Producer: Wendy Finerman Director: David Frankel Screenplay: Aline Brosh McKenna Cast: Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway, Emily Blunt, Stanley Tucci, Justin Theroux, Lucy Liu, Kenneth Branagh, B.J. Novak, Simone Ashley, Tracie Thoms, Tibor Feldman, Patrick Brammall, Caleb Hearon, Helen J. Shen and Lady Gaga Distributor: Disney/20th Century Studios
Grade: C-
Like so much of modern celebrity culture, haute couture, with its absurd excess and grotesque flamboyance, practically invites scabrously satirical treatment, but while the original 2006 “The Devil Wears Prada” made a few winking jabs in that direction, it was basically a puff piece extolling the business, and this long-aborning sequel turns out to be even more so. It glorifies the empty extravagance of the high-end clothing industry and bemoans efforts to undermine it or its primary publicity organ, the ultra-glossy magazine called Runway (a fictionalized version of Vogue).
But “Prada 2” goes further than that. It has the temerity to suggest that the creations of haute couture are a modern equivalent of the art of the past. That ridiculous notion is appallingly emphasized by setting a dinner of industry bigwigs at the refectory of the convent of Santa Maria delle Grazie in Milan, in the presence of Leonardo da Vinci’s mural of “The Last Supper.” The worst interpretation of the scene is that it implies that the dinner, where the future of Runway is threatened, is somehow analogous to what’s depicted in the painting; the best is that modern fashion is comparable to Renaissance painting. No wonder the Dominicans who usher the guests into the chamber cast their eyes downward in apparent disgust.
Aline Brosh McKenna’s script also tries to tie this ludicrous idea to a real contemporary issue—the decline of serious journalism. That’s the catalyst that sends Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway, directed to act like the ditzy dingbat heroine of so many forties’ comedies) back to Runway after a supposed career as an intrepid investigative journalist at a cutting-edge paper called The Vanguard. At the very moment she’s winning an award for her work, she and the entire staff at her table are fired by a text announcing the paper’s been bought out by some faceless conglomerate.
But she’s not long unemployed. A crisis at Runway—a scandal involving poor reporting on sweatshop labor—leads the magazine’s corporate owners, elderly Irv Ravitz (Tibor Feldman) and his gofer son Jay (B.J. Novak), to hire Andy to bring some gravitas to its Features Department. The move is a surprise to Runway’s long-time editor-in-chief, imperious Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep), who was Andy’s super-bossy boss in the 2006 movie and remains in that post, though she’s mellowed a trifle (if just to conform to changed social norms) and hopes soon to be named the corporation’s global director.
Andy quickly pens an apologia for the magazine’s faux pas that earns the rag a pass from critics, and goes on to write other essays on topics that, as far as we can tell from the brief glimpses we get of their titles, give Runway some heft and win it a real coup, an interview with mega-wealthy semi-recluse Sasha Barnes (Lucy Liu), who appreciates Andy’s seriousness. But the magazine still must offer special benefits to important advertisers, especially Dior, where Emily Charlton (Emily Blunt), Andy’s old frenemy in Miranda’s office, is now head of luxury sales and drives a hard bargain.
There are further problems in a prospective takeover of Runway by Benji Barnes, a tech mogul (and Sasha’s ex-husband) whose plans for the magazine could threaten its “integrity.” Efforts by Andy, Miranda and Miranda’s loyal long-time aide Nigel Kipling (Stanley Tucci) to foil the takeover have only slim chances of success, especially since Irv’s death leave money-hungry doofus Jay in charge.
Amidst all this professional rigamarole room is made for romance: Andy meets, cute of course, Peter (Patrick Brammall), a fellow who specializes in converting old buildings into luxury apartments, and though their relationship is not without its bumps, he’s such a blandly nice fellow that the outcome is preordained. The same description applies to Miranda’s new husband Stuart (Kenneth Branagh), and Branagh, like Brammall, is pretty much wasted in a thankless role.
But Streep and Tucci come close to saving the day with their impeccable resurrections of the most notable Runway characters from the first film; her haughtiness, here with a touch of vulnerability, and his supreme competence remain winning caricatures. Unfortunately Blunt, like Hathaway, is done no favors by the busy script, and both Theroux and Novak come across simply as irritating hucksters.
There are, on the other hand, some engaging performers in lesser roles, most notably Caleb Hearon as Miranda’s put-upon assistant Charlie and Helen J. Chen as Andy’s sprightly aide Jin. Among the celebrities who show up in cameos the most notable is Lady Gaga, who has a snippy scene with Streep before doing a musical number on the runway at the Milan show, swinging a baton. It would have made a good slapstick scene had she struck some of the models passing by, but that would have broken the mood of overstated elegance the movie is anxious to cultivate.
Certainly that elegance is to be found in Molly Rogers’ costumes, Jess Gonchor’s production design and the luxurious locations, all of which cinematographer Florian Ballhaus captures in glossy visuals that complement the sitcom-quality style of David Frankel’s direction and Andrew Marcus’ editing. Theodore Shapiro’s bouncy score is of similar quality.
The movie’s exaltation of haute couture continues to the very end, when Andy presents her supportive friend Lily (Tracie Thoms) with a thank-you gift from Europe. It’s none other but a designer handbag, which the recipient treats as if it were the equivalent of the Holy Grail. The target audience for “The Devil Wears Prada 2” would probably feel the same way, and they’re numerous enough to make this paean to grotesque excess a major hit.