However, don’t take that to mean that The Devil Wears Prada was any less “high concept” than other summer movies. With its ties to a moderately scandalous bestselling novel, a soundtrack packed with familiar pop tunes new and old, and a divaesque central performance by Meryl Streep that quickly had people murmuring “12th Oscar nomination,” Prada was as pre-packaged a movie event as they come. It even had its own unique brand of special effects in the form of a nonstop parade of high couture, thus taking name-dropping to new heights. Sure, the style maven name dropping is justified, if not required, by the film’s story, but you know that Jimmy Choo, Oscar de la Renta, Calvin Klein, Fendi, and the like don’t at all mind hearing their names dripping from the mouths of cinematic beautiful people with the kind of reverence usually reserved for long-deceased master artists.

The heroine of the story is Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway), a young woman just out of college looking for meaningful employment in New York City. Armed with her Northwestern University diploma, a portfolio of serious articles about topics like a janitor’s union strike, and the best of intentions, she winds up landing a gig at the fictional Runway magazine, the Bible of high fashion. Andy, of course, doesn’t fit in at all--she wears frumpy sweaters, eats carbs, and basically breaks every other high fashion commandment, including not knowing who Miranda Priestly is.

Miranda Priestly is the editor-in-chief of Runway, a position from which she extends her influence across the globe. As played by Meryl Streep in one of those truly scene-stealing turns that makes you thankful that genuine character actors still exist, Miranda is a humorless, driven, grandiose diva who moves through a wake of devoted minions everywhere she goes. With a shock of brilliantly gray-white hair and a stare that can melt flesh, she commands every space she enters and demands of others the impossible. Her manner of speech is strong, clipped, and only as long as it needs to be; she clearly has not the time nor the inclination to entertain anything she feels is beneath her (which is just about everything).

There are a few brief bits scattered about that suggest the film is potentially interested in the gender dynamics of Miranda’s power, floating the idea that, if she were a man, no one would think of her as “the Dragon Lady.” Yet, Miranda’s requests are sometimes so ridiculous that they transcend male or female; after all, the demand that one’s assistant obtain copies of the most recent Harry Potter novel before its publication so her twins can read it is absurd from anyone, man or woman.

Andy accepts the position as Miranda’s assistant--one she is constantly told a million girls would die to have--only because she thinks it will eventually open doors at other publications like The New Yorker. Thus, she endures the constant and not particularly subtle mockery of her co-workers, most notably Miranda’s snooty second assistant, Emily (Emily Blunt), and the magazine’s fashion director, Nigel (Stanley Tucci), who ultimately emerges as a sympathetic character if only because he is a reflection of Andy: someone who has submitted to his position with the hope of eventually moving on.

What Andy doesn’t count on, though, is getting sucked into the world of fashionistas, which she initially finds silly and trite. But, once she puts on her first pair of Jimmy Choos, she finds herself being inextricably drawn into the allure of high fashion, which is ultimately just another form of power. The film suggests, but never really emphasizes, that high fashion has less to do with art than it does with control. One of the film’s most striking moments is when Miranda, in a brief, stern speech based on a particular blue sweater, informs Andy of the impossibility of maintaining any sense of genuine individuality in a consumer culture. Unfortunately, she is so effective in this monologue that it saps the movie of any real sense of redemption.

Because, after all, The Devil Wears Prada is ultimately about Andy’s deliverance from fashion hell. She may temporarily lose her soul to high heels and stylish skirts and the idea that a size 6 is somehow bovine-ish, but it’s only temporary. Andy is too good, too pure, and too ideal to become anything less than her true aspirations, a fact that keeps the film from every becoming truly wicked. Yet, against its own will, the story undermines its own happy conclusion because, even if Andy breaks free of Miranda’s control (and, by extension, the control of the entire fashion industry), she will always be a pawn, even if she doesn’t know it.

Copyright ©2006 James Kendrick

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