With: Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway, Emily Blunt, Justin Theroux, Kenneth Branagh, Stanley Tucci, Tracie Thoms, Lucy Liu, Simone Ashley, Patrick Brammall, B. J. Novak, Lady Gaga
Written by: Aline Brosh McKenna, based on characters created by Lauren Weisberger
Directed by: David Frankel
MPAA Rating: PG-13 for strong language and some suggestive references
Twenty years later, the sequel to The Devil Wears Prada has a glossy smoothness that can lull you, like having a spa day. Everything is pretty and luxurious, people, outfits, offices, and skylines. It wasn't until well into the second half that I roused myself and realized that I hadn't laughed at all. The film isn't funny, except for a couple of charming mannerisms by Anne Hathaway that earned a few chuckles. In fact, its message about the impending doom of serious journalism is downright depressing (and probably true). Character behaviors and motivations wobble back and forth from scene to scene depending on whatever the plot needs at the time, and nothing comes to life. (My partner compared it to a "bad shampoo ad.") A needless romance for Andy (Hathaway) and a nothing-to-do part for Kenneth Branagh don't help much. The original film made Emily Blunt a star and earned Meryl Streep another of her 21 Academy Award nominations, but here they barely register a blip. In fact, they look rather bored. Stanley Tucci is at least lovable (although it's sad to think that his Nigel hasn't advanced or changed at all in 20 years), and so is Hathaway, but there doesn't seem to have been any reason for them to return, other than the obviou$.
