Ideally, trailers and other promo are meant to sell a movie to their prospective audience, enticing and seducing butts into seats. Ideally, they'll build anticipation for a good time. Ideally, they don't make dread pool in the bellies of those who might have been excited about the project before they laid eyes on its ads. And yet, the trailers for The Devil Wears Prada 2 almost dared us to be optimistic in the face of an obvious nostalgia-drunk cash grab like so many others polluting the multiplex. Indeed, looking at the site's comment section was how I realized this predicament might be more generalized than I thought and that it wasn't just me cringing at what this sequel seemed to promise.
So, there's bad news and good news. Starting with the negatives, there is a lot wrong with our second go-round with Andy Sachs, Miranda Priestley and the rest of the Runway magazine gang. Form-wise, even fashion-wise, the sequel's a total downgrade when it's not being a shoddy photocopy with printing errors galore, an echo on its way to becoming a structural pleonasm. However, some elements surprise, even delight, including stabs at thematic complexity nowhere to be found in the original flick, even some elegiac tones. Oh, also, Meryl Streep is in fine form, but you might have already guessed that. After all, she IS Meryl Streep…
Luckily - or perhaps not, depending on how you see things – The Devil Wears Prada 2 starts with its very worst material, so there's nowhere to go but up. Returning director David Frankel and writer Aline Brosh McKenna are eager to remind the audience of all they love about the 2006 modern comedy classic, from a first shot that's a poor facsimile of that film's own opener to such sight gags as a street vendor holding those (not really) identical belts or the faux MET Gala being themed after Spring Florals (groundbreaking). Even a deep dive into Miranda Priestley lashings online reeks of sloppiness and flop sweat, as the movie recycles actual frames from its predecessor's cerulean monologue as in-universe memes.
That said, there's an immediate tension underlying these cheap ploys to appeal to nostalgia-hungry superfans. Because, as far as inciting incidents go, The Devil Wears Prada 2 begins with Andrea Sachs, now firmly established in the world of serious journalism, suffering the whiplash of a lifetime as she wins an award for a write-up at the same time her entire team learns they've lost their jobs, victims of the mass lay-offs sweeping any and all news outlets. This crisis in media extends to Runway, its reputation suffering a major blow after a poorly researched article promoted a fast-fashion brand now facing accusations of labor and human rights violations.
With advertisers considering hopping off the sinking ship, this piece of legacy media, whose glory days are long gone, is starting to seem like a fading memory in a world of corporate-dictated digital slop. It's fair to say that the magazine is in a crisis. And with it, editor-in-chief Miranda Priestley. That's the setup for how the two leads see their lives colliding once more, as a suddenly unemployed Andy accepts a job offer from the Runway owners. And that's how, the next morning, we get a repeat of the two women's first meeting, as Andrea is forced upon Miranda by her higher-ups and she, in turn, pretends not to recognize her former assistant turned features editor.
A lot of effort has been put into recreating the basic patterns, rhythms and basic scene construction of moments from the first movie. Only, nothing looks as good, nor sounds or moves or cuts as smoothly as it should. There's a clunkiness to the thing, and it's hard to discern a root cause that doesn't come down to the standards of mainstream Hollywood filmmaking being so much lower nowadays than they were in 2006. The fashion world has also changed drastically in the past twenty years, which is reflected in the quality of clothing, regardless of what one may think of Molly Rogers' work as costume designer.
But that's the point, right? The feeling of a general erosion of value between the first time Andy walked into the Runway offices and now is the movie's central tenet. Even if the less-than-inspiring filmmaking isn't deliberate in its thematic reflection, it still underlines what the screenplay is trying to communicate. So much so that The Devil Wears Prada sequel isn't really about fashion anymore. It's about the media landscape's death rattle as everything in our lives becomes subordinated to an increasingly small group of people who consolidate power through capital that cares only about itself. Even when a solution seems to arise to the characters' problems, our heroes still find themselves at the mercy of billionaires' whims.
While this might sound like reaching, none of this is ever expressed with any subtlety. The Devil Wears Prada 2 is a deeply sad, even angry, movie that, to the journalist class, might as well be an apocalyptic horror flick. There's an entire sequence that does everything in its power to have you consider both the splendor and the sheer obscenity of having a business dinner in the same room that houses DaVinci's Last Supper. To the point that we're invited to appreciate how Miranda Priestley begs for the preservation of her life's work while trying not to grimace as one of those idiotic men up top blabbers on about how AI will replace every creative, every curator of beauty and arbiter of taste.
That said, these ideas are never better realized than in Streep's second go at playing Miranda Priestley. For a character once defined by how distant she felt from us mere mortals, forever unflappable and all-powerful, she's left in a state of continuous crisis for the better part of the movie's two hours. In fact, the one rug pull that upends some of the structural mimicry between The Devil Wears Prada 2 and the original seems to exist just to make Miranda, as a character, seem even more powerless. She's not so much a mean-spirited parody of Anna Wintour as she is a solipsistic 2026 Hollywood take on the Prince of Salina from The Leopard.
She's one whose time has ended and must confront her own obsolescence, inviting us to mourn for the dying world that felt eternal but is no more. The Devil Wears Prada 2 is a legacy sequel about how legacy means nothing nowadays. Go and ask those struggling to keep so-called legacy media alive if you have any doubts. All this is reflected in how the actress plays her, hinting at the ghost of erstwhile imperiousness while foregrounding the cold panic of someone unmoored. This Miranda is flailing inside while struggling to reveal as little as possible to those who might be on the lookout for signs of weakness. When playing up those sorrowful notes, Streep delivers some of her best work in years.
And yet, like the movie it's in, the performance is far from perfect, sometimes marred by oversold comedic beats or that nagging need to always reference the original. Sadly, small caveats aside, Streep's performance is somewhat alone as a bastion of greatness among the cast. Hathaway is enthusiastic, if a bit lost, broad, and unable to make a useless romantic subplot work. She's at her best when sharing the scene with Streep's Miranda as acknowledged equals. Stanley Tucci is fine, though in autopilot, and Emily Blunt is saddled with a piece of characterization so wildly dysfunctional that it's borderline unplayable. Might as well have reworked the script and cut Emily out altogether.
Few of the new faces leave much of an impression, though Simone Ashley is gorgeous beyond words as the new "Emily" and Kenneth Branagh is darling in a thankless turn as Miranda's supporting husband. Some of that might be due to scripting schisms, as some narrative branches seem roughly pruned, leaving little stumps where a heftier plotline might have once been. Overall, it's fair to say the film doesn't always find the right balance between its themes and swirling ideas with The Devil Wears Prada 2 often slamming headfirst into contradiction. The danger of hypocrisy is also present throughout, especially regarding this blockbuster's uncomfortable relationship with wealth.
Still, what a fascinating object this sequel turned out to be. While I admit I might be rating it on a curve based on low expectations, the comedy deserves that we, as audience, acknowledge the ambitions it interlaces with its more prosaic instincts and obligatory camp silinees. Perchance it was the cineastes' plan all along to use nostalgia to help the medicine go down. Because, make no mistake, though The Devil Wears Prada 2 points the camera at the publishing industry, at magazines and newspapers, its interest in where the eternal dance of art and commerce is headed at our contemporary juncture is self-reflective. When regarding Meryl as Miranda as Prince of Salina, it's hard not to see Hollywood itself take pause, mourn its crumbling glory and try to fashion hope out of hopelessness.
The Devil Wears Prada 2 arrives in theaters this Friday, May 1. Are you excited to re-enter the hallowed halls of Runway magazine?