Fashionably Confident Prada 2 Makes a Legacy Sequel Statement, Just Not a Lasting One
What is there to say about The Devil Wears Prada 2 other than that it is incredibly easy to watch, moderately enjoyable in the moment, and then begins to dissipate from the memory not too long after one exits the theater. Returning screenwriter Aline Brosh McKenna (Cruella) manages to do a semi-convincing job of making a case for this sequel to the 2006 hit’s existence, while director David Frankel showcases the same glossily confident showmanship he also brought to the original. The new film is like a pleasant visit with old friends; just don’t go into it anticipating anything more than that.
And what is it that could bring the core quartet from the first The Devil Wears Prada back together at the same haute couture show after 20 years? Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway), now an award-winning journalist, has been blindsided by her publication’s shock dissolution (courtesy of media consolidation combined with venture capitalism), losing her job via a text message. Meanwhile, legendary Runway magazine editor Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep) is rocked by a scandal that could end her career (the 24-hour news cycle, the explosion of social media influencers, and lax fact-checking all come into play). She needs someone to come in, ease investor tensions, make advertisers comfortable, and give the fashion mag’s features section renewed legitimacy. Enter Andy.
As for Nigel Kipling (Stanley Tucci) and Emily Charlton (Emily Blunt), the former is still with Runway, Miranda relying upon his sage advice (and good fashion sense) more than ever, while the latter is a corporate higher up at Dior who is currently overseeing the construction of the company’s refurbished New York flagship store. Soon, all four are once again sitting in the same room, discussing the latest trends, trading barbs, and more or less being fabulous. There’s not much more to it.
That’s not entirely true. The first half of the sequel genuinely seems interested in digging into current media and editorial trends with surprisingly astute ferocity. Andy is distraught over the way modern news is being delivered to the modern click-swipe-delete audience, and she is even angrier at the way billionaires and venture capitalism are eroding journalistic ethics and First Amendment freedoms. She sees her return to Runway, along with a promised unfettered hand to run the features division as she sees fit, as a last gasp effort to tackle real topics with clarity, intelligence, and nuance for a legacy publication that hasn’t been downsized or sold off to corporate raiders.
Unfortunately, around the midpoint, the plot moves less towards being a high-fashion, 21st-century All the President’s Men and more in the direction of a digitally savvy, sashay shantay redux of The Secret of My Success. Runway is up for sale! The highest bidder doesn’t have the publication’s best interests at heart! Andy fights behind the scenes but makes a horrible mistake! Will she and Miranda be able to bury the hatchet and join forces to save the magazine? Do I even have to ask?
Seriously, the whole second half is nowhere near as interesting as that initial setup is. The backstabbing. The secret plans. The snuggling up to one potential billionaire savior after another. It all grows tiresome. More to the point, it also has the unintended consequence of taking the sting out of Miranda’s trend-setting scorpion’s tale. This is a strong, unapologetic, independent woman. She is no one’s sidekick. Watching her, especially during the third act, become one? It doesn’t quite work. Miranda needing help? Sure. She’s human. That makes sense. Miranda playing second fiddle so Runway can achieve an impromptu victory over those who would destroy it? I can’t buy that, no matter how terrific Streep, Tucci, and Hathaway are in roles they all revisit with assertive aplomb.
Even so, I still spent much of the sequel’s two-hour running time with a smile plastered on my face. Hathaway and Blunt are a dynamite comedy team, and I’d love to see them join forces in an original project. Tucci is a dignified delight, and while Nigel’s sexuality gets oddly neutered this time around, he still brings a smashing gravitas to his performance that I couldn’t have resisted even if I had wanted to. Streep remains a mesmeric force of nature, and whether tossing withering looks of disdain towards those who displease her or sharing touching moments of raw tenderness with Kenneth Branagh (appearing as Miranda’s musician husband Stuart), everything she does is magic.
As for everything else? The fashions remain phenomenal, a banquet sequence set at The Last Supper Museum is inspired, the music is mostly awesome (a runway show set piece featuring one of Lady Gaga’s three new songs written for the film is fantastic), and it’s always nice to get a Tracie Thoms sighting (reprising her role as Andy’s best friend Lily). I could have done without a romantic subplot featuring a charming Aussie (although Patrick Brammall is undeniably hot, so maybe the lady doth protest too much), while Justin Theroux’s overall weirdness as a wealthy playboy didn’t work for me at all (I found him annoying).
I doubt The Devil Wears Prada 2 will have the lasting generational staying power as its predecessor. The plot’s shift from topical social commentary to predictable corporate power struggles (complete with an end credits aerial shot of New York skyscraper windows straight out of Working Girl) is something of a minor letdown. But it’s nice to be back with these characters again, and even if the idea of a fashion magazine saving journalism is a fantasy (just look at what sadly happened to Teen Vogue), it’s undeniably a fairy tale I’d love to see get realized in the real world.
That’s all.
– Review reprinted courtesy of the SGN in Seattle
Film Rating: 2½ (out of 4)
