by Hudson Moura
The Devil Wears Prada 2, directed by David Frankel, returns to a world and a set of characters that have long since become part of popular culture. That familiarity is both the film’s greatest asset and its greatest limitation. On the one hand, there is undeniable pleasure in seeing these figures again, especially because the casting remains one of the sequel’s strongest qualities. On the other hand, the film never fully justifies its return, relying too heavily on nostalgia without finding enough new insight into fashion, media, or the passage of time.
The film’s main appeal lies in the reunion of its performers, and above all in Meryl Streep and Emily Blunt. Streep remains compelling, even if Miranda Priestly no longer feels quite as sharp or intimidating as before. There is still authority and elegance in her performance, but the iconic severity of the original has softened. Emily Blunt, by contrast, emerges as the film’s real pleasure. She delivers the best lines, the sharpest wit, and the most precise comic timing. If the sequel retains any true mordant energy, it is largely because of her. She seems to understand better than anyone else what kind of tone this universe requires.
The problem is that the screenplay does not sustain that energy. The premise works for perhaps ten minutes, then the film quickly begins to drift. From there, the story becomes predictable, almost mechanical, as if it were simply moving through familiar beats without discovering a compelling new direction. Rather than extending the intelligence of the first film, the sequel often feels reheated, like a formula being recycled because audiences already know and love it. The result is a film that can be intermittently enjoyable scene by scene, but much less convincing as a whole.
One of the sequel’s biggest weaknesses is its treatment of Andy/Andrea Sachs (played by an uninspired and limited Anne Hathaway). This is the character who should have changed the most, yet she feels the least convincingly reimagined. The idea that she has become a major investigative journalist, recognized over twenty years of career, never fully convinces—neither physically nor psychologically. More importantly, the first film depended on her as a critical counterpoint to the superficiality and seductions of the fashion world. Here, that counterpoint is largely missing. Without it, the sequel loses one of the central tensions that made the original so intelligent and appealing.
This also means the film misses an opportunity to say something meaningful about how both fashion and journalism have changed over the last two decades. Aside from a few predictable references to digital media and the decline of old models of publishing, the sequel offers little that feels fresh or perceptive. It does not seriously engage with the transformation of magazines, the pressures of online culture, or the new image economies that define fashion today. Even the surprise presence of Lady Gaga, which should perhaps have brought some new spark or unexpected energy, ends up feeling rather predictable itself. Instead of surprise, the film repeatedly offers recognition.
Fans of the original may enjoy revisiting beloved characters and seeing these actors inhabit their old roles again. There is comfort in that return, and at moments genuine charm. But the film does not bring much new intelligence, real risk, or sharper contemporary understanding to its material. It revives the surfaces of The Devil Wears Prada more successfully than its substance.
Rating: 2.5/5