Sympathy For The Retarded Coat Hangers Of The Fashion Industry
Anne Hathaway plays every girl in every teen movie where a studious young lady in frumpy clothes falls in with the hip crowd and takes off her glasses. Except in this movie she's a college graduate working at Vogue, or a reasonable facsimile thereof. Meryl Streep is Lucifer, offering fame, fortune, and purses in exchange for learning how to stare down your coke nose at the girl working the counter at Starbucks. But I'm getting ahead of myself, already abandoning my vow to ignore the fashion industry. Instead, let's just focus on Streep's Oscar nominated performance as the Devil. Her muted, soft-spoken but ludicrously unreasonable demands toe the line between pure evil and paste-eating psychosis. And her smooth, seemingly paralyzed features present an agelessness that speaks less to botox than it does to a portrait hanging in her mansion which ages instead of her. Her black wings are leathery yet supple, and her enormous curled horns have been delicately arranged to be elegant with just the slightest touch of spontaneity. Her performance dwarfs those of her co-stars, partially because of its subtlety and reserve, but mainly because at 12 feet of winged glory, she literally towers over the other actors. Her forked tongue slithers and darts about like an eyeless black snake, and her eyes brim with sulfurous fire, pits of glowing darkness that reflect the majesty of infernal power. The heat from her internalized flame sublimates the cracked and blackened hide that covers her ebony bones, reducing it to clouds of black smoke that almost instantly coalesce back into thick skin covered in razor sharp bristles. While this description of Streep's character may have lost its grip on verisimilitude a while back, it's as distracting as her performance was, standing out from the mediocrity of the film like Mozart at the keyboards of a Yes concert. But most importantly, it keeps me from making jokes about the fashion industry.
Underage? Read a PG-13 review at The Comic Book Bin. Then come over to my house and let me watch you touch yourself. Girls and effeminate boys only need apply.