This was an annoying DVD. I was watching on a TV in my bedroom--not a widescreen set, and without a surround sound system. Apparently this DVD is more calibrated for surround sound systems; I'd have to turn the volume way up to hear all of the dialogue, and then I'd get blasted out of the room every time one of those pop songs blared up.
The movie was fairly enjoyable though. I'm not normally a fan of Meryl Streep performances where the entire movie is basically handed over to her like this one, but I thought she was a good choice for the role. I'm sure lots of actresses could've done the bitchy parts, but I liked that Streep occasionally shows that her character's bitch persona is just that--a bitch persona that she's created--and I liked those flickers of admiration she shows towards Anne Hathaway, feeling like she's found someone on her wavelength; I don't know that many other actresses would've tapped into those things. She won't make my top five for the year, but her Golden Globe won't be undeserving, and her nomination will be more merited than the nominations for Music of the Heart, or Postcards From The Edge.
Enjoyable, but the soundtrack needed to shut up.
The Devil Wears Prada reviews
The Original BJ wrote:That said, the size/function of Streep's role in Devil Wears Prada reminded me most of Anthony Hopkins in Silence and Amy Adams in Junebug. All three are their film's main attraction, all three have all the money scenes, all three have substantial screen time . . . and yet the main arc of the film and MUCH more screen time belongs to another actor.
I've always thought of Jodie Foster as the "main attraction" of Silence of the Lambs. I find her performance in the film much more intriguing and beguiling than Hopkins' who is definitely good but manages not to completely steal the movie from his co-star. In fact, I remember reading somewhere that Hopkins calls Jodie Foster's performance during Clarice's first meeting with Lecter the best piece of acting he'd ever seen.
On the subject of Prada (a film I enjoyed immensely), isn't it interesting that there's a 1962 Grayson Hall film entitled Satan in High Heels?
"The mantle of spinsterhood was definitely in her shoulders. She was twenty five and looked it."
-Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
-Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
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The Original BJ
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Mister Tee, you may be right that Meryl is a lead. (In another thread I had stated she was supporting.) Perhaps it just seems like she is supporting simply because, in my opinion, it FEELS like Meryl Streep IS absent from large chunks of the film. Any time Adrian Grenier or Simon Baker showed up, I couldn't wait for Meryl to come back and rescue the film from its obligatory (and blah) romantic elements.
That said, the size/function of Streep's role in Devil Wears Prada reminded me most of Anthony Hopkins in Silence and Amy Adams in Junebug. All three are their film's main attraction, all three have all the money scenes, all three have substantial screen time . . . and yet the main arc of the film and MUCH more screen time belongs to another actor. I think all three could go either way, and I don't think a supporting push for Streep would be star slumming by any means, as some as suggested.
In fact, given the amount of "where'd she come from?" buzz surrounding Emily Blunt, I sort of hope Streep's campaign skews lead to give the film's other noteworthy actress a shot at at least some prize mentions.
That said, the size/function of Streep's role in Devil Wears Prada reminded me most of Anthony Hopkins in Silence and Amy Adams in Junebug. All three are their film's main attraction, all three have all the money scenes, all three have substantial screen time . . . and yet the main arc of the film and MUCH more screen time belongs to another actor. I think all three could go either way, and I don't think a supporting push for Streep would be star slumming by any means, as some as suggested.
In fact, given the amount of "where'd she come from?" buzz surrounding Emily Blunt, I sort of hope Streep's campaign skews lead to give the film's other noteworthy actress a shot at at least some prize mentions.
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Mister Tee
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I know others have mentioned the film in other threads, but since this where we're supposed to review it...
The film is your basic trifle -- full of plot non-surprises (anyone surprised at who went to Paris?) and a familar arc (essentially Wall Street in dresses, without most of the moralizing). But the details are fun, there are a bunch of laughs, and the actors for the most part keep it aloft.
I don't quite get the "Streep is good but other actresses could have done the same" view -- I guess I tend to use that phrase when an actress has done nothing special (like, say, Charlize in North County). I think Streep does do special work here -- funny and, at odd moments, tender -- and, while others MIGHT have pulled this off, she indisputably HAS, and it seems to cheat her achievement to lump her in a pile.
