A List Of Things Thrown Five Minutes Ago

YOU CAN BEND THE RULES PLENTY ONCE YOU GET TO THE TOP, BUT NOT WHILE YOU'RE TRYING TO GET THERE. AND IF YOU'RE SOMEONE LIKE ME, YOU CAN'T GET THERE WITHOUT BENDING THE RULES: Our good friend Gretchen, not seen here in long form since her Olympic figure skating analysis, interrupts her Bar study to review The Devil Wears Prada:

You have no style nor any sense of fashion: The Devil Wears Prada is a Cinderella story in reverse, a Pygmalion for the fashionistas and those who love them. For those of you who managed to avoid the Prada juggernaut, either as a book or as a trailer, the story is about Andy, an aspiring journalist who finds a job as the second assistant to Miranda Priestly, the Anna Wintour-esque editrix of a thinly disguised Vogue magazine. Anne Hathaway plays the wide-eyed newbie, and there is great fun in watching her stumble into her interview, all college newspaper clips and earnest looks and bad clothes, with Miranda. Of course, young Andy soon realizes that she won't survive her job unless she trades in Old Navy for Gucci, Chanel, and Balenciaga. Her transformation is one of the highlights of the movie, and there's a fabulous sequence of Andy moving through her morning in a never ending parade of expensive labels and lethal stilettos. The fashion in the movie has been criticized
for too much Chanel and not enough Chloe, too many gold chains and not enough boho, but while it may not be a perfect reflection of daily life at Vogue, the costuming (by Patricia Fields, the former costumer for Sex and the City) is a vital and effective part of the narrative.

But the real reason to see Prada is Meryl Streep as Miranda Priestly. She is both terrifying and utterly hilarious. She's ruthless in her ambition and decisive at every moment. But she's not a cartoon: when the movie dips into her personal life, you see the costs that this entails. But Miranda Priestly never lets her life interfere with her quest for power or, more importantly, her absolute faith in the importance of the work that she does. Miranda may be a bitch, but she knows exactly who she is and what she wants and she gets it. While Andy may be our heroine, the movie rests on the shoulders of Miranda, who owns the movie just as she owns Runway. And you know, while Andy may not want to work for her (and neither would I), there's something awe-inspiring about that kind of authority.

This is the part of the review where I talk about what Devil means for gender politics, for women in the work force, for the uneasy balance of women and power. (I did have the thought that it would be interesting to watch this movie and Working Girl together--they have similar premises, but very different outcomes.) Or perhaps I talk about the uneasy balance between career ambition and family life, and complain about Andy's boyfriend, who deserts her in the midst of her career crisis. Or talk about the ultimate "be true to yourself" message. But I'm not sure the movie stands up to that kind of analysis. Instead, I enjoyed it for exactly what it was--a hilarious romp through the furiously competitive world of high fashion, and an divine star turn from Meryl Streep. And a great break from studying for the Bar.

As always, if you've got something long-form you'd like to submit, send it to the address over on the left.