The Devil Wears Prada 2

Tropic Sprockets by Ian Brockway

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David Frankel’s “The Devil Wears Prada” (2006) was a surprise hit and achieved cult status primarily due to Meryl Streep’s pop arty, icy performance as Miranda Priestley, a hybrid of Anna Wintour and Cruella de Vil.

Now 20 years later here’s a sequel with the same main title and the gang’s all here once again. There is comfort in familiarity.

The hustle of New York City is still well in evidence except now there are IPhones and a more prevalent cyberspace. Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway) is now a prominent journalist in the midst a publishing a book on Miranda. For her part, Miranda is facing scandalous allegations of being connected to a sweatshop ring and exploiting workers. Emily (Emily Blunt) is now in a highly mobile position being married to a self-centered tycoon named Benji (Justin Theroux). Last but not least, the dandyish, strait-laced and snippy Nigel (Stanley Tucci) is present with his inimitable baritone.

The drama is a bit more substantial in this chapter. The magazine is about to be bought out by Benji as a vanity project and things are dire.

Andy is hired by Chairman Irv (Tibor Feldman) to fix Miranda‘s reputation and restore order.

A beloved rhythm ignites with the more confident Andy racing against time while Miranda is dismissive and catty, albeit with a knowing side eye.

Cultists will know what to expect and they will be well entertained.

A Simon Baker-ish type appears once again as Andy’s lover, this time as Peter (Patrick Brammell) a successful realtor.

Nigel can be depended on to select Andy’s fashion plate for a night out. The only apparent alteration in this latest segment is the sight of Miranda hanging up her own coat, instead of throwing it, which is sure to get a few laughs.

As in the first film, there are a few unrealistic moments in the movie which is part of the fun. For instance, I doubt anyone speaks loudly in front of a silent Vatican priest.

The most scene stealing moment has to be the always compelling Donatella Versace being chastised by an outraged Emily.

Lady Gaga and the musical sequences are energetic if rather brief.

A tense war of ego and one-upmanship reveals itself between Emily and Miranda with of course, Andy in the middle of it all, a Cinderella figure. Yet again, Meryl Streep has all the best lines. But there is honest visceral emotion too, when Andy evokes previous memories of Miranda‘s time honored and iconic coldness. The pinpricks of poignance are clearly visible.

While some might say the catwalk and office is once again business as usual, there is energy and these roles have a much-loved cinematic glare.

Devotees and neophyte alike will be rewarded by the film’s added accessories of pathos and affection.

Write Ian at ianfree11@yahoo.com