The Devil Wears Prada (***)

Every summer there's usually a surprise small film that manages to succeed with both critics and audiences despite little hype and promotional blitz. The Devil Wears Prada is just that kind of movie. Based on the best-selling book, the movie adaptation's strongest suit is its cast. Anne Hathaway is immensely likeable in the lead role, and Meryl Streep is, as usual, her excellent self. But for my money, Stanley Tucci walked away with the movie. He was given all of the best lines, and had the most interesting character arc. Less strong is the movie's plot: we've seen this story told time and time again. There are no surprises here, and there are times when the movie seems to teeter on the edge of chick flick hell, but it somehow manages to escape all the traps and come out unscathed. The Devil Wears Prada is entertaining fluff. In baseball terms, it's a standing double of a movie: it's not trying to hit the ball out of the park, but it's certainly a safe bet.