It may be unfair to say this, but this would have been a much less entertaining movie without the marvelous Meryl Streep. Actually, one could say that of any movie she is in, as she so completely overwhelms most of what Hollywood has to throw at her. The same is true here, with the exception of Stanley Tucci, whose counterpoint to Streep is so effective it was repeated almost immediately in Julie and Julia.
It's no secret that Streep's character is based on Anna Wintour, the tyrannical editor of Vogue, but Meryl Streep's Miranda Priestly really reminds me very little of Wintour, a credit to Streep's ability to create effective characters even within the persona of someone as well-known and contemporary as Wintour.
The cast of the film is tremendously uneven. Streep and Tucci are the stalwart cornerstones, without whose truly inspired performances the film would disintegrate tragically into banality. Anne Hathaway, good as usual though still a lightweight compared to Streep and Tucci, is the nominal star of the film, but she is more often than not a foil for the dynamic duo. Emily Blunt, as a devoted fashionista, nevertheless looks a bit odd from time to time, including her first appearance in the film criticizing Hathaway's conservative attire while she herself sports a sort of post-apocalyptic Goth Judy Jetson garb. She seems strangely underutilized and stretched a bit thin at the same time here, but she is delightful nonetheless.
Then there are the boyfriends. Adrian Grenier is definitely fighting above his weight class, and it doesn't work. He does a creditable job of moving dialog along with Hathaway, but he has to work too hard to appear interesting, and fails miserably. As for Simon Baker's Christian Thompson, aside from the fact that he's a bit self-obsessed, there seems to be no reason why Andy would not choose him, handsome, suave, successful, well-connected, over the scruffy, dreary and ultimately insecure character presented by Grenier.
Despite all its shortcomings, however, the film is dazzlingly successful in portraying the cutthroat fashion empire presided over by the ruthless, Cruella DeVil-ish editor of "Runway" magazine. Some people put on music for background noise. I put on a movie. This movie has been my background noise dozens of times, and I still love having it on. I savor every word, every gesture from the truly magical Meryl Streep as, in my opinion, the greatest Bitch of all time.
The soundtrack is wonderful, and one can enjoy this movie simply by listening to it. There are plenty of delicious surprises too, like the minor appearance of Gisele Bündchen, who just happens to be the richest (her net worth exceeds the rest of the cast combined, even if you throw in Anna Wintour) and most successful supermodel of all time, as Serena, a work-friend of Emily Blunt's character.
In the end, I'm not sure why, but I absolutely love this movie. I can watch it twice in a row and have done more than once. You may not become that attached to The Devil Wears Prada, but it should definitely be worth the investment of at least one serious watch.
It's no secret that Streep's character is based on Anna Wintour, the tyrannical editor of Vogue, but Meryl Streep's Miranda Priestly really reminds me very little of Wintour, a credit to Streep's ability to create effective characters even within the persona of someone as well-known and contemporary as Wintour.
The cast of the film is tremendously uneven. Streep and Tucci are the stalwart cornerstones, without whose truly inspired performances the film would disintegrate tragically into banality. Anne Hathaway, good as usual though still a lightweight compared to Streep and Tucci, is the nominal star of the film, but she is more often than not a foil for the dynamic duo. Emily Blunt, as a devoted fashionista, nevertheless looks a bit odd from time to time, including her first appearance in the film criticizing Hathaway's conservative attire while she herself sports a sort of post-apocalyptic Goth Judy Jetson garb. She seems strangely underutilized and stretched a bit thin at the same time here, but she is delightful nonetheless.
Then there are the boyfriends. Adrian Grenier is definitely fighting above his weight class, and it doesn't work. He does a creditable job of moving dialog along with Hathaway, but he has to work too hard to appear interesting, and fails miserably. As for Simon Baker's Christian Thompson, aside from the fact that he's a bit self-obsessed, there seems to be no reason why Andy would not choose him, handsome, suave, successful, well-connected, over the scruffy, dreary and ultimately insecure character presented by Grenier.
Despite all its shortcomings, however, the film is dazzlingly successful in portraying the cutthroat fashion empire presided over by the ruthless, Cruella DeVil-ish editor of "Runway" magazine. Some people put on music for background noise. I put on a movie. This movie has been my background noise dozens of times, and I still love having it on. I savor every word, every gesture from the truly magical Meryl Streep as, in my opinion, the greatest Bitch of all time.
The soundtrack is wonderful, and one can enjoy this movie simply by listening to it. There are plenty of delicious surprises too, like the minor appearance of Gisele Bündchen, who just happens to be the richest (her net worth exceeds the rest of the cast combined, even if you throw in Anna Wintour) and most successful supermodel of all time, as Serena, a work-friend of Emily Blunt's character.
In the end, I'm not sure why, but I absolutely love this movie. I can watch it twice in a row and have done more than once. You may not become that attached to The Devil Wears Prada, but it should definitely be worth the investment of at least one serious watch.