Olive Higgins Prouty's novel becomes near-classic Bette Davis vehicle about a dowdy, unloved spinster in Boston who finds enlightenment through psychology (and, naturally, a way to make herself more attractive through this newfound wisdom), but that true love still alludes her. Davis' Charlotte Vale is one of her best celluloid creations: an impossibly patient, but incredibly aware and forthright woman who falls in love with a married man and realizes you have to be happy with what you've got, not for what lingers above. It's a classic piece of grand, romantic storytelling--and yet with an ending that isn't quite so rosy. Charlotte's dreams are not completely delivered to her, but she has fulfillment within. It's a gusty soaper, yes, and it does take its time getting started; however, director Irving Rapper turns out to be shrewd with his pacing, and the screenplay digs a bit deeper than most genre films of this era. Besides that, Davis is impeccable. *** from ****
Review of Now, Voyager
