Really enjoyed seeing The Devil Wears Prada the other day, if only to watch Meryl Streep put on and take off her glasses for a couple of hours. It also served as a nostalgia picture, reminding this viewer of a misspent youth in New York City in the out circles of journalism hangers-on, a penumbra represented in the picture by a group of friends who dine together, a Greek chorus of young wannabes. Although they are supposed to be the "good guys" they are in just another circle of hell, ambitious in the world of celebrity chefs, art galleries, or Wall Street--anyone of them probably has a boss from hell, too, who could be played by Meryl Streep. But that's a quibble. Details of magazine life seem accurately portrayed--no doubt because director David Frankel is offspring of former New York Times editor Max Frankel. I particularly enjoyed seeing all the subordinates ducking out of the hallway to avoid Meryl Streep as she arrived at work. At least the characters had some personality--it would have been even better if there were more life to the supporting players, more scenes of their private lives, second, third, and fourth level storylines. It's nice to want more scenes with the supporting cast for a change, rather than fewer.
There are lots of fun bits of business and clever lines. Such a pleasure to see a film with dialog instead of exploding fireballs. Meryl Streep's explanation of the history of Anne Hathaway's cerulian sweater. Stanley Tucci's insightful statement that the fashion industry is about "inner beauty." Anne Hathaway called a "glamazon" by her friend. The handsome and creepy New York Magazine reporter who seduces her seems like someone I may have met. Meryl's New York townhouse in what is presumably in the East 60s, looks just right. So does Anne Hathaway's crummy apartment. It's a real New York irony--the squalid living arrangements of high society , slum living plus champagne receptions.
Once upon a time, a million years ago in a galaxy far away, I worked as a gopher at Warner Brothers. I got coffee in individual cups (from Dunkin Donuts in those days, rather than Starbucks) carefully balancing the cardboard tray. I had to pick up my boss, go shopping, pick up and deliver videos, scripts, and the like. Tuesday Weld once kicked me off a set because she didn't like the way I looked (on the other hand, Ellen Burstyn was very nice). I was even asked to finish my boss's NY Times crossword puzzles... so I can vouch for the accuracy of the details in THe Devil Wears Prada.
The only thing that doesn't seem credible is the ending--the kindly old editor at the New York Mirror is hard to swallow. Even Perry White was portrayed as a dyspeptic curmudgeon, and newspaper journalist are no less ambitous than fashionistas--only concerned with things like political fashion, or gossip.
