McKenna has shaped Weisberger’s breathless iterations into a reliable plot—a primal Manhattan success story in the form of a fairy tale. Andy Sachs is the Cinderella figure. Instead of sleeping in ashes, she wears them: drab multi-blend sweaters and woollen skirts. Arriving at work as Miranda’s new assistant, she is ruthlessly examined by the boss and by the other young women in the office, who, like wicked stepsisters, make fun of her clothes and increase the exhausting labors that Miranda has already dumped on her. A high-minded college journalist who wants to do serious work, Andy hangs up Miranda’s coat and bag every morning after she flings them down on Andy’s desk; she runs and fetches, crisscrossing the city, tending to Miranda’s dog, her twin daughters, her dry cleaning. The rewards, initially, are low pay and no more than a distant touch of glamour. Andy won’t get to the ball. Miranda has a first assistant, Emily (Emily Blunt), a status-hungry Brit in awe of her boss, and she pointedly tells Andy that only she, Emily, will be at Miranda’s side during fashion week in Paris. In the last good high-fashion movie, Donen’s “Funny Face” (1957), Audrey Hepburn, as an ingénue who becomes a model, was surrounded by whimsically imperious couture types—including Kay Thompson’s tough, Diana Vreelandish editor—but that movie seems to have come out of a relatively gracious world. Hepburn wouldn’t have survived at Runway.
McKenna has shaped Weisberger’s breathless iterations into a reliable plot—a primal Manhattan success story in the form of a fairy tale. Andy Sachs is the Cinderella figure. Instead of sleeping in ashes, she wears them: drab multi-blend sweaters and woollen skirts. Arriving at work as Miranda’s new assistant, she is ruthlessly examined by the boss and by the other young women in the office, who, like wicked stepsisters, make fun of her clothes and increase the exhausting labors that Miranda has already dumped on her. A high-minded college journalist who wants to do serious work, Andy hangs up Miranda’s coat and bag every morning after she flings them down on Andy’s desk; she runs and fetches, crisscrossing the city, tending to Miranda’s dog, her twin daughters, her dry cleaning. The rewards, initially, are low pay and no more than a distant touch of glamour. Andy won’t get to the ball. Miranda has a first assistant, Emily (Emily Blunt), a status-hungry Brit in awe of her boss, and she pointedly tells Andy that only she, Emily, will be at Miranda’s side during fashion week in Paris. In the last good high-fashion movie, Donen’s “Funny Face” (1957), Audrey Hepburn, as an ingénue who becomes a model, was surrounded by whimsically imperious couture types—including Kay Thompson’s tough, Diana Vreelandish editor—but that movie seems to have come out of a relatively gracious world. Hepburn wouldn’t have survived at Runway.
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