The Devil Wears Prada - Movie Review
The Devil Wears Prada 2006"I don't know why writing literature is seen as a loftier goal than writing books that people really can read on a beach or a plane."
- Lauren Weisberger
"People can read literature on a beach or a plane as well, you stupid twat."
- The Bloody Red Carpet
Since the dawn of cinema, the classic tale of a small town girl who comes to the big city in search of fame, romance and happiness has played out across flickering screens. Hell, Joan Crawford made a career out of it even when her small town girl was looking fifty seven around the blurred soft focus edges. The latest installment in this film staple genre is “The Devil Wears Prada”, based on the ridiculously successful thinly veiled roman à clef by one Lauren Weisberger.
It tells the insipidly simple tale of one Andrea Sachs, but everybody calls her Andy – or stupid, dumb, naïve twat – but we’ll get to that later, played by the lovely and talented Anne Hathaway. She comes to the big, evil city in search of fame as a budding journalist and ends up taking the job of second assistant to the most powerful and influential woman in fashion. We could hit you over the head with the backstory of who that certain powerful and influential woman might actually be, but then we would have to declare you brain dead and really what’s the point?
The ferociously controlling fashion doyenne is played by none other than Meryl Streep, who is having an incredibly fun time playing a cunt in designer togs. And kudos to her! For the main problem with “The Devil Wears Prada”, and there are many – is that we care more for the uptight raving bitch than the lovable small town gal. It doesn’t help that the small town gal is surrounded by a boyfriend and chums straight out of sitcom casting hell, and that she is given fuck all to emote over the course of the screenplay.
Meryl Streep hardly needs an intro at this point, but it service to her craft we will remind you that this not the first time she has parlayed the role of a heartless, vain creature. Starting with her film debut as the society bitch chum of Jane Fonda in the very fine “Julia” – also based on real events, but with a much higher literary pedigree coming from the pen of Lillian Hellman – to her chilling Oscar nominated turn as a seemingly cold hearted mother in “A Cry in the Dark”, to the wickedly self absorbed romance novelist in “She-Devil” and her aging actress in search of the fountain of youth in “Death Becomes Her”.
Now, we are about to enter sacrosanct territory here and confess that while we have been impressed with several of Meryl’s performances over the decades – we have never found her to be a particularly brilliant comedienne. Relax people. Unclench your cheeks and pay attention and learn. For all of Meryl’s vaunted talent and very capable skills with accents and wigs, she has always lacked the ability to truly pull of a soaring comic creation. Her domain has always been one of drama - she is our great tragedienne. Despite the Oscar nomination her turn in “Postcards from the Edge” received, we feel it had more to do with lackluster roles for leading ladies than award caliber comic delivery. The old vet Shirley MacLaine stole that film out from Meryl’s elongated nose and ran with it, due to her finely tuned comic chops.
Here Meryl hits all the right notes and delivers two very fine moments, perhaps the highlights of the film. One, her take no prisoners monologue about the importance of fashion and its own particular “trickle down theory”. And two, when attempting to explain her reasoning for hiring such an unspeakably unqualified assistant as Miss Anne Hathaway, her expertly delivered punchline of “hire the smart fat girl” enters its own quotable quotes lexicon to be heard during two-for-one Happy Hour at Gay Bars the world over.
Which may be precisely the audience for this bizarrely unimaginative but intriguingly well cast (as far as the two leads go) flick. For certainly in the past, we have had more interesting films dealing with the world of high fashion. Hell, the opening ten minutes of “Funny Face” nails it spot on, with more élan and less thumpingly dull filler than the entirety of this sad little flick. And as for the publishing world, as seen from the eyes of a young innocent assistant having to deal with a cold hearted bitch for a boss – well, that was done forty seven years ago with the aforementioned Joan Crawford in “The Best of Everything”.
We sorely miss Meryl when she is not on the screen, not due to any heartfelt realism (although they try unsuccessfully to ram that down our throats with a ludicrous divorce scenario for the Miranda character – why bother to add a human dimension to this woman when she clearly doesn’t need one?), but rather due to the veneer thin tedious relationship drama being enacted by our gal Anne and the hideously freakish Adrian Grenier.
Can we just stop her for a moment and question how this young man with the cleft palette ever entered into a successful acting career? (Although if they ever make a big screen musical version of “Cats” – they need look no further for their Bombalurina!) We know that the knuckle dragging set enjoy his horrid little show on HBO for some obtuse reason, but why transfer him to the big screen to frighten us with his gerbil like jawline and Brillo pad wig and much worse for all involved his complete and total inability to emote on camera? We do register that he has a skootch of charisma that enables him to coast on such difficult lines as: “Hello.”, “Goodbye” and “Hi”. But anything more complicated than that and he simply evaporates into the ether.
It doesn’t help that Simon Baker, that delicious little crumpet from Down Under portrays a viable romantic option for Andy. Go with the Aussie, you stupid girl!
