Movie Review: The Devil Wears Prada

It’s almost inevitable that the filmed versions of novels suffer in comparison to the original. The structural and storytelling requirements of film all too often flatten characters, compress events, and obscure themes and motives. The film version of Bridget Jones’ Diary completely omitted the novel’s commentary on female self-image and culture, for example. Often, making a successful film from a printed source requires significant transformation of the source material (see Dr. Strangelove [or, indeed, most of Kubrick’s mature oeuvre]; Blade Runner; Apocalypse Now).

However, there is a very small category of movies-from-books where the film not only stands on its own two feet but actually exceeds the original. The Godfather and The Godfather, Part II (also the rare case where the sequel exceeded what preceded it) is the canonical example. And now I have to report that the filmed version of The Devil Wears Prada is another case of the film far exceeding the original (I admit that I haven’t actually read the novel, but by all accounts, it’s both awful and self-serving).

Our heroine, Andrea “Andy” Sachs (her self-selected choice of a boy’s name is supposed to signify her spunky, independent spirit) is supposed to be a brilliant budding journalist seeking entry into the publishing world (she turned down Stanford Law to pursue her dream; one wonders how hard it would be for someone with the record and intellectual firepower to get into Stanford Law to apply to a graduate program in journalism). Anne Hathaway, the actor who plays Andy, is a pretty and appealing screen presence, even in the first act of the film, when she’s saddled with an unfortunate haircut and dowdy clothes (signifying, of course, Andy’s status as a fashion outsider and naif).

Andy somehow manages to acquire a job as second assistant to Miranda Priestly, the wicked witch of the west imperious doyenne and editrix of the entirely fictional Runway magazine (for those of you keeping score at home, Runway=Vogue and Miranda Priestly=Anna Wintour). Priestly rules her magazine - and the fashion world at large - with pursed lips and an air of slight disappointment—an iron fist in a Chanel glove.

Working alongside Andy at Runway is an evil step-sister Miranda’s first assistant, a tart-tounged Englishwoman named Emily (Emily Blunt in a scenery-chewing, scene-stealing turn). Stanley Tucci plays a fairy godmother art director who takes Andy under his wing and helps her fit in.

The film’s fairy-tale setup is a large part of the film’s initial attraction, and Andy’s Cinderella-like metamorphosis from frumpily unfashionable bookworm to sleek, glamourous clotheshorse is, indeed, a sight to behold (the subtextual message, of course, is that the route to being fabulous lies in a makeover). Ill-fitting corduroy and discount-store sweaters are discarded in favor of designers who need only one name; functional flats are replaced by towering stilettos; an unruly, frizzy mane of hair is pared down into a glossy, sleek, swinging do.

Article Author: Paul Frankenstein

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