Twenty years ago, 20th Century Studios produced the closest thing to a non-secular Bible that modern women have ever had: The Devil Wears Prada, starring Anne Hathaway and Meryl Streep. The film, which follows Hathaway’s journey as the floundering new assistant to big-time fashion magazine editor Miranda Priestley, is based on the book of the same name by American writer Lauren Weisberger, who famously worked as an assistant to Anna Wintour at Vogue in the late 1990s. Much like a Bible, the original book can be found in homes, hotels, and Airbnbs all over the world, in various states of dishevelment. Now, two decades on, the original director and cast have attempted to produce a new testament. It’s fitting, then, that the only fate deserving of The Devil Wears Prada 2 is crucifixion.
The story picks up in the current day, with Miranda still in charge at Runway magazine and Nigel (Stanley Tucci) at her heel. Andy has spent the past 20 years becoming a serious journalist at another fictional publication, The New York Vanguard, only to be unceremoniously fired over text (alongside several colleagues) at an industry awards ceremony. Runway hires her as a features editor, and the main three characters’ paths are easily re-intertwined.
Oh, and let’s not forget Emily (Emily Blunt), who is now a senior something at Dior (one of Runway’s main advertisers) and is dating a space enthusiast tech bro who recently lost a lot of weight and discovered fake tan.
The obvious parallels to Amazon boss Jeff Bezos, who has long been rumoured as a potential buyer of Vogue’s parent company, Condé Nast, are about as intelligent as the film gets — and even that is an underdeveloped and cringe-inducing afterthought that only properly emerges in the final act. The rest of the film busies itself with imitating the first: sending Andy on impossible errands to please Miranda, having her fall for a profoundly mid Australian love interest that the audience couldn’t care less about, and gratuitous montages of the Runway team attending fashion shows.
There’s none of the wit or glamour of the original, even if the budget is triple that of the first film
But there’s none of the wit or glamour of the original, even if the budget is triple that of the first film, and everyone is constantly decked out in designer garb. The clothes are showy and tasteless — the Dubai-ification of New York fashion editor style. The script is eye-rollingly bad; I had to cover my scoffs so as not to deplete my fellow cinema-goers’ enjoyment.
It includes a hefty amount of modern day internet speak, dating it instantly. This includes a moment when Andy says “make that make sense” (kill me), and another where a character quips “Our circus, our monkeys!” about a disaster at Runway. I could practically feel the Gen Z script assistant breathing down my neck, waiting for me to laugh (I didn’t, you won’t).
The Devil Wears Prada 2 is a desecration of the original, a film which has become so precious that, honestly, it never should have been resurrected. Real fans should stay well clear of the cinema for this one. All it will bring you is two hours of overly accessorised misery.
In cinemas May 1