I'll also dissent from the "she's supporting" consensus. I think she's clear lead, even though Hathaway has more screen time. The reasons (and these all contrast to the Weaver performance in Working Girl which I refenced as analogy last week): 1) She's there throughout the film. Weaver disappeared for a significant chunk of Working Girl's mid-section, but Streep is never gone for that long. 2) Anne Hathaway is in no way the movie's star attraction. One of the pleasures of Working Girl was seeing Melanie Griffith have her coming-out party with mainstream audiences (after missing in Body Double and Something Wild); she was what people remembered from the film, not Weaver. Completely different situation here. Hathaway is practically a cipher (had I not seen her in Brokeback, I'd think she was irrevocably lightweight). It's Streep's film all the way. 3) Streep has the money scenes. Weaver never really transcended the office-harpy limitations of her role. Streep has two super, Oscar-clip scenes -- the "you think you ignore fashion" speech, and the no-make-up "my marriage is over" scene -- that anchor her performance. All these add up to lead consideration.
Now, it's possible this could hurt her at the Oscars, if it's a great year for lead actresses. As we've seen, comedy performers tend to be the omitted from crowded fields (Grant in Four Weddings, Everett in My Best Friend's Wedding, Giamatti in Sideways). So, if Bening, Blanchett, Kidman and Winslet deliver powerhouse work as promised, Meryl could find herself relegated to Golden Globe status. But a more typical (read: lesser) year, and I say she's in.
I also like Stanley Tucci's work -- it flirts with "too much", but has grace notes I wouldn't have expected -- though I wouldn't count on room in a likely-to-be-crowded supporting actor category. And, though it's ridiculous how the script keeps having her refer to herself as thin when she probably outweighs Hathaway, Blunt is a complete joy in the classic supporting actress tradition.
The film is your basic trifle -- full of plot non-surprises (anyone surprised at who went to Paris?) and a familar arc (essentially Wall Street in dresses, without most of the moralizing). But the details are fun, there are a bunch of laughs, and the actors for the most part keep it aloft.
I don't quite get the "Streep is good but other actresses could have done the same" view -- I guess I tend to use that phrase when an actress has done nothing special (like, say, Charlize in North County). I think Streep does do special work here -- funny and, at odd moments, tender -- and, while others MIGHT have pulled this off, she indisputably HAS, and it seems to cheat her achievement to lump her in a pile.
I'll also dissent from the "she's supporting" consensus. I think she's clear lead, even though Hathaway has more screen time. The reasons (and these all contrast to the Weaver performance in Working Girl which I refenced as analogy last week): 1) She's there throughout the film. Weaver disappeared for a significant chunk of Working Girl's mid-section, but Streep is never gone for that long. 2) Anne Hathaway is in no way the movie's star attraction. One of the pleasures of Working Girl was seeing Melanie Griffith have her coming-out party with mainstream audiences (after missing in Body Double and Something Wild); she was what people remembered from the film, not Weaver. Completely different situation here. Hathaway is practically a cipher (had I not seen her in Brokeback, I'd think she was irrevocably lightweight). It's Streep's film all the way. 3) Streep has the money scenes. Weaver never really transcended the office-harpy limitations of her role. Streep has two super, Oscar-clip scenes -- the "you think you ignore fashion" speech, and the no-make-up "my marriage is over" scene -- that anchor her performance. All these add up to lead consideration.
Now, it's possible this could hurt her at the Oscars, if it's a great year for lead actresses. As we've seen, comedy performers tend to be the omitted from crowded fields (Grant in Four Weddings, Everett in My Best Friend's Wedding, Giamatti in Sideways). So, if Bening, Blanchett, Kidman and Winslet deliver powerhouse work as promised, Meryl could find herself relegated to Golden Globe status. But a more typical (read: lesser) year, and I say she's in.
I also like Stanley Tucci's work -- it flirts with "too much", but has grace notes I wouldn't have expected -- though I wouldn't count on room in a likely-to-be-crowded supporting actor category. And, though it's ridiculous how the script keeps having her refer to herself as thin when she probably outweighs Hathaway, Blunt is a complete joy in the classic supporting actress tradition.
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Mister Tee
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Reviews from HR & Variety. Doesn't sound like much -- a mass-audience Thank You for Smoking -- but Streep's reviews (also echoed by Schwarzbaum in EW) suggest yet another nomination, unless it's an exceptional year.
The Devil Wears Prada
By Kirk Honeycutt
Bottom line: Clothes to die for and an outrageous fashion diva compete for attention in this dishy comedy.