Anne Hathaway may have found her claim to fame with the braces set in a duo of frothy Cinderella inspired junk – but we have a soft spot for her in her brave attempts to venture forth into adult fare. Her lovely supporting work in the fine “Nicholas Nickleby” remake and her very fine turn in last years “Brokeback Mountain” assured us of her talent. A talent that is sadly gone to waste as the formless thing called Andrea Sachs. A seemingly talented journalist that is completely incapable of assessing a situation directly in front of her face is hardly a well thought out central lead. We understand that many young girls expect instant fame and glory by starting out as an assistant, but if you are trying to depict an intelligent young woman paying her dues in the big city, you might want to make her appear, oh we don’t know . . . intelligent?
And that ultimately is the problem with “The Devil Wears Prada”. Hollow characterizations, an unworkable romance subplot and a vapid central character that earns no respect from the audience. When it comes time for the “sweet” Andrea character to triumph over the “nasty” Miranda – we could care less. We might have mustered up the energy to be slightly more interested if the key “transformation” scene from shlubby Midwestern girl to fashionista assistant didn’t come with a wardrobe culled from a nouveau riche Pakistani-housewife-by-way-of-Southampton.
The fault, dear readers lies not in our stars but in our source material, writers and director. A light frothy piece of fiction can sometimes make for a good film adaptation, but typically ends up being a cinematic piece of shit. A director better known for episodic television aimed at the testosterone set may not be the best pick for a film dealing with two allegedly strong female leads set amidst the Condé Nast set.
Stay home and rent “Funny Face” and “The Best of Everything” for a far more satisfying evening. Bless you all!Directed by David Frankel
Screenplay by Aline Brosh McKenna
Based on the thinly veiled roman à clef by Lauren Weisberger
Starring
Meryl Streep as Miranda Priestly
Anne Hathaway as Andy Sachs
Stanley Tucci as Nigel
Emily Blunt as Emily
Adrian Grenier as Nate
Tracie Thoms as Lilly
Rich Sommer as Doug
Simon Baker as Christian Thompson
Daniel Sunjata as James Holt
David Marshall Grant as Richard Barnes
James Naughton as Stephen
Cinematography by Florian Ballhaus
Film Editing by Mark Livolsi
Original Music by Theodore Shapiro
Production Design by Jess Gonchor
Art Direction by Anne Seibel & Tom Warren
Set Decoration by Lydia Marks
Costumes Borrowed from Famous Fashion Houses by Patricia Field’s various assistants
posted by The Bloody Red Carpet at 11:36 PM
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We have another confession to make. We have been huge fans of Superman since the Man of Steel burst from the pages of Action Comics # 1 sixty eight years ago this summer. And since then he has become the archetype of the superhero in bright tights saving the world from despotic villains and crackpot megalomaniacs. While the latest incarnation “
So, of course that means to the bean counters in charge, a whole new franchise is opening up with the latest re-imagining, helmed by Bryan Singer and featuring a lead turn by our future husband, relative newbie Brandon Routh as Supes. Although, our boy Brandon is hardly the first hunk to slap on the famed pair of tights.
Superman made his live action debut way back in 1939 at the famous 
The movies would discover the eternal appeal of a buff man in a flowing cape with Kirk Alyn as Supes and Noel Neill as Lois Lane, headlining the popular 
George Reeves would take over for the early 1950s 
From 
Television again hosted the next generation of Superman’s exploits with Dean Cain and media whore Teri Hatcher playing media whore Lois Lane in “
But it would take the strapping hunky charms of Tom Welling as the WB’s teenage heartthrob Clark Kent in “
To most fanboys and moviegoers the world over, the late 
Bryan Singer sets his revamp, if you will five years after the second film. Maintaining many visual references, included a resurrected ghostly image and voiceover by the late 
It is therefore with a mixed reaction of pleasure and remorse that we admit they almost succeed in supplanting the famed 70s version. Bryan Singer was correct in ditching the “
The casting thankfully succeeds surprisingly well, but never manages to equal the chemistry supplied by the originals. 
As Superman’s most famed arch nemesis, Lex Luthor – 
And as the long suffering but resourceful Lois Lane, 
The supporting players are an uneven gang of vets and newbies. On the veteran front we have Frank Langella’s majestically imposing editor-in-chief portrayal of 
As Supes / Clark’s devotedly doting foster mother, 
And as Superman’s nerdy, camera toting bestest pal, Jimmy Olsen - Sam Huntington rarely rises above collegiate acting requirements, but is thankfully brief in his attempts at humor. (And that camera ain't helping those "
The real surprise here is 
We were thrilled to see the original cape chasing girl reporter, Noel Neill from the 1940s appear in a well done cameo as the fabulously wealthy invalid who falls hook line and sinker for Lex’s scheme to finance his latest plot to conquer the world. And in a bizarre twist or homage to the original, this too involves a real estate scheme. Albeit an alien-technology-misabused-to-destroy-the-North-American-Eastern-Shoreline-reality-scheme, but in a comic book flick . . . why not?
