Deborah Lipp

I know. What is wrong with me? I am addicted to the show and love watching it, and at the same time, watching it makes me think about these things.

So there was this one that I saw where people were nominating themselves, and they made over this woman who was petite and dressed like a schoolgirl. She was 26 and she looked 12. And she knew this was her issue but she didn’t know what to do about it. Which totally reminded me of what I said about “It takes a village.” I mean, where were her friends or family? Was there no one she could ask to go shopping with her? Okay, I get that being on TV looks fun, professionals are better at it than amateurs, and five thousand dollars rocks. I get all that. I also get that we are a profoundly isolated culture and that television professionals feel like our friends. Instead of, y’know, having friends.

In comments in my previous post, Roberta questioned how much anyone would welcome unsolicited advice. Which is a point, but here was a woman who actively sought out the advice, and apparently had no one to seek from except the people on the TV.

And then there was this other episode, and it reminded me of my first post, about how people seem to want clothing and consumerism to heal them. This woman had nothing but hand-me-downs, tons of them, and after the garbage can session she cried and said that having a lot of clothes and a very full closet made her feel safe.

Don’t get me wrong, these clothes were awful. But in what way is buying nicer clothes going to address her need to feel safe?

The Devil Wears Prada (2006) 6/10
Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway), a recent journalism graduate, takes a job as second assistant to the director of Runway Magazine, Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep). There she must contend with her demonic boss and the aspiring demon first assistant Emily (Emily Blunt).

The Devil Wears Prada is an extremely inconsequential movie that is 70% fashion show, 20% broad comedy, and 10% interesting. Yet there are several things about it that stick in my craw to an extent that I feel compelled, virtually against my will, to review it.

First, there’s Anne Hathaway. Hathaway has eyes the way Angelina Jolie has lips. They’re otherworldly eyes that landed here from Eye Planet to sit on Hathaway’s face and stare back at us with enormous dark wonder. Big fucking eyes.

But she’s not much of an actress, and so the dramatic arc that is supposed to comprise the “plot” of The Devil Wears Prada is not very visible. Supposedly, she goes into Runway Magazine all serious and journalistic and literary and sweet and cute and cuddly, but as she becomes good at her job in high fashion, and also becomes fashionable, she turns to the Dark Side and becomes a detestable fashionista bitch, alienating her friends and boyfriend (the reasonably cute Adrian Grenier). Then! Spoiler! She Sees the Light! And reverts to her incredibly sweet, literary-minded self who has no need of high fasion.

So, first of all, yuck. But secondly, she just doesn’t pull it off. What happens is sweet, wide-eyed dowdy Andy becomes sweet, wide-eyed, hot-looking and competent Andy, so why is that a bad thing again? At some point, her friends start telling her she’s gone to the Dark Side, and I’m thinking What? How? All she’s done is pretty up and work long hours. So what?

And, yeah, some friends. At the start, she tells her friends and boyfriend that it’s going to be a hellish job, working for a notoriously demanding bitch, but it will open a lot of doors for her, so she’ll stick it out for one year. And they all agree, yeah, good plan. Except within six months they’re all over her case for never being around and changing and becoming “one of them” and all. Yet, the movie seems firmly on their side. The entire script construction is telling us that Andy has become E-Vile. But I don’t see it. I see Andy bringing cool swag to her friends, which they lap up. Her buddy Lily (Tracie Thoms) adores the free Marc Jacobs bag that retails for $1100, and still bitches Andy out for working hard at the high-stress job that brings home the goodies.

They also start to get pissy with her when she develops sympathy for the evil boss. Guess things are supposed to stay black and white. I mean, the movie relies so much on a conventional script, the kind where you know not just exactly what’s going to happen, but exactly what’s supposed to happen, that you do all the work. Except in this case, it really felt like the script wasn’t even coming along for the ride.

Of course, yes, Streep is great as Cruella de Ville Miranda Priestly, and she manages to bring substance to the role. And Stanley Tucci is lovely in his turn as a put-upon and good-hearted designer. But is that enough? Hell, no. It’s so utterly not enough that it’s a real shame for Streep to get the nomination for this film.

Before I update my score, allow me to assure you that I know this is crazy. Neurotic. Bizarrely obsessional. But fuck, it’s only once a year and I’m entertaining myself. I’m totally into seeing as many nominated films as possible. I saw Letters from Iwo Jima last night, and I have a date next Wednesday to see Babel with my friend Meri Sue, so that’ll up all my numbers as well.

As of now, I’ve seen six of the fifteen films with “major” nominations; four Best Picture nominees plus Dreamgirls and The Devil Wears Prada. I love me.

Here are the nominees in the five major categories:

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