Metacritic reviews

With its bittersweet romance and air of tragic empowerment, Now, Voyager represents the pinnacle of the woman's picture.

Much-loved 1942 piece of super-romantic schmaltz. [19 Jul 2005, p.C3]

It's Grade-A schlock, but not without depth: critics have detected feminist overtones in this movie, one in which men prove eminently dispensable in the quest for happiness.

A classic of the weepy genre so have some toilet roll handy.

Now, Voyager is the stuff of young lovers and hare-brained idealists, and if it can feel pretty foolish at times, it’s unforgettable for how sincere and affectionate it is toward one particularly time-honored cliché: that only fools falls in love.

The women's weepie angle gets to be a bit of a slog later on, but it is all wrapped up as a mesmerically glittering package by Rapper's direction, Sol Polito's camerawork, and Max Steiner's lushly romantic score.

Now, Voyager may not have the fine balance of some of Davis’ best films—Jezebel is probably the place to go for that—but it’s still, in its stronger moments, a fine showcase for an iconic actress.

Not great filmmaking, but indispensable to students of 40s pop culture.

For all its emotional hair-splitting, it fails to resolve its problems as truthfully as it pretends. In fact, a little more truth would have made the film a good deal shorter.

Now, Voyager, an excursion into psychiatry, is almost episodic in its writing.