What Bryan Singer does exceedingly well in this movie is to frame the action sequences and special effects in general with a gravity and force that is truly equal to the Man of Steel’s famed reputation. And this film relies on the strength of the Superman myth and our belief that he is the epitome of a super-hero. For when the film begins, Superman has been missing for five years. We learn he has gone to investigate the possible existence of the remains of his long dead homeworld, Krypton. Upon his return, he attempts to ease back into his life as “
Unfortunately for our hero, his heart is bruised to find his beloved Lois in a relationship with the finely chiseled but sadly wasted 
For this film to succeed, we need to believe in the power of a man who can fly, shoot laser beams (Okay, you 
The saving grace is Bryan Singer’s ability to keep a film moving along at a brisk pace, and despite the two and a half hour running time we were never bored. And certainly with the delicious Brandon Routh and some solid supporting work, the actors meshed well enough with their comic book counterparts to sell the material. The only thing missing was the sense of grandeur of the original or those wonderful goose-pimply feelings of watching the legend come to life. Like we felt way back in 1978. We did indeed believe “a man can fly”. Or maybe it was the LSD? Who knows? While we admire Bryan for his gumption and some of his past work, what the Superman mythos really needed was a director like Peter Jackson or Steven Spielberg – one that can handle the digital effects, imbue the film with high powered action sequences and the all important sense of awe. Here, like Supes’ Clark Kent persona we just kind of felt “awwww, shucks”. Bless you all!
Starring
The film uses a technique popularized within the field of documentary: on camera interviews with the actual participants and actors portraying past events that previously went unfilmed. Since the film’s second half is concerned with the systematic imprisonment, interrogation, torturing and brutality that allegedly occurs under the U.S. military’s watch, we somehow doubted the filmmakers would have been allowed to use any actual footage. What emerges from this amalgamation is a striking indictment of the “
The Tipton Three made worldwide 
The first half of the film concerns their naïve collective venture into a return trip to their homeland of Pakistan for a chum’s wedding. During their relatively 
Now, normally we stay away from any cinematic retelling of human stupidity, but what makes the first half of this film the most fascinating, riveting and just plain kick ass storytelling is the directing skills of Michael Winterbottom and Mat Whitecross. Their recreations of the events leading up to their capture alongside a Taliban infused convey is nothing short of brilliant. Alternating documentary footage of the war time suffering with their recreation of events – all of it underscored by a pulsating musical score that sets us on edge and continues to underline the consistently perilous landscape. This is the most basic genius of a director duo who knows how to grab us by the privates and hold our attention at breakneck speed. 
The feeling, texture and scope of this film makes it by far the best thing to come down the pike this year. The cast of relative unknowns who portray the real participants are uniformly fine in their insipid camaraderie and wide eyed naïveté. The comedy of horrors they encounter once they enter Afghanistan and begin to witness the power of the devastation around them is mesmerizing. Unfortunately for the quartet of young men (Yes, there were four original friends. We will leave it to the viewer to witness how the four became the three.), and even worse for the viewers, once they attempt to return to Pakistan they decide to wing it by latching onto the nearest system of transportation. In this case it is a convoy of vehicles filled to the turban with Taliban rebels. Bad choice indeed.
Once captured by the Northern Alliance, they are turned over to the U.S. military as potentially dangerous terrorists and promptly shipped off to Guantánamo where their days and nights of torture begin. And here is where the film falters. For while we have no doubt that a Naval Base run by young soldiers with only a passing knowledge of the world around them during a “wartime” situation is probably not the getaway island weekend most of us dream about, it is also a sharp shift in storytelling gears that never quite matches up to the first half of the film. Forced to sit chained in a crouching position in the blistering sun while being completely covered head to toe, shoved into a two by two chain link cell with a bucket of water to drink and another as a privy, routinely beaten for daring to utter one syllable, dragged off to interrogations where their denials are met with further physical violence – it not only becomes too much for us, but also begins to lose its steam dramatically.
Perhaps knowing the outcome (after all, the actual men are narrating this tale – it ain’t too hard to figure out they make it out alright.) contributes to diminishing our edge of the seat excitement with the proceedings, or perhaps the scenes of imprisonment and torture point up all too quickly their utter ineptitude in being able to explain their original intentions or motivations. It’s like “
The film has already garnered much praise for its visceral retelling of the events, and has started to chalk up the awards beginning with its Silver Bear for Best Direction by Messrs. Winterbottom and Whitecross at this year’s 
If this film has a solid point to make it is probably this. Defending freedom and spreading the notion of Democracy abroad can take some nasty side turns along the way. The question remains: “How far are you willing to sacrifice democracy and freedom in order to protect it?” If we choose to ignore the plight of the Tipton Three, well then we pray on your next vacation on some tropical isle your room service is cold and the cable doesn’t work. Surely that will get Americans riled up enough to investigate the “alleged” goings on at Guantánamo Bay. Bless you all!
