The Devil Wears Prada angle of Cruella might, for many, be seen as “new” in terms of approaching the world of Cruella de Vil, but for those who remember Disney’s 1996 live-action version of 101 Dalmatians, it comes as no surprise. And essentially proves that Glenn Close’s rendering of Cruella was itself something of the blueprint for Miranda Priestly. What’s more, Close, who actually executive produced Cruella to further add to its unstoppable clout, was clearly still an inspiration for Emma Stone’s interpretation. After all, they wanted it to be believable that young Estella could eventually become Close’s middle-aged incarnation of Cruella.
Although the animated classic might not have seen fit to grant a motive for “why” Cruella would be so obsessed with fur and patterns of animals that could create that fur, the first live-action iteration seemed aware that it might be best to imbue some level of “reason” into Cruella’s villainy by making her the owner of a fashion brand called House of DeVil.
Once again, set in the high-fashion city of London (still New York’s true progenitor, therefore bearing “OG” superiority), de Vil’s very entrance into her own establishment smacks of Priestly getting out of her chauffeured car to enter the Condé Nast building (back when it was in its pre-One World Trade Center glory). Costume designer Jenny Beavan, lauded for contributing to the performances of Emmas Stone and Thompson with her Vivienne Westwood-centric creations, asserted Close’s portrayal was at least a vague contribution to the film by remarking, “I just wanted to sort of make sure that you could believe that eventually, she could become Glenn Close. But that was about as far as my influence went.” Sure, sure. We all know Close more than “influenced,” at the bare minimum, Emma Thompson in her depiction of Baroness von Hellman. For she’s the clear exemplar that a still impressionable Estella Miller (Stone) looks to before herself transforming into a callous, unfeeling wench who might also spout such platitudes as, “You can’t care about anyone else. Everyone else is an obstacle… If I cared about anyone or thing, I might have died.” That’s the advice Baroness gives to Estella without yet realizing that she’s the very nemesis who has prompted her to look and act a fool of late, taking on the alter ego of Cruella as a more permanent persona after realizing Baroness was the one responsible for killing her mother.
Glenn Close’s Cruella, however, seems to have buried that trauma long ago, having effortlessly filled the power vacuum in the fashion world upon sucking Baroness right out of it. Therefore, after her rabble-rousing years in the 70s, Cruella appears to have become even more of a narcissistic yuppie than Baroness herself, obsessively combing the city for uniquely printed animals like the white Siberian tiger she orders one of her henchmen (a taxidermist, clearly always the missing character from this story) to skin at the London Zoo. Yes, indeed, it bears noting that this kind of villain reemerging onto cinema screens at a time when PETA was at one of its most guerilla moments in terms of red paint-throwing didn’t seem to be a coincidence. For Cruella is the ultimate nightmare of any animal rights’ activist. Though the red paint-throwing scene of the narrative was actually reserved for 102 Dalmatians for, um, Gérard Depardieu as a furrier/fashion designer named LePelt.
One parallel missing between Cruella and 1996’s 101 Dalmatians is the persona embodied by Anita. In 101 Dalmatians, Anita (Joely Richardson, looking a lot like Natasha) is no longer just a bookish woman reading in a park, but a bookish woman who also creates innovative fashion designs and illustrations. So innovative, in fact, that Cruella can hardly ever wait to snap them right up from her. Kind of the way Baroness does when she catches Estella sketching on her lunch break and has her guards escort her back in so she can steal the drawings and claim them as part of her own Baroness oeuvre. In contrast to Estella, Anita is slightly more willing to be ripped off, mainly because she doesn’t seem to have as much ambition as Estella in terms of carving out her own name in the fashion realm. And when Cruella warns that, any day now, one of her competitors is going to find out who her best designer is and steal her away, Anita merely shrugs that the only thing that might lead her to leave would be, perhaps, romance. Cruella balks, “More good women have been lost to marriage than to war, famine, disease and disaster. You have talent, darling, don’t squander it.” Anita, alas, simply isn’t that forward-thinking. Even if this script is supposed to reflect being in the “modern” 90s. It’s still a Disney movie, after all: misogynistic and heteronormative rhetoric is required.
