Gemma Bovery

Village Voice by Alan Scherstuhl

Fontaine handles the assignations with sympathetic shorthand — we see what Martin sees, but we see more, too, enough to understand that Gemma's dalliances are vital to her but not overwhelming. She has a handle on them.

The New Yorker by Anthony Lane

The only performer who seems at ease is Luchini, eternally hangdog, who in one juicy moment spies Gemma and her beau-to-be, at a market stall, and confesses not to envy but to “a strange kind of jubilation” at seeing Flaubert’s narrative lock into place.

Slant Magazine by Diego Semerene

The film dabbles in the French romantic-comedy tradition and simultaneously spoofs it, committing to neither.

The A.V. Club by Jesse Hassenger

It’s minor, clever, and essential in the specialized field of Gemma Arterton studies.

New York Daily News by Joe Neumaier

The emotions are florid and the entanglements heated. But the film become preoccupied with, as Flaubert would say, the pettiness and mediocrity of daily life. Arterton, though, is plushly magnetic. She draws us in despite the overly lyrical atmosphere.

The Dissolve by Keith Phipps

What almost rescues the film is Arterton’s performance.

The Playlist by Kevin Jagernauth

Gemma Bovery attempts to bring new heat to an old story, but mostly winds up cooling on the sill.

New York Post by Kyle Smith

Laden with witty ironies, the film by Anne Fontaine suggests men may not play exactly the roles they think they do in women’s lives.

Observer by Rex Reed

The result is a somewhat reserved but sensual and gratifying movie that finds and polishes connections between literature and the screen while further catapulting the wonderful British actress Gemma Arterton several notches up the ladder toward international stardom.

Movie Nation by Roger Moore

Gemma Bovery manages a few surprises, even if you know the Flaubert novel Simmonds was sending up.