‘The Devil Wears Prada 2’ Review: Meryl Streep- and Anne Hathaway-Starring Sequel Is the Fast Fashion of Movies

The gang's all here for David Frankel's much-anticipated sequel, but this follow-up is the cinematic equivalent of Shein or H&M: the shape is there, but the details are dreadful.

Do you remember the final moments of David Frankel’s sparkling “The Devil Wears Prada”? Surely, you do! Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway), our heroine, has undergone a massive wake-up call surrounding her cushy gig at fashion mag bible Runway, jolted into the reality of the cutthroat world she so fully, so unexpectedly bought into after getting a few nice dresses thrown at her. She’s fled Paris Fashion Week, ditched her evil boss Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep) in the process, and flown back to New York City to take a job at some scrappy little newspaper.

Delighted by her ability to get herself back on track, a hair-shaking (she loves shaking her hair) Andy is mooning down a busy street at a speed that would infuriate most New Yorkers when she spots Miranda swanning into her car. They lock eyes. Andy gives a little salute. Miranda ignores her, seemingly, but offers up a little smile when she’s safely alone. Ah, these two are going to make it, the film tells us, and with a little something called respect to boot.

It’s a lovely, silly ending. It’s perfect for the film and the story at hand. Inevitably, of course, it’s not the end.

Twenty years later, the gang’s all back for “The Devil Wears Prada 2,” which reunites not only original stars Hathaway, Streep, Stanley Tucci, and Emily Blunt, but the core creative team, including Frankel, screenwriter Aline Brosh McKenna, author Lauren Weisberger, costume designer Molly Rogers, composer Theodore Shapiro, and many more. And while twenty years is a long time to wait for a sequel in franchise-mad Hollywood, the relative break between films has mostly served to drum up anticipation above all else. Mostly, this follow-up is the cinematic equivalent of Shein or H&M: the shape is there, but the details are dreadful.

While Weisberger — this time credited as a co-screenwriter — did follow her smash hit novel “The Devil Wears Prada” (based on her own time as Andy Sachs, basically) with a sequel in 2013, Frankel’s film has nothing in common with “Revenge Wears Prada.” Instead, the film opens with Andy still firmly out of the fashion world and still deep in her newspaper career. Well, goodbye to all that, as Andy’s entire paper is snuffed out within the film’s opening minutes (and while she and her colleagues are collecting awards for their work at an industry luncheon, ouch).

At the same time, Miranda’s own career is on shaky ground. The magazine industry is collapsing. Ad buys are drying up. And a scandal that sees Runway fooled by (LOL) a fast fashion brand with sweatshop ties as tarnished the mag’s sterling reputation. You can see where this is all going, right? When Miranda’s boss, media scion Irv Ravitz (Tibor Feldman), sees a viral video of a fired-up Andy despairing over the state of journalism, he employs some two-birds, one-stone thinking. Andy will come back to Runway to head up features and bring some gravitas to the joint. Miranda will, uh, deal with it?

Brosh McKenna and Weisberger do a fine job of selling the gig to both Andy and us, no small feat. But if getting Andy back in the Runway fold feels a lot like getting her into it in the first film, that feeling will only persist, as the sequel apes the original feature nearly beat for beat, with some small swaps here and there. If it ain’t broke… well, maybe don’t make a whole sequel about it? More optimistically, if this sequel is giving the fans more of what they loved in the first place, at least it’s not wholly disastrous or oddly insulting. It’s fine.

Brosh McKenna and Weisberger bake in big concerns about massive corporate takeovers and persistent media layoffs (and much smaller nods to the scourge of AI, which feel shoe-horned-in), though zero attention is paid to what would arguably be Runway’s biggest competitor: influencers. In the world of “The Devil Wears Prada 2,” they seemingly do not exist. (Miranda, however, remains a massive draw, greeted by rabid fans at every appearance.)

