The Devil Wears Prada

So I saw the movie yesterday..went in with mid to low expectations after reading a review in the NY Times. Went alone (knowing that Carl would have no interest in seeing it) after my friend Terry called explaining she was stuck in the throes of electrical circuitry problems. Entered the air-conditioned theater on a 100+ summer day, ordered a medium popcorn and a Diet Coke and found the perfect seat -- middle of the row half way up. Was surprised to see the theater fill to capacity on a Friday afternoon at 2:10. All genders...all ages... families with small kids. Was I in #12? But as the lights dimmed and the movie began, I realized I was at the right place at the right time. I got sucked in fast. The opening scenes served to introduce us to Andrea, a recent Northwestern grad looking to start her career in journalism. Yes...I got the point that she didn't care about fashion and that she had a comfortable relationship with her young struggling chef boyfriend from Entourage. Thankfully, the movie quickly sequed into action. Things began to perk up for me as she entered the office of Runway (the faux Vogue) and I was treated to a behind the scenes look at the fashion industry. Garments racks roll by. Employees are dressed to kill. Conversation is peppered with fashion lingo. The best jewelry, the most stylish shoes. Each scene promised another incredible coat and handbag thrown onto the desk by uber editor-in-chief Andrea (faux Anna Wintour). Each scene delivered a steady stream of beautifully coordinated Chanel, Prada, D&G, Jimmy Choo, Manalo Blahnik........providing a backdrop that rivaled the sunsets in a classic John Wayne western. As Andrea slowly transforms from mousy second assistant to sensational first, I easily discount her rising self-doubts about who she is becoming in favor of cheering on her wardrobe choices. Yes...those boots are perfect. That necklace is stunning. As she disappoints her family and friends with her slavish Blackberry behavior, I take delight in the Stanley Tucci character's dialogue about size zero being the new 4 and Andrea's size 6, the new 14. Did I care that Andrea was being tempted by the handsome freelance writer or that Miranda's marriage was in disarray? Not really. It was Miranda's soliloquy on Cerulean blue and scenes of Paris at night that captured my attention. Yes. The couture shows in Paris. Valentino himself kissing Miranda on the cheek. The cameras. The activity. The beautiful hotel room. The floral arrangement in the beautiful hotel room. Okay. Meryl Streep was really good. When isn't she? Stanley Tucci, ditto. Here's my opinion: if you decide to see the movie, don't go for the character development. Don't go for the message. Go for the beauty of the set design. The genius of the costume design. Go for the vicarious joy of experiencing the best of the best.