Welcome to Rearview Mirror, a monthly movie column in which I re-view and then re-review a movie I have already seen under the new (and improved?) critical lens of 2022. I’m so happy you’re here.
The Nanny Diaries can’t decide whether it wants to be Mean Girls or The Devil Wears Prada. In the former 2004 Tina Fey flick, our protagonist is a fish out of water with an anthropologist’s view of the world, using taxonomy to navigate the new world of privilege she finds herself in, eventually “going native” before breaking down the hierarchy with a Big Speech (and a bus accident). She re-integrates into the new ecosystem and everyone is better for it. In 2006’s Prada, our heroine is a fish out of water who learns the ropes through trial and error and loses herself to the glitz and the glamor, but when she sees the cruelty at the heart of the industry, she leaves. The magazine world, however, is unchanged by her absence.
Both are parodies of a certain social order based on books inspired by real life, and both were hits. It makes sense that The Nanny Diaries would get the same adaptive treatment in 2007. But this movie struggles to pick a lane or find a unique voice between these two similar but distinct story ideas. By the end, the world isn’t fully skewered and the lessons aren’t truly learned (or earned). The elements are there, but the presentation falls flat.
We meet Annie (in the book, her name is Nan, one of a few changes that robs the satire of its potency) (Scarlett Johansson) at her college graduation. She wants to study anthropology, and her inner monologue and frequent fantasy sequences show us that she views the world with a Goodall-like remove. Compared to the “wild animal” scenes from Mean Girls, these are tame at best, but not totally boring. Annie’s single mother, however, slaved away as a nurse so that Annie could live the good life, which means a career in finance. Instead, Annie takes a nanny job and lies to her mom about it.
As a nanny to the X family, she meets spoiled son Grayer, uninterested mom Mrs. X (Laura Linney), wealthy cheating husband Mr. X (Paul Giamatti), and the building’s resident Harvard Hottie (Chris Evans). By the end, she’s learned that money can’t buy happiness, so she decides to study anthropology after all now that she’s been fired. She leaves behind a NannyCam tape extricating the Xs’ parenting, and we find out that Mrs. X has taken her words to heart and become a loving single mother. All’s well that ends well. And along the way? Nothing.
By the end, the world isn’t fully skewered and the lessons aren’t truly learned (or earned). The elements are there, but the presentation falls flat.
Mrs. X isn’t given the one-liners of Miranda Priestly or the vices of a truly vicious villain (a harried UES mom should be popping pills on the daily!). Mr. X’s affair, a major turning point in the book, barely registers. We do meet his mother (who, at one point, literally reads The Devil Wears Prada while sitting on the beach), an introduction that pays off not at all. Annie, we’re told, hasn’t gotten laid in a long time and isn’t supposed to have male visitors. Since she falls for a guy in the building, you’d think there would be a scene of one of them sneaking out of the other’s place, but no such physical comedy exists; even the low-hanging fruit goes unharvested. Oh, and Annie’s best friend is Alicia Keys, for no particular reason.
In this world, the worst thing a parent can do is ignore their kid, the hottest thing a man can do is smile, and the bravest thing a woman can do is stand up to her employer when that employer is out of the room and has already fired her. Not exactly riveting.
Because this world is so ripe for parody and because the lead actress is so naturally winning, all of this might be forgivable just for the fun of watching a rom-com…were it not for Uptown Girls.
Johansson struggles to seem adequately insecure and you can feel Linney straining for pathos in every scene. She’s got this character down, if only the material would let her take it somewhere. There’s nothing to distinguish this family from any other on the block, though they are not heightened enough to be a satirical every-UESer. In short, the writing is lacking in specificity on all sides, more of a blueprint than an actual script.
And still, because this world is so ripe for parody and because the lead actress is so naturally winning, all of this might be forgivable just for the fun of watching a rom-com…were it not for Uptown Girls. In 2003, Brittany Murphy and Dakota Fanning made the definitive Upper East Side nanny movie, as classic as Mary Poppins (well…almost). Compared to the humor, poignancy, vivacity, and fun on display in that movie, The Nanny Diaries feels positively staid. There’s simply no place for it on the shelf. I watched it once years ago and haven’t thought about it since. I recommend you let it slide away as well. FL