Yet, this Miranda has been defanged a bit — one of the film’s few consistently amusing bits sees Simone Ashley’s assistant Amari lightly chastising her boss every time she says something that might get her in trouble, from gags about New Jersey to a riff on wanting to off herself because of a bad photo spread — and just slightly out of her depth in unexpected situations. She’s flat-footed by both the scandal that brings Andy back, and the corporate machinations that will threaten more than just her travel spending account. Streep, as ever, is viciously funny in the role.

Hathaway too is able to slip right back into Andy Sachs. A little bit older, a little bit wiser, and still believably swayed by what she thinks is right (with bonus cute fashion). If the real draw of the film is getting its central duo back in the same room, well, it’s kind of hard to argue with that appeal. Far worse sequels have been made for far weaker reasons.

Andy’s circle still includes bestie Lily (Tracie Thoms) who, despite living in a gorgeous loft and being a successful gallerist, still gets a thrill from a Runway freebie. There is also a chummy journo pal from her newspaper gig (unfortunately, as of this writing, I could not find the performer’s name, because the character’s name is never uttered within the film itself) and an energetic book agent who has never heard of an NDA (Rachel Bloom, also horrifyingly anonymous). Patrick Brammell pops up as a love interest for Andy, and the nicest thing anyone can say about his mild-mannered architect Peter is that he’s breathing. The script gives him nothing else to do at all.

Also new? BJ Novak as Irv’s tech-vest loving son who doesn’t get Runway or Miranda in the slightest. Kenneth Branagh is Miranda’s latest husband, a famous musician who mostly seems happy to be there. And there’s also a wonderfully self-possessed Lucy Liu as a kind of MacKenzie Scott stand-in who is hard to get a handle on, with Justin Theroux as her incredibly wealthy and deeply stupid ex-husband Benji (who mostly seems to be the subject of derision because he used to be fat and he also has bad hair, hardy har har).

Thank God for the other returning stars, including Stanley Tucci’s divinely calm and in-control Nigel and Emily Blunt as the franchise’s forever MVP, as absolutely batshit and too-often-right Emily. While Andy is injected back into this world, Miranda, Nigel, and Emily have continued to circle each other for decades. (Despite the changing tides of the media world, Miranda and Nigel still have basically the same jobs, while Emily has moved over to Dior, where she holds the pursestrings on its ad budget, so essential to the mag.)

No, some things don’t change. And that includes Andy’s desire for Miranda’s approval, which continues to run in short supply. The film’s basic plot is pretty thin — can Miranda and Andy save Runway, together? — and it only briefly touches on spicier material. If you loved the first film, you’ll surely like this one. You’ll also see every twist and turn coming from a mile away.

Two films in, the eternal question lingers: Can Andy ever be truly simpatico with Miranda? It’s a compelling question, and one that runs through the entire outing, down to its last moment, even as the film and its character weave and wobble on its answer. But who is ever on stable ground with Miranda Priestly? An invite to Miranda’s Hamptons home makes Andy feel part of the crowd, though the sequence seems to exist simply to trot out a baffling assortment of Miranda’s closest pals (all playing themselves): Tina Brown and Jon Batiste, sure! Jenna Bush Hager and Ronnie Chieng? In what world?

Well, this one, I guess.

The Hamptons jaunt also serves to remind us that both Miranda and Andy still have big dreams, as a slightly tipsy (delightful) Miranda spills to Andy that Irv is about to promote her to a cushy new job: global chief content officer at Elias Clarke. Yes, that’s the same job that Anna Wintour currently holds at Condé Nast, a deeply unimaginative plot movement to a film that feels far too comfy with its titular baddie.

Seriously, when did everyone forget that this franchise is based on a dishy roman à clef in which Wintour is, hello, referred to as the Devil? That punch and pop is missing this time around, bespoke comedy replaced here with strictly off-the-rack endeavors. Fine enough, really, but if the first film was the kind of thing that never goes out of style, “The Devil Wears Prada 2” will last a season. That’s all.

Grade: C+

20th Century Studios will release “The Devil Wears Prada 2” in theaters on Friday, May 1.

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