"The Devil Wears Prada," as that spot-on title would indicate, takes place in the world of haute couture. And that pretty much sums up the movie. Otherwise, it would be just another Queen of Mean, boss from hell movie. But, oh, what delicious fun Meryl Streep and her conspirators -- co-star Anne Hathaway, director David Frankel and writer Aline Brosh McKenna -- have with that world and with a woman who would be considered its god except for the fact that Miranda Priestly would probably consider that a demotion. This comic chick flick should enjoy boxoffice success with female audiences in urban markets in North America and Europe.
The film is based on the best-seller by Lauren Weisberger, who did a stint as an assistant to Anna Wintour, the all-powerful editor of Vogue. That novel and now this movie are her revenge: Here is an insider's view of the insane, pressure-cooker atmosphere an outrageously demanding boss can establish in her architecturally pristine executive suite. You might want to sit back from the screen, though, so that Miranda's morning barrage of wraps and overcoats flung at her assistant doesn't hit you.
Hathaway plays Andy Sachs, a fashion-challenged Northwestern graduate who takes a job as an assistant to Miranda, editor of Runway magazine. Her idea is that a year at Runway on her resume will help her achieve her goal of working at the New Yorker. But Andy so doesn't fit the mode.
Nigel (Stanley Tucci in perfect casting), Miranda's fey but tough right-hand man, takes one look at Andy and wonders, in one of the movie's better lines, if there is "a before-and-after piece I don't know about." Yet it is this awkward fashion sense and naivete that actually land Andy the job. All of Miranda's previous assistants, fashion horses in clacking stilettos, have disappointed her. So why not try the nerd?
Installed as Assistant No. 2 under Assistant No. 1, Andy is swiftly cut down to size by Miranda. That would be a size 6, which causes one Clacker to call Andy "fat." (The problem with this line, which is funny, is that Hathaway is the thinnest person onscreen -- a size 4 at worst. Then again, maybe that's why it is funny.)
One day, while whining to Nigel and getting no sympathy, something clicks in Andy's head. She inveigles Nigel into an instant makeover in the magazine's wardrobe room: Gliding out in a Chanel outfit with stiletto Jimmy Choos and a new hairstyle, Andy has now entered the world of fashion.
Frankel and McKenna do a smart thing in not completely demonizing Miranda. Fashion is a serious business in America, and Runway means to remain the bible of that industry. Only a killer editor who takes no prisoners can maintain those standards. So Miranda, and for a while Andy, put their jobs first. Everything else -- husbands, twins and any social life outside of fashion for Miranda, and a boyfriend (Adrian Grenier), coterie of friends (Tracie Thoms, Rich Sommer) and a dreamy novelist (Simon Baker) with romantic ideas for Andy -- come a distant, distant second.
It eventually becomes clear that there is method to Miranda's madness: Her incessant demands are tests to purge staff members who are not up to her own ruthless quest for perfection. Indeed the virtuous moral at the movie's end -- that this is no way to live a good life -- feels hallow because the film displays an unmistakable ambivalence toward Runway. With its grudging admiration for fashion-fabulous costumes and for this glamorous lifestyle, the film idolizes that which it would skewer.
Streep makes Miranda a bit sad and lonely without allowing for even an ounce of sympathy for her character: She has made her choice in life and clearly loves it. Hathaway's Andy has gotten momentarily swept up in the excitement of anticipating and exceeding her boss' demands but realizes she has lost her career focus.
However, Tucci's Nigel has passed the point of no return: He can meet Miranda's demands but has lost control of his life. And Emily Blunt, as Miranda's Assistant No. 1, delivers a comic gem as a woman so enthralled with fashion and service to its diva that her life is in free fall. Only she fails to recognize it.
Designer Jeff Gonchor, costumer Patricia Field and cinematographer Florian Ballhaus outdo themselves in realizing a rarefied world not unlike the one which Cole Porter once satirized in song as "Down in the Depths on the 90th Floor."
By TODD MCCARTHY
While men in capes have been wrestling for audience attention, Meryl StreepMeryl Streep has quietly established herself as queen of the summer, first with her delectable turn in "A Prairie Home Companion" and now with her breathtakingly underplayed performance in "The Devil Wears Prada." Streep single-handedly elevates this sitcomy but tolerably entertaining adaptation of Lauren Weisberger's bestselling 2003 roman a clef about a personal assistant's year of chic hell under the thumb of the dragon lady of the fashion world. Gutsily being opened as counterprogramming to "Superman Returns," Fox release will play very well to women of all ages and should show off nice B.O.B.O. legs throughout the summer.
