Everyone knows the sequel is always worse than the original, but for some reason Rotten Tomatoes is trying to gaslight us into believing otherwise. Upon learning that The Devil Wears Prada 2, sequel to the iconic 2006 hit, had achieved a superior rating on the film-rating site (a 78% to the original’s 76%), I couldn’t help but be intrigued. Could it be that this film had done what so few before it have managed – that it had joined the ranks of legendary sequels like The Godfather Part II and The Empire Strikes Back? I had to investigate. So, on opening night I sat down at the Picturehouse, illegal snack in one hand, illegal tinnie in the other, literally and figuratively sat to relive the magic I experienced the first time Anne Hathaway walked the hallowed halls of Runway Magazine. And as the classic 20th Century Studios opening played, myself and all the middle-aged women in Screen 3 collectively clutched our pearls in anticipation of what was to come.

“The film focuses so hard on shoehorning callbacks into as many scenes as possible that it sacrifices any chance of originality”

Look, I’m all for a bit of fan service – that is, essentially, the whole point of a sequel – but I think we can agree that it gets to a point. Watching this film, it felt like everywhere Andy looked, and every line of dialogue that left her mouth, made some sort of nod to the original – the two blue belts that were “so different” held in the background as she makes her way to the Runway offices, the cerulean (not turquoise, not lapis) jumper she sports in the last scene, the vaguely traumatising nickname ‘six’ that Nigel still affectionately calls her… And perhaps just the one reference to Andy’s infamous trip upstairs in Miranda’s (Meryl Streep) house would have sufficed? The film focuses so hard on shoehorning callbacks into as many scenes as possible that it sacrifices any chance of originality in the process. And while the original certainly has no shortage of iconic, repeatable lines, sadly, I can think of no equivalent in the sequel. The closest it manages to get is reheating the nachos of its predecessor.

But what’s worse than the film’s overreliance on nostalgia is its utter abuse of chick flick logic. Do they seriously expect us to believe that Andy, having been abruptly fired from her job as a ‘real’ journalist a mere 12 (ish) hours earlier, is already back in Miranda’s office as Runway’s new features editor? Having been rehired by the CEO of the magazine’s parent company himself, no less? It’s laughable (even if they do haphazardly explain it away at the film’s end). And with a plot that prides itself so highly upon showcasing the harsh reality of pursuing journalism today, the pure ease of its narrative developments proves undermining; this laziness in the writing exposing itself through glaring plot holes – like Miranda flying economy one minute and staying in a hotel room fit for the gods the next.

“Ultimately The Devil Wears Prada 2 was disorganised, mildly entertaining, and unsatisfying”

Ultimately though, my main gripe with the sequel is the sheer amount of ‘stuff’ happening – and the pace that it happens at. By all means, The Devil Wears Prada 2, move at a glacial pace. In a runtime just below two hours, the film attempts a litany of plot points. First, recovering the magazine from scandal. Second, ‘will Miranda get her promotion? ’ Then, negotiating-the-future-of-the-company-after-the-untimely-death-of-the-parent-company’s-chairman-at-his-birthday-party-leaving-his-douche-son-in-charge. Like I said, there’s just too much going on – add in Andy and Emily sneaking around Italy in undercover-mission getups and you’ll be dealt a healthy dose of confusion and apathy. Add in again the muzzling of Streep’s character (who is this and what did you do with the fear-of-God-instilling Miranda Priestley?) and you’ll be ready to throw in the towel.

There were some good looks (Simone Ashley’s Amari did not miss) and some fun cameos (Rory McIlroy was particularly surprising), but ultimately The Devil Wears Prada 2 was disorganised, mildly entertaining, and unsatisfying. Even the moments meant to feed the fans – such as Miranda opening up to Andy in the kitchen of her Hampton’s house, or Emily admitting she had wanted to befriend Andy all those years ago – came off as out of character and unrealistic. Though I’m woman enough to admit that I appreciated Nigel finally getting his justice. Altogether, nothing groundbreaking.