Went to see THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA tonight at the BarbieCan with Angela and a full-ish audience of office workers and possible gayers.

Last night, I watched the last half of a BBC4 prog on romantic fiction which might have been the wrong thing to do before I saw this film as I sat there mentally ticking the chicklit boxes. The film is based on the bestseller by Lauren Weisberger who once was an intern in the office of Anna Wintour, the editor of US VOGUE.

Sweet but unworldly aspiring writer Andrea (Anne Hathaway) somehow manages to land a job as the 2nd assistant to the frightening editor of 'Runway' magazine Miranda Priestley (Meryl Streep). In her jumpers, tartan skirts and clumpy shoes Andrea aka Andy is looked down on not only by Miranda but her Sloaney fellow assistant Emily (Emily Blunt). But of course Andy proves herself adept at fulfilling Miranda's most outrageous demands and soon finds herself being taken seriously by all including waspish Nigel (Stanley Tucci), Miranda's gay creative assistant.

But is Andy selling her soul to the fashion devil? Will she be able to extracate herself from this job at the end of the year as she hopes to go back to 'serious' journalism or will she be seduced by the Prada and size four Chanels? Can she stay true to her chef boyfriend or will she be seduced by the slick and stylish star journalist? FFS OF COURSE SHE CAN!!!

David Frankel's film is amiable enough but it desperately wants to have it's cake and eat it. It tries it's best to convince us that fashion is completely facile and self-regarding while positively drooling over the great frocks and just itching to give Hathaway her much-needed makeover to become almost a new Audrey Hepburn.

Anne Hathaway certainly has a gamin charm and reminds one at times of an early Julia Roberts - dark hair, ready laugh and ear-to-ear smile - but her large features are a bit scary in animation! Emily Blunt certainly has plenty of opportunities to shine as the bitchy workmate but her rhythms seem off with the rest of the cast. But bestriding them all is Meryl Streep who gives Miranda a frosty hauteur, the cruellest of stares and acidic asides all delivered in a scarey hushed monotone. She is quite magnificent, making bricks from the script's straw. She is given an "eleven o'clock song" scene where she shows cracks in her flawless composure over the news her husband is divorcing her which might have been mawkish in other hands but Streep's taste and restraint make it bearable. You sure do miss her when she's not on screen.

"That's all"