The Devil Wears Prada
Meryl Streep's masterful performance as fashion magazine editor-in-chief Miranda Priestly, whose icy hauteur and acidic condescension makes for a most irresistible injection of venom into what would otherwise be a typically sugary Anne Hathaway Princess Diaries installment. Hathaway's latest everygirl-makes-good avatar is wannabe writer Andrea "Andy" Sachs, a mousy, walking fashion faux pas who gets more than she bargained for when she becomes second assistant for monstrous Miranda. After much bitchy belittling, cue the haute couture makeover for Andy, not only in a aesthetic but also an attitudinal sense, as she soons finds herself nipping at the heels of Miranda's high-strung first assistant (Emily Blunt) and her new time-c
onsuming career also consuming her personal life. That's all well and bland, even with Hathaway giving what is perhaps her first unannoying performance ever (and, yes, I include her bewigged Brokeback Mountain turn as one of said infractions), so leave it to Streep to exponentially elevate the proceedings with a terrifically shaded turn that goes beyond the bitchery; one can see how Miranda uses the glacial snootiness as a defensive suit of armor as well as how Miranda, however abrasive as she can be, is able to command admiration and respect, even fierce loyalty, with her stern professionalism. Of course, it doesn't hurt that Streep can drop biting zingers with exacting Swiss clock precision. Further adding to the flavor are a nicely understated Stanley Tucci as a no-nonsense longtime colleague of Miranda's and scene-stealing up-and-comer Blunt, who dominates the screen whenever she shares it with Hathaway--a feat that would Miranda make proud. -- Michael Dequina, Mr. Brown's Movies.
Meryl Streep's masterful performance as fashion magazine editor-in-chief Miranda Priestly, whose icy hauteur and acidic condescension makes for a most irresistible injection of venom into what would otherwise be a typically sugary Anne Hathaway Princess Diaries installment. Hathaway's latest everygirl-makes-good avatar is wannabe writer Andrea "Andy" Sachs, a mousy, walking fashion faux pas who gets more than she bargained for when she becomes second assistant for monstrous Miranda. After much bitchy belittling, cue the haute couture makeover for Andy, not only in a aesthetic but also an attitudinal sense, as she soons finds herself nipping at the heels of Miranda's high-strung first assistant (Emily Blunt) and her new time-c
onsuming career also consuming her personal life. That's all well and bland, even with Hathaway giving what is perhaps her first unannoying performance ever (and, yes, I include her bewigged Brokeback Mountain turn as one of said infractions), so leave it to Streep to exponentially elevate the proceedings with a terrifically shaded turn that goes beyond the bitchery; one can see how Miranda uses the glacial snootiness as a defensive suit of armor as well as how Miranda, however abrasive as she can be, is able to command admiration and respect, even fierce loyalty, with her stern professionalism. Of course, it doesn't hurt that Streep can drop biting zingers with exacting Swiss clock precision. Further adding to the flavor are a nicely understated Stanley Tucci as a no-nonsense longtime colleague of Miranda's and scene-stealing up-and-comer Blunt, who dominates the screen whenever she shares it with Hathaway--a feat that would Miranda make proud. -- Michael Dequina, Mr. Brown's Movies.
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