rimping and dressing to the best of their abilities, a bevy of women (and men) prepare for the hustle and bustle of life at the New York firm Elias-Clarke Publications – and confrontation with the no-nonsense, demanding, impatient, aloof, editor-in-chief of the Runway magazine, Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep). She’s the type of boss that causes every employee to be permanently at unease in her presence – and sighing breaths of relief when she’s not around. On one particular morning, human resources sends over the woefully unprepared, aspiring journalist Andrea Sachs (Anne Hathaway) for a position as a second assistant. She insists she has the skills, even if she’s unfamiliar with the subject matter – and the rigors of not appearing hopelessly homey or frumpy. “An interest in fashion is crucial.”

The introductory sequences establish that Andrea is at the bottom of the food chain, especially in the eyes of first assistant Emily Charlton (Emily Blunt), coworker Serena (Gisele Bundchen), and certainly Miranda herself. It’s questionable how she landed the gig (“A million girls would kill for that job”), but it’s evident she’s not experienced in dealing with the severity and strictness and coldness of the cutthroat profession – though she’s initially used mainly to pick up coffee orders and answer the telephone. She’s determined not to let the job get to her (which includes being on-call at all hours), but it’s also obvious that virtually everyone else in Miranda’s sphere is miserable, save for cynical yet quirky and strangely supportive adviser Nigel (Stanley Tucci). “Do you have some hideous skirt convention you have to go to?”

Although it’s been updated and modernized, “The Devil Wears Prada” shares many of the same story elements as “Working Girl,” along with components from “Pretty Woman,” such as makeover/transformation opportunities that never seem as drastic as they ought to (alongside a wealth of tropes from “Sex and the City,” with which this production shares a number of artists). As tough as it is to succeed in a professional setting as a woman, it seems that women in higher positions aren’t too keen to have underlings replicate their successes. And this isn’t all some pure fantasy; the story, written by Aline Brosh McKenna, based on the Lauren Weisberger novel, appears to have been inspired by the notoriously stringent Vogue editor Anna Wintour (not much of a stretch, considering the picture’s difficulties in acquiring fashion insiders even for cameos, who did not want to upset Wintour).

Additionally, it’s extremely unconvincing when the bulk of the early jabs at Andrea are fat jokes or digs at her physical appearance, as if the notably slender, doe-eyed Hathaway is supposed to be some sort of grotesque cow. “I’m just one stomach flu away from my goal weight.” And, as anticipated, supporting roles warn the protagonist that this career path, under the incidental tutelage of Priestly, will somehow corrupt her and mutate her into some despicable misanthrope. Like clockwork, conspicuous coincidences force Andrea to choose between keeping her boss happy and causing her personal relationships to fall apart (“I didn’t have a choice!”); is there room in her life to be seen as a model employee and a decent friend and girlfriend? In this fictional realm of impossible decisions, continual sacrifices must be made, very much at the cost of everyone around her, until the point at which she’s unrecognizable by her closest pals, as if she’s been assimilated by a body snatcher.

There’s plenty of humor (and quotable insults; this movie would prove to be highly influential), but the main premise of a demanding yet glamorous dream-job turning into a nightmare is far from original (particularly among romantic comedies of the era) – as are the scenes when Miranda’s tough veneer finally cracks (the turning point that’s supposed to reveal how overwhelming it is to be rich, famous, and at the top). Even the romantic subplots (a standard triangle, in fact) possess negligible originality (quite likely, none at all). Is she losing her true sense of self? Or is she merely discovering newfound interests and priorities and modes of getting ahead? And where does her allegiance ultimately lie? It’s practically a Stockholm Syndrome type of collaboration, creating a situation in which no one is sympathetic or even likable, save for Andrea, but only because she makes a terribly contrived, overly cinematic choice at the climax, which results in everything wrapping up with a neatness and tidiness of the most unreal, unimaginative kind. “Everybody wants this.”

– Mike Massie