Meandering comedy falls short on the satire and the coming-of-age side

Rating: 6/10 (30 June 2006)

This one plays out as glitzy attempt at one of Garry Marshall's contemporary Cinderella comedies. He struck gold with Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, and PG'ed the hooker into a teenager when he cast another leggy ingénue with an engagingly over-sized smile, Anne Hathaway, in The Princess Diaries. In this adaptation of a popular novel, Hathaway stars as a bright, earnest journalism grad, yearning for her first job in Manhattan. The first big interview opportunity she gets is to become a personal assistant to the most influential (and absurdly demanding) magazine editor in the world of high fashion, underplayed flawlessly by Meryl Streep. Our girl looks like a librarian from the Midwest, and couldn't be more of a misfit among the obsessively skinny feminists, but Meryl apparently sees something under that drab surface, and hires her, anyway.
For nearly two hours we see Anne's aspirations and ties to her boyfriend and old circle of pals wax and wane as they clash with her new role. Of course she starts dressing the part, with the assistance of a relatively non-snotty honcho (Stanley Tucci), who furthers the Marshall model by filling Hector Elizondo's kindly-mentor shoes. Somewhere between the fantasy of glamor and the lack of time to form her own thoughts, since she's at the mercy of Meryl's every whim on a 24/7 basis, her outer and inner beauty start heading in opposite directions. Will this job remain as her tone-year, resume-building stepping stone to writing about serious social issues, or will she be seduced by the perks of hobnobbing with the rich and famous, including the romantic interest of a successful writer (Simon Baker) who may be more suited to the evolving edition of Anne's personality? Beyond the obvious eye-candy feast inherent in this setting, the script serves up some good laughs and effective sentimental moments, though not enough for nearly two hours. Had the story been lightened and tightened into a breezy industry satire with a dollop of romantic intrigue, they wouldda been a contender. But the attempt at depth (presumably more true to the novel) requires more distance from reality than usual. Getting Julia off the streets, and seeing a gawky mid-teen Anne grow into her birthright (including a much-needed sense of self-esteem) were more intrinsically desirable than watching a bright young woman of conscience drink the Kool-Aid Streep is pouring.
Early in the going, Meryl rebuts Anne's disdain for everything they stand for with a sharp diatribe about the value and pervasive influence of the designers she makes or breaks, even on those who don't realize it. For a while, that speech seems to validate their existence more than expected. It certainly causes Anne's character to shift her thinking. For anyone who doesn't rely on Cosmo and its ilk as essential reference material, the only reason those lines work is that Meryl Streep is saying them.
In what kind of Bizarro world should a woman as slender and wholesomely pretty as Hathaway at the beginning be derided as too fat and frumpy? Who believes it's even possible, much less admirable, to float above all the cares and problems the rest of us live with in an endless quest for the smallest size of whatever some distant strangers decide is chic? Beauty in troubled times gives relief and hope...to a point. The Devil of this title isn't Streep's overbearing manner; it's the temptation of form over substance, mirrored by the film's ultimate lack of substance worthy of its stars. Looks great; less filling.