If Shakespeare Wrote The Devil Wears Prada
Written by Rebecca Rose
I’m moving backwards.
We’ve had an excellent run of Shakespeare plays being modernized (Clueless, 10 Things I Hate About You, She’s The Man…) but I’m writing modern films in Shakespearean terms. It’s a great challenge and I literally feel my brain expanding.
My latest one is Nigel’s monologue from The Devil Wears Prada. I love a man in a sharp suit with an even sharper tongue, and Nigel is all that and more. Here is my writing line by line with the original script.
Wake Up, Six
ANDY
She hates me, Nigel.
She hateth me, Nigel.
NIGEL
And that’s my problem because.. oh wait, no it’s not my problem.
And shall I bear thy troubles for thee? Nay,
This quarrel does not stir me from my peace.
ANDY
I don’t know what else I can. Because if I do something right it’s unacknowledged.
She doesn’t even say thank you, but if I do something wrong. She is just vicious.
Her discontent hath dulled my brain and made
All matters bear no happy consequence.
A thousand times I serve her well and yet
No word of thanks doth pass her scornful lips.
I may be faultless in all things but one
And O, her viciousness cuts to the quick.
NIGEL
So quit.
Then release thyself from thy duty.
ANDY
What?
What?
NIGEL
Quit
So please you, step aside.
ANDY
….
NIGEL
I can get another girl to take your job in 5 minutes. One who really wants it.
Afore five minutes pass, another maid
shall fill thy place. And with a happy face.
ANDY
I don’t want to quit. That’s not fair. But I’m just saying that I would just like a little credit for the fact that i’m killing myself trying.
’Tis not my will to quit my duty, sir,
But I have long endured her thanklessness
And disregard for all my lab’rous toil!
NIGEL
Oh Andy. Be serious. You are not trying. You are whining.
Come, Andy. Do not jest.
You put no efforts in your tasks, in sooth,
A whining babe you are. Indeed, you whine.
What is it that you want me to say to you, huh?
Wouldst thou desire I tell thee something else?
Do you want me to say poor you, Miranda’s picking on you… poor you, poor Andy?
O wretched girl, here take my sympathy?
Miranda makes a mistress most unfair?
Woe to Andy, woe to thee?
Hm? Wake up, 6!
She’s just doing her job.
Do not you see a mistress at her work?
Don’t you know that you are working at the place that published some of the greatest artists of the century?
Knowst you not the house in which you work
Hath brought to light the fairest artists of our age?
Or do you plead your ignorance?
Halston, Lagerfeld, de la Renta. And what they did what they created was greater than art.
Great Halston, Lagerfeld, and Oscar, Lord
of de la Renta house. Pray, know you not
The greatness of their art they have devis’d?
Because you live your life in it.
Thou liv’st thy life wrapp’d in their handiwork.
Well, not you, obviously, but some people.
Well, thy contemptuous garb doth make it plain
’Tis not of thee but others that I speak
You think this is just a magazine, hm?
What, profaner of this hallowed press, to claim
It only thus? ’Tis more than just a magazine.
This is a shining beacon of hope for oh, I don’t know, let’s say a young boy growing up in Rhode Island with six brothers pretending to go to soccer practice when he was really going to sewing class and reading runway under the covers at night with a flashlight.
This is a shining light of hope, for - O,
a quiet boy grown on the Isle of Rhode,
one lonesome boy amongst a brood of six,
A needle’s point and sewer’s thread concealed
behind the rugged expectation of
a man’s delight in football games and sport,
awake in counterfeit repose at night,
beneath the covers of his bed to read
this printed matter that mattered most to him.
You have no idea how many legends have walked these halls and what’s worse, is you don’t care.
In such disdainful manner you confess
your ignorance of those who walked these halls.
Because this place where so many would die to work, you only would deign to work.
With haughty hands thou condescend'st to work
This cov'ted task that many fain would do.
And you want to know why she doesn’t kiss you on the forehead and give you a gold star on your homework at the end of the day.
Forsooth,
thou thinkst this not an overcredulous wish,
expecting her to kiss thy head with thanks?
Wake up, sweet heart.
Stanley Tucci, forever.