It is that very day she meets the rather boorish Roger (Jeff Daniels) in St. James’ Park after he fails to sell a video game (computer game, really). Because what would an “update” be without making him sell VGs instead of song compositions? Pongo, once again, is the orchestrator of events, catching sight of Perdita and chasing after her and her owner. Only this time, Roger is more easily pulled because he’s on a bike. And as Roger pursues Anita—or rather, Pongo pursues Perdita—he passes the now defunct Swiss Center (demarcated by Swiss Court W1), complete with a billboard for Crimson Tide in the background, in case you weren’t doubly certain of the year.
The year of 1996 would have been sartorial heaven for any fashion designer who could see beyond fur, but, for Cruella, House of DeVil fashions is simply there to lend more believability to why she would be so obsessed skinning animals/fur overall. If she wasn’t some highly specific fashion hound (no pun intended), audiences of the 90s might have been less tolerant of her animal cruelty ways. Which just goes to show that people can excuse away pretty much any knavish behavior if it falls under the materialism umbrella.
In the meantime, Roger’s surly nature, for whatever reason, manages to enchant Anita as a mix-up of their two dogs unfolds at the park. She doesn’t even seem to mind that he’s American. In fact, at no point is the need for Roger’s Americanism ever broached. No one mentions how an American got a work visa. Or why he’s American at all when the Roger of the original is British as well.
After the famed encounter, seeing the marriage between Roger and Anita happen so quickly in live-action form definitely comes across as less plausible, with Roger asking her to be his wife immediately after they fall into the pond at separate times (as opposed to together in the animated version). He “cutely” inquires, “Would you like another cup of marriage?” instead of “tea” as they sit in front of the fire drying themselves. Having no idea that looming in the background is Cruella and her order of Jasper (played by, fittingly, Hugh Laurie) and Horace (Mark Williams) to kidnap Perdita’s fifteen new puppies (Anita, too, gets pregnant at the same time as her dog), Roger and Anita go out for their usual constitutional, blithely unaware of what is to come.
Before the dastardly duo arrives to infiltrate the house, there remains the TV scene of Pongo and Perdita watching a show with their children. In the 1961 movie, that show is about a dog named Thunderbolt, swapped out in the 1996 movie in favor of the puppies viewing some content from the Disney vault instead: The Aristocats (specifically the scene where they’re singing, “Everybody wants to be a cat”). That is, until Lucky changes the channel to Homeward Bound.
Perhaps Anita ought to have been more prepared for Cruella to retaliate in this way, but then, she’s not Estella. Can’t see all the same qualities in an alter ego-esque foil that allowed Estella to outdo Baroness at every turn. Still, how fucking naïve do you have to be? Especially after Cruella makes an appearance at your house and blows her top by saying, “You’ll never work in fashion again!” after being refused what she wants. That line, by the way, easily could’ve come from Miranda Priestly’s own mouth.
As Cruella’s diabolical nature augments the more she is refused the very thing she wants (one might compare her to Veruca Salt in that way), her irascible tendencies become increasingly in the spirit of Baroness, who was just as driven by a commitment to excellence in fashion. And wanting to be seen as the premier emblem of it. Thus, when Cruella cries out at the animals in a barn, “You’ve won the battle, but I’m about to win the wardrobe!,” it’s an instance of dialogue we can just as easily fathom Baroness saying to Estella (in her Cruella disguise) after being upstaged yet again by her antics.
While Anita might have been willing to capitulate at the outset, like Estella, she is pushed to the brink by her antagonist. Though not to quite the same bombastic extent. And, in opposition to Estella, when Anita puts her foot down in protest of her “fashion mentor,” it only results in more pain for the non-emotionally damaged soul. Yet when Estella realizes that the Baroness has forced her to ask herself, in essence, “How bad do you want it?”—fashion prestige, agency, total control, that sort of thing—Estella, in the end, finds that she was destined to be the student who surpassed the teacher in terms of transcendence into full-tilt evil. Anita, instead, remains perfectly darling.
