The Queen vs The Devil Wears Prada

I remember where I was the night Princess Diana was killed. I had been to see Copland with a friend, and we heard on the way home. Now, I am not a fan of the British royal family, know very little about them, and am honestly not that interested in learning more. But I have never forgotten that night, and I’m pretty sure this is what the makers of The Queen are counting on.

In the world of Stephen Frears’ The Queen, Princess Diana’s death wasn’t met with devastation and sadness inside Buckingham Palace. Upon hearing that something had happened to Diana, Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip assume she’d gotten herself into more tabloid drama on a yacht or a landmine field or some other such attention-grabbing stunt they felt had been cheapening the crown. But no, she was dead.

Oddly, to the outside world, the Royal Family didn’t say anything publicly about Diana’s death for an entire week. Queen Elizabeth had a monarchy to represent, and a face of dignity to maintain for the public, and felt that speaking about a matter pertaining specifically to Diana’s family (she was divorced from Charles by then, and no longer technically royal) would be inappropriate. Also, probably, she had been embarrassed by Diana’s charity work, friendships with celebrities, and jet-setting with billionaires, all of which had placed her at a level of worship among the public with which the Royal Family just could not compete (imagine if Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie were the same person, had never been in a single shitty movie, and had been born immaculately, and you’ll have a grasp of just how much the British people loved Diana, and how crushed they were when she died.).

Tony Blair, however, who had recently been named Prime Minister, was younger, more in touch with the British people, and I’m guessing, fonder of Princess Diana. He knew that her funeral needed to be like her wedding: public, huge, and watched by the world. He had a week to convince the Royal Family of this, and had his work cut out for him.

A confession: I saw The Queen because I think Helen Mirren is going to win an Oscar, and I wanted to be able to say I saw it beforehand. I expected to admire it, but I was surprised how much I genuinely enjoyed The Queen. Besides being an informative, compelling drama, The Queen is funny, subtle, and quick-paced. The Queen is one of the best films of the year, and even better, it’s one of my favorites. The Queen owes much of its success, I suspect, to director Stephen Frears, who has directed a variety of excellent films, and has brought together a pitch-perfect cast again this time. The Queen is almost decadent with good acting. Helen Mirren achieves something we don’t see much in movies: she plays a living public figure, and manages to make her human, complicated, flawed and funny without dipping into impersonation or parody. Michael Sheen makes a great foil as Tony Blair; his performance is perhaps even more impressive than Mirren’s, since she wasn’t in the Underworld movies. Seriously kids, keep your minds open during crappy movies; you never know when somebody’s gonna be in, say, The Next Karate Kid and then win two Oscars.

The Devil Wears Prada is another movie I saw just because I wanted to check another off the list. I figure Meryl Streep is gonna be up for her hundredth Oscar, and even though I already know she’s brilliant, I wanted to see what kind of brilliant she was going to be. She’s great, of course, and shows yet another shade of Meryl Streepness we’ve not yet seen.

Streep plays Miranda Priestly, the editor of a fashion magazine called Runway, a magazine much like Vogue, ran, I assume, as Vogue is ran, and also much like the movie version of Buckingham Palace is ran. In other words, Miranda Priestly runs it like it’s supposed to done, like it’s always been done, like it should always continue to be done if anyone wants it done correctly. Streep says all her lines just above a whisper, like Darth Vader or Hannibal Lecter, and the effect is similar. If she raised her voice, Miranda might be viewed as someone who can be ruffled or humored or threatened. Instead, she stays cool and calm, her eyes half-lidded, tossing insults, orders and her coat with deadly accuracy.

The target for her venom is usually Andy (Anne Hathaway), her new, fashion-oblivious assistant, who neither appreciates nor understands Miranda’s world. Andy is not unlike Princess Diana: awkwardly pretty and timid at first, high-fashion and confident later. I think she’s kind of a bore. I thought it was funny when Andy was the butt of jokes in the office (the other assistant, played by the brilliantly named Emily Blunt, is particularly vicious about Andy’s weight problem, which is non-existent and thus funnier), and when she gripes about the shallowness of fashion magazines, it made me wonder who the true hero of the movie was supposed to be. After all, as Andy becomes a stronger character, she’s simultaneously taking the fashion advice of her superior, and getting better at that shallow job. Sometimes the queen knows best, I suppose.

The Devil Wears Prada doesn’t show us much we haven’t seen before in Working Girl (Miranda Priestly wouldn’t even have let that one in the front door.), but that Meryl Streep performance is worth your time. And besides, it isn’t going to check itself off your Oscar to-do list by itself.

The Queen: A
The Devil Wears Prada: B-