Weisberger's popular tome offered parsimonious bites of drama along with an array of tiresomely cliched supporting characters, but got by as a compendium of jaw-dropping workplace outrages perpetrated by an inhumanly monstrous boss; it didn't hurt that the author had worked for the famous and infamous editor of the world's best known fashion magazine.
To give the material more narrative shape, screenwriter Aline Brosh McKennaAline Brosh McKenna ("Laws of Attraction") has minimized useless characters, expanded the boss's role to provide a speck of humanity and upped the dramatic ante with a couple of twists that render the tale less flat. Filmmakers have also toned down the editor's most extremely sadistic behavior and removed the explicitly Jewish identities of the two leads.
Providing an easy point of identification is Andy Sachs (Anne HathawayAnne Hathaway), a recent Northwestern grad whose good looks are readily apparent to scruffily sweet-faced b.f.b.f. Nate (Adrian Grenier), but whose dorky bookworm wardrobe provokes guffaws when she arrives at Runway magazine for a job interview to become assistant to style doyenne Miranda Priestly (Streep).
Perhaps because she couldn't care less about fashion and has never heard of Miranda, Andy unexpectedly gets "the job a million girls would die for." She shares an outer office with brittle Brit Emily (Emily Blunt), who provides the newcomer with a few clues about what's required and how not to get fired.
As with the book, a good part of the film is devoted to detailing Miranda's reign of terror and the often unconscionable humiliations she visits upon her staff. This material, after all, reps the meat of the story, the inside stuff that feels like secrets revealed by someone with first-hand experience. Viewers are readily turned into wide-eyed voyeurs at the scene of daily worker panic and agony, as Miranda, as tough as any boot camp sergeant, calls size-six Andy fat, insists her coffees and lunches be delivered five minutes ago, demands a manuscript of the new Harry Potter book for her twin daughters even though it hasn't been published yet and concludes every encounter with a cutting "That's all."
As harsh as Miranda is in the film, her meanness has been scaled back from the off-the-charts levels of the book; Weisberger, viewing her with the one-dimensional horror of a terrified employee, portrayed her boss as a monster unleavened by any quality other than professional effectiveness. The film takes a slightly, but gratifyingly more expansive view of Miranda as a woman who has consciously made enormous sacrifices to get where she is and to maintain her power.
Aiding this effort most of all is Streep. What the book's Miranda achieves with hysteria and frequent screeching outbursts, the film's Miranda manages with withering glances and devastatingly dismissive looks that could wilt poison ivy. Streep's silent reactions are priceless, and when the lady does speak, it is in dulcet tones that demand extra attentiveness but then reward the listener with barbs from hidden needles. Coutured to the nines and a vision in platinum gray, Streep is a wonder.
Otherwise, the film clunks along through this year-in-the-life in fits and starts. It's amusing to observe Runway's fashion queen Nigel (Stanley Tucci, very good) setting Andy on a path toward a classy wardrobe, and heartening to watch Andy as she occasionally racks up points by anticipating Miranda's needs.
On the other hand, director David FrankelDavid Frankel, who has trod these neighborhoods before while helming "Sex and the City," lards the proceedings with far too many klutzy montages papered over by a largely irritating selection of pop tunes. Scenes with Andy's earnest puppy-dog boyfriend are boringly one-note, meant to illustrate her growing distance from values of the heart, while the character of a predatory new candidate for Andy's attentions (Simon BakerSimon Baker) has been blanded out by removing his danger quotient.
Hathaway is fine as the smart but green young woman who finally becomes so good at her thankless job that she comes perilously close to going over to the "dark side" repped by Miranda. Also impressing is Blunt ("My Summer of Love") as Miranda's more senior assistant, whose emotional, physical and psychic deterioration over the course of the year presents the most vivid manifestation of Miranda's toxic influence.
More time could have been spent evoking the color and wild characters of the fashion scene, something achieved momentarily when the action moves to Paris in the late going. All the same, individual craft achievements are sharp, notably those by lenser Florian Ballhaus, production designer Jess Gonchor and, perhaps above all, costume designer Patricia Field ("Sex and the City""Sex And The City"), who has turned out myriad appropriately stunning outfits for the entire cast.
The Devil Wears Prada
By Kirk Honeycutt
Bottom line: Clothes to die for and an outrageous fashion diva compete for attention in this dishy comedy.
