Working nine to five, what a way to make a living... especially if your employer is a 24-carat bitch who takes sadistic pleasure in demeaning, terrorising and humiliating her staff. A lot of us have had bosses who’d answer to that description, giving David Frankel’s adap of Lauren Weisberger’s semi-autobiographical chick-lit novel – inspired by her tenure under Vogue doyenne Anna Wintour – a pleasing sliver of vicarious wish-fulfilment. The real pleasure, though, is watching Meryl Streep brilliantly colour her glamorous gorgon with shadings of vulnerability, turning what could have been a coarse caricature into a fully realised tragi-comic creation.
Read the full The Devil Wears Prada review
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