RUTHERFORD ON FILM: ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ Or: Trading Your Soles, Toe Ring and Soul for Runway Glamour
By Tony RutherfordHuntington News Network Writer
Huntington, WV (HNN) -- A young ingénue (Anne Hathaway) straight from a Midwest college journalism program, has the opportunity or the temptation of a lifetime when a head hunting agency sends her on an interview to Runway magazine as Miranda Priestly’s (Meryl Streep) assistant. Although the job allegedly writes your ticket for the future, it’s really a glorified gofer for an unappreciative boss.
However, the sharp workplace comedy, “The Devil Wears Prada,” has a two-layer application --- the fashion magazine industry as a stand-in for all types of “celebrity” and a broader application as symbolism of youthful idealism pitted against corporate America. No, not the cynical rebellion of the “Nine to Five” classic, but a sendup to corporate clones, whose lifestyle adjustments for the sake of a career gather philosophical moss along an otherwise designer label fish out of water laugh fest.
When Miranda hires Andrea “Andy” Sachs (a play on the famous department store, I wonder?), she’s a cerebral yet pretty polyester miss whose plain spoken honesty evokes saucy barbs amongst the other troupers who go for the a superficial reality and hidden sensibly comfortable attire until a minutes before the fashion diva struts into the office.
Initially, the would-be journalist resists the “hints” to get with the program (and do a fashion makeover), but ultimately caves in to preserve her job and win a little praise from the magazine matriarch.
Multi Oscar winner and nominee Streep simmers with crusty pleasure at the opportunity to play an older, wicked witch of New York fashion. Strutting is not enough here, she speaks commands at 120 miles an hour and dumps her expensive duds with menacing meticulousness on the desk of an available assistant.
Etching her place as a queen of mean, she derides moving at a “glacial pace,” catching the “incubus of viral plagues” and has a huffy “that’s all,” which rivals Donald Trumps’ “You’re Fired.” Several scenes hint that her hearts not solid concrete, but Steep’s Miranda recovers steadfastly from partial emotional meltdowns.
On the other hand, Hathaway has tremendous tenacity and range, establishing a strong willed woman or as Miranda calls her a smart fat (size 6) girl who’s disinterested in fashion. Hathaway holds out hastily racing around Manhattan in her polyester sweater and plain, no heel Steve Madden-esque shoes, but soon succumbs to Miranda’s constant criticism and no praise.
Befriended by Nigel (Stanley Tucci), Miranda’s second in command, he answers her whines by dropping a pair of Jimmy Choo’s on her desk. The Jimmy’s are force fed, but her transformation (or fall from grace) comes from her own be a “Miranda girl” circumstances.
Actually, her Gucci , Blahnik, and Prada make over (from Runway’s closet of leftovers) goes too smoothly i.e. no outside of the magazine staff’s ear complaints about tight waists or the toe ring and often bare heels rubbing pointed stiletto shoe leather). The Clothes and approval increase her confidence, although she retains the premise to her friends that she can tolerate this for a year after which she can write her own job description elsewhere in the magazine world.
As Hathaway emerges into the fast paced brushing famous people’s body’s charade, she caves into acceptance almost too unilaterally (except the boyfriend conflict) in anticipating Miranda’s wants and needs. But as her former interpersonal relationships suffer, she has increasingly charged emotionally conflicting hesitation moments, while becoming steadily absorbed into the culture of “me” gluttony.
Those rising inner conflicts jettison “The Devil Wears Prada” beyond a simple “chick flick” or fable about the glamour associated with selling women jackets, shirts, shoes and belts they do not need. Conformity reigns as the real laugh target. Whether in a work related, school related, or nightlife related setting, “image” pressures everyone to pay a fancy price for a garment with an status emblem.
Having and wearing what “everyone else is” pounds into the ears of tykes, singles and parents. “Everybody wants this,” Streep tells Hathaway, referring to celebrity, glamour and camera flashes. Those still wanting eagerly listen to sound bites from a star or model’s life, but few glimpse life off fame’s pedestal.
Thus, the significance of Emily (Emily Blunt) for whom the soul has already been sold amid the eagerness to don the newest and most exclusive threads and soles. Blunt plays her as a stuffy, self-important diva-in-waiting who’s unaware of the fragility of her own position, where whether running in a $1,000 stiletto or ninety-nine cent pair of flip flops, if the heel or prong breaks, you’re still either limping or barefoot on the dusty, dirty, spit-filled burning sidewalks of life.