"The Devil Wears Prada," as that spot-on title would indicate, takes place in the world of haute couture. And that pretty much sums up the movie. Otherwise, it would be just another Queen of Mean, boss from hell movie. But, oh, what delicious fun Meryl Streep and her conspirators -- co-star Anne Hathaway, director David Frankel and writer Aline Brosh McKenna -- have with that world and with a woman who would be considered its god except for the fact that Miranda Priestly would probably consider that a demotion. This comic chick flick should enjoy boxoffice success with female audiences in urban markets in North America and Europe.
The film is based on the best-seller by Lauren Weisberger, who did a stint as an assistant to Anna Wintour, the all-powerful editor of Vogue. That novel and now this movie are her revenge: Here is an insider's view of the insane, pressure-cooker atmosphere an outrageously demanding boss can establish in her architecturally pristine executive suite. You might want to sit back from the screen, though, so that Miranda's morning barrage of wraps and overcoats flung at her assistant doesn't hit you.
Hathaway plays Andy Sachs, a fashion-challenged Northwestern graduate who takes a job as an assistant to Miranda, editor of Runway magazine. Her idea is that a year at Runway on her resume will help her achieve her goal of working at the New Yorker. But Andy so doesn't fit the mode.
Nigel (Stanley Tucci in perfect casting), Miranda's fey but tough right-hand man, takes one look at Andy and wonders, in one of the movie's better lines, if there is "a before-and-after piece I don't know about." Yet it is this awkward fashion sense and naivete that actually land Andy the job. All of Miranda's previous assistants, fashion horses in clacking stilettos, have disappointed her. So why not try the nerd?
Installed as Assistant No. 2 under Assistant No. 1, Andy is swiftly cut down to size by Miranda. That would be a size 6, which causes one Clacker to call Andy "fat." (The problem with this line, which is funny, is that Hathaway is the thinnest person onscreen -- a size 4 at worst. Then again, maybe that's why it is funny.)
One day, while whining to Nigel and getting no sympathy, something clicks in Andy's head. She inveigles Nigel into an instant makeover in the magazine's wardrobe room: Gliding out in a Chanel outfit with stiletto Jimmy Choos and a new hairstyle, Andy has now entered the world of fashion.
Frankel and McKenna do a smart thing in not completely demonizing Miranda. Fashion is a serious business in America, and Runway means to remain the bible of that industry. Only a killer editor who takes no prisoners can maintain those standards. So Miranda, and for a while Andy, put their jobs first. Everything else -- husbands, twins and any social life outside of fashion for Miranda, and a boyfriend (Adrian Grenier), coterie of friends (Tracie Thoms, Rich Sommer) and a dreamy novelist (Simon Baker) with romantic ideas for Andy -- come a distant, distant second.
It eventually becomes clear that there is method to Miranda's madness: Her incessant demands are tests to purge staff members who are not up to her own ruthless quest for perfection. Indeed the virtuous moral at the movie's end -- that this is no way to live a good life -- feels hallow because the film displays an unmistakable ambivalence toward Runway. With its grudging admiration for fashion-fabulous costumes and for this glamorous lifestyle, the film idolizes that which it would skewer.
Streep makes Miranda a bit sad and lonely without allowing for even an ounce of sympathy for her character: She has made her choice in life and clearly loves it. Hathaway's Andy has gotten momentarily swept up in the excitement of anticipating and exceeding her boss' demands but realizes she has lost her career focus.
However, Tucci's Nigel has passed the point of no return: He can meet Miranda's demands but has lost control of his life. And Emily Blunt, as Miranda's Assistant No. 1, delivers a comic gem as a woman so enthralled with fashion and service to its diva that her life is in free fall. Only she fails to recognize it.
Designer Jeff Gonchor, costumer Patricia Field and cinematographer Florian Ballhaus outdo themselves in realizing a rarefied world not unlike the one which Cole Porter once satirized in song as "Down in the Depths on the 90th Floor."
By TODD MCCARTHY
While men in capes have been wrestling for audience attention, Meryl StreepMeryl Streep has quietly established herself as queen of the summer, first with her delectable turn in "A Prairie Home Companion" and now with her breathtakingly underplayed performance in "The Devil Wears Prada." Streep single-handedly elevates this sitcomy but tolerably entertaining adaptation of Lauren Weisberger's bestselling 2003 roman a clef about a personal assistant's year of chic hell under the thumb of the dragon lady of the fashion world. Gutsily being opened as counterprogramming to "Superman Returns," Fox release will play very well to women of all ages and should show off nice B.O.B.O. legs throughout the summer.
