The Devil Wears Prada 2 begins in scandal. Apparently, Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep), the imperious editor of the Vogue-like Runway, axed her fact checkers in the 20 years since the first movie. No one looked too deeply into an article about a fast fashion house and now the magazine stands accused of celebrating a company that employs sweatshop labor. Oops! But also, somehow appropriate for a movie that is the cinematic equivalent of fast fashion: stylish, sure, but also ephemeral, fading from memory as soon as the end credits roll.

Coincidentally, as the Runway scandal breaks, Miranda’s former assistant Andy (Anne Hathaway), now an award-winning journalist, has just lost her job. Back to Runway she goes as the new features editor. But rehabilitating Miranda’s reputation does not earn her any of her boss’s respect as no one has grown in all their years apart. Miranda is still the boss from hell. Andy, who one would think would have developed some savvy and thicker skin, is as idealistic as ever and just as naïve as she was as a new college graduate. The new relationship simply replicates the old, right down to Miranda’s long-suffering second in command Nigel (Stanley Tucci) acting as the calm balance between the two women.

The film looks great, particularly the scenes shot in Milan during Fashion Week, where Runway stages its own show. And it is amusing enough, however forgettable. But it is also lazy. There was no need to replicate so much of the first film. In particular, why bring back Emily Blunt’s character Emily? She no longer works at the magazine, and she is still the same one-note mean girl. Replicating her and Andy’s original dynamic where Emily spews her bullying bile all over innocent Andy is just boring. Giving her a Bezos-Musk-like billionaire boyfriend, Benji (Justin Theroux), strains credulity. So, too, does a scene in which a cost-cutting move by the new publisher forces Miranda to fly coach to Milan. It’s supposed to be funny. It isn’t, and in what world is Miranda not upgrading herself with her own money (or, more likely, miles)?

The acting is all spot on, although no acting is good enough to stop the flood of questions that arise unbidden while watching the film. Kenneth Branagh shows up as the husband Miranda acquired since the last movie, an even-tempered musician with apparently endless patience. How did that happen? How much of a glutton for punishment is this man? That same question applies tenfold to Nigel. In the first film, Miranda cost him his dream job, yet he remains loyal despite that and despite having to put up with that withering personality day after day for decades. How self-loathing is he? And then there’s Andy. How is it possible that she has grown so little emotionally and remains so wide-eyed after 20 years?

The Devil Wears Prada 2 offers no answers to those questions. What it does offer is momentary diversion to our chaotic timeline, a stylish mise-en-scène, and a Lady Gaga performance during the Milan fashion show. Maybe in this era, that’s enough. —Pam Grady