms. Hathaway shakes off her blandness only toward the end, when, in a climactic
trip to Paris, Andy is drawn perilously close to her boss's chilly flame, and where
her intermittent flirtation with a rakish magazine writer (Simon Baker) gathers
steam. But for most of the movie Andy is a cipher, whose function is to bring us
closer to Miranda, the devil we are, after all, dying to know. In the movies no valet
can be a hero. And in "The Devil Wears Prada," it turns out, vengeance belongs to
Miranda Priestly.
"The Devil Wears Prada" is rated PG-13 (Parents strongly cautioned). It
has strong language and sexual situations.
The Devil Wears Prada
Opens today nationwide.

Directed by David Frankel; written by Aline Brosh McKenna, based on the novel by
Lauren Weisberger; director of photography, Florian Ballhaus; edited by Mark
Livolsi; music by Theodore Shapiro; production designer, Jess Gonchor; costume
designer, Patricia Field; produced by Wendy Finerman; released by 20th Century
Fox. Running time: 106 minutes.

WITH: Meryl Streep (Miranda Priestly), Anne Hathaway (Andy Sachs), Stanley
Tucci (Nigel), Emily Blunt (Emily), Simon Baker (Christian Thompson) and Adrian
Grenier (Nate).