Weisberger's popular tome offered parsimonious bites of drama along with an array of tiresomely cliched supporting characters, but got by as a compendium of jaw-dropping workplace outrages perpetrated by an inhumanly monstrous boss; it didn't hurt that the author had worked for the famous and infamous editor of the world's best known fashion magazine.
To give the material more narrative shape, screenwriter Aline Brosh McKennaAline Brosh McKenna ("Laws of Attraction") has minimized useless characters, expanded the boss's role to provide a speck of humanity and upped the dramatic ante with a couple of twists that render the tale less flat. Filmmakers have also toned down the editor's most extremely sadistic behavior and removed the explicitly Jewish identities of the two leads.
Providing an easy point of identification is Andy Sachs (Anne HathawayAnne Hathaway), a recent Northwestern grad whose good looks are readily apparent to scruffily sweet-faced b.f.b.f. Nate (Adrian Grenier), but whose dorky bookworm wardrobe provokes guffaws when she arrives at Runway magazine for a job interview to become assistant to style doyenne Miranda Priestly (Streep).
Perhaps because she couldn't care less about fashion and has never heard of Miranda, Andy unexpectedly gets "the job a million girls would die for." She shares an outer office with brittle Brit Emily (Emily Blunt), who provides the newcomer with a few clues about what's required and how not to get fired.
As with the book, a good part of the film is devoted to detailing Miranda's reign of terror and the often unconscionable humiliations she visits upon her staff. This material, after all, reps the meat of the story, the inside stuff that feels like secrets revealed by someone with first-hand experience. Viewers are readily turned into wide-eyed voyeurs at the scene of daily worker panic and agony, as Miranda, as tough as any boot camp sergeant, calls size-six Andy fat, insists her coffees and lunches be delivered five minutes ago, demands a manuscript of the new Harry Potter book for her twin daughters even though it hasn't been published yet and concludes every encounter with a cutting "That's all."
As harsh as Miranda is in the film, her meanness has been scaled back from the off-the-charts levels of the book; Weisberger, viewing her with the one-dimensional horror of a terrified employee, portrayed her boss as a monster unleavened by any quality other than professional effectiveness. The film takes a slightly, but gratifyingly more expansive view of Miranda as a woman who has consciously made enormous sacrifices to get where she is and to maintain her power.
Aiding this effort most of all is Streep. What the book's Miranda achieves with hysteria and frequent screeching outbursts, the film's Miranda manages with withering glances and devastatingly dismissive looks that could wilt poison ivy. Streep's silent reactions are priceless, and when the lady does speak, it is in dulcet tones that demand extra attentiveness but then reward the listener with barbs from hidden needles. Coutured to the nines and a vision in platinum gray, Streep is a wonder.
Otherwise, the film clunks along through this year-in-the-life in fits and starts. It's amusing to observe Runway's fashion queen Nigel (Stanley Tucci, very good) setting Andy on a path toward a classy wardrobe, and heartening to watch Andy as she occasionally racks up points by anticipating Miranda's needs.
On the other hand, director David FrankelDavid Frankel, who has trod these neighborhoods before while helming "Sex and the City," lards the proceedings with far too many klutzy montages papered over by a largely irritating selection of pop tunes. Scenes with Andy's earnest puppy-dog boyfriend are boringly one-note, meant to illustrate her growing distance from values of the heart, while the character of a predatory new candidate for Andy's attentions (Simon BakerSimon Baker) has been blanded out by removing his danger quotient.
Hathaway is fine as the smart but green young woman who finally becomes so good at her thankless job that she comes perilously close to going over to the "dark side" repped by Miranda. Also impressing is Blunt ("My Summer of Love") as Miranda's more senior assistant, whose emotional, physical and psychic deterioration over the course of the year presents the most vivid manifestation of Miranda's toxic influence.
More time could have been spent evoking the color and wild characters of the fashion scene, something achieved momentarily when the action moves to Paris in the late going. All the same, individual craft achievements are sharp, notably those by lenser Florian Ballhaus, production designer Jess Gonchor and, perhaps above all, costume designer Patricia Field ("Sex and the City""Sex And The City"), who has turned out myriad appropriately stunning outfits for the entire cast.