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REVIEWFinancially carefree New Yorker Rebecca Bloom (Fisher) doesn’t just shop. She doesn’t just shop until she drops. She shops until her constantly declined credit cards self-destruct.
She’s a shopaholic, a sort-of medical case it’s not that easy to feel for. Bind that up with an obsession for purchasing overpriced designer threads and you have a potential pain.
Thankfully, it’s Isla Fisher in the title role, a fine actress whose comic abilities could drag many a rotting carcass of a script out of the mire and make it almost palatable.
God, does she have her work cut out here. Particularly in the present climate of financial meltdown, it’s galling to watch a rag trade-fixated airhead cheerfully plunge into the red. For the sake of a scarf.
Straining under $16,000 of debt and the attentions of a debt collection agency, it’s kinda ironic that she lands a job on a financial magazine where her article about fiscal responsibility is a hit.
Fortunately, she’s also a smash with dishy editor Luke “I won’t let clothes define me” Brandon (Colin Firth-in-waiting Hugh Dancy), who happily looks beyond a bizarre job interview where telling the truth didn’t seem to be an issue.
This is the perfect night out for those who found The Devil Wears Prada a coruscating insight into the catwalk industry: it’s light, frothy, meaningless tosh which is damned fortunate to have Fisher in the lead role.
It’s her naturally impressive ability to cheekily tweak a scene, comically twist the dialogue or just make her character a tad sympathetic that save this from a place on the bargain rail.
Dancy does what’s asked of him (not much), while John Goodman (as Rebecca’s dad) and Kristin Scott Thomas (as a Vogue editor Anna “Nuclear” Wintour clone) are on hand to shore things up.
The conclusion is almost as predictable as the Harrods sale…even if you feel you’ve not quite got your money’s worth.
Not so much top draw as bargain basement.
Tim Evans
