There is one pun, “Miranda Beastly”, one slightly witty quote, “May the bridges I burn light my way”, and another vaguely smart one: “You are not a visionary, you are a vendor” in this sequel to 2006’s The Devil Wears Prada. The latter of the three flatters to deceive because if you are a good vendor, shouldn’t you be able to sell your vision?

That, however, is not the real problem with The Devil Wears Prada 2. While it is good to hang with the imperious editor of the fashion magazine, Runway, Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep), earnest Andy (Anne Hathaway), haughty Emily (Emily Blunt) and steadfast Nigel (Stanley Tucci); what is in woeful short supply is hunger.

The original, based on Lauren Weisberger’s 2003 bestselling novel, a savage critique of the fashion industry, was not afraid to feature grey characters. Everyone was hungry to make it — the models, the clackers, the writers, the designers, the second and third assistants. Andy buys into the Kool-Aid, all the while telling herself and her friends that she just has to survive Miranda for a year to have all journalistic doors open for her.

By contrast the sequel (David Frankel returns to direct) has sanded down and sanitised everything and everyone. Miranda is more of an institution than a person. The stakes are never too high — nothing like getting the unpublished Harry Potter manuscripts in three hours, which had us cheering Andy on even as we shake our heads in horror at Miranda’s unreasonable requests.

In the sequel, after complaints to HR, Miranda hangs her coats herself and has an assistant, Amari (Simone Ashley), murmuring all the necessary politically correct terms Miranda should use, which in itself is an anomaly, as surely someone as intelligent and clued in as Miranda, who has managed to stay a step ahead in the most fickle of industries, would not need a road map to navigate the world.

Twenty years after her Miranda experience, Andy is a respected journalist but, just before receiving an award for her article at a gala, she and all the reporters are fired (by text). Runway and Miranda are in trouble for running a piece on a fashion house that uses sweatshop labour.

Andy is brought in for damage control. She finds Miranda out of step, Nigel continuing to be the beacon, Emily having moved into retail, and a fading publishing industry — no one reads the print version of Runway anymore, Nigel says solemnly.

Milan Fashion Week seems to be the last hurrah, what with Miranda travelling economy (unbelievable) and people being asked to take Uber instead of private cars.

The pace is glacial and Miranda from the first movie would not have been thrilled, but here she is quite happy to play nice. Kenneth Branagh is cheerfully charming (no strange accent, alas) as Stuart, Miranda’s latest husband, while Lucy Liu plays a Garbo-esque figure who is described as the holy grail of interviews, though Andy manages to get one pretty easily through the dog trainer? Justin Theroux is hilarious as the tech bro who wants to travel to the sun.

Andy’s new love interest Peter (Patrick Brammall) is also quite vanilla, as are their disagreements. The clothes (Molly Rogers takes over from Patricia Field) are flamboyant and unreal rather than aspirational. There is nothing terribly wrong with this hysterically safe movie, but neither is there anything to love passionately. That’s all.

The Devil Wears Prada 2 is currently running in theatres