The main tweaks to this adaptation of Lauren Weisberger's fluffy roman à clef about life as a Vogue underling are, appropriately, cosmetic. A blond graduate of Brown in the book, young go-getter Andrea Sachs now is a lanky brunette from Northwestern when luck (mostly good) shoves her into the feng shui/white-on-white corner office of Runway editor Miranda Priestly, here silver-haired and played by Meryl Streep as a cross between Cruella de Vil and the whipcracking sadist essayed by Sigourney Weaver in Working Girl. Andrea (Anne Hathaway) scrambles to learn the preferred temperature of Miranda's lattes and the proper spelling of "Gabbana," while somehow yearning to give up the first-rate fashionista perks for a shot at cranking out news copy for a third-tier daily paper. The Devil Wears Prada is the umpteenth Hollywood movie about a purportedly talented writer that never bothers to show us anything she wrote. Still, as the line between advertising and editorial grows thinner than this year's model, maybe our heroine has all she needs.
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