The West End is awash with films-turned-musicals, with the results ranging from the stylish (Dr Strangelove, Stranger Things, My Neighbour Totoro) to the irredeemably naff (Pretty Woman, we’re looking at you). You’d hope that enlisting Elton John to write the songs would guarantee any musical entry into the former category but, alas, The Devil Wears Prada is truly diabolical.
It’s not the fault of star Vanessa Williams, who turns in a decent performance as fictional magazine editor Miranda Priestly – acting with a subtlety that her fearsome red-and-black costumes lack. Instead, it’s a result of a lack of imagination from the whole writing team, who cling to the 2006 film’s script like a millennial clings to stretch denim jeans (they’re more comfy, OK?). Director and choreographer Jerry Mitchell’s production feels less like an ironic comment on the Noughties, than it does a time capsule from back then – albeit one where groundwater has seeped in and made everything a bit limp and soggy.
