Audacious or acid-tongued it ain’t this time around. Two decades after its quintet of stars mutually graced the offices of the fictional Runway Magazine, David Frankel’s sequel The Devil Wears Prada 2 (B) does its own next-level empire building in the world of corporate synergies, content optimization and conglomerates. The plot places Anne Hathaway’s character, most recently a crusading journalist far-removed from the glam gatekeeping life, and fashion impresario Meryl Streep, at momentary career low points in what ultimately emerges as a fashion team-up to save artistic integrity, along with Stanley Tucci’s intrepid designer/mentor and Emily Blunt, whose character now resides at the House of Dior, one of the publication’s key advertisers. The screenplay sprinkles in a touch of soap opera amnesia to retcon the happenings of the first film into a distant memory blip and adds in a looming element of bro culture with Justin Theroux, B.J. Novak and others pondering bottom lines over A-lines. It’s embroidery versus EBITA as characters ponder what moves the masses, and Streep opines in a pair of juicy monologues about the state of the art. It’s fun to watch these characters in and out of their element, even though the script occasionally de-fangs Streep’s Miranda in pursuit of a higher form of female empowerment storytelling. Replacing snark with heart and toning down the broader fish-out-of-water comic moments makes this installment a bit routine. The flashes of fun and starry cameos certainly work better than say, a Happy Gilmore 2, but this legacy sequel’s lack of ambition often shows between the seams. Overall this film strikes all the right poses and leaves viewers satisfied for the fate of the characters even though the goodies on the fashion plate could have been a bit more bountiful.