Bernardo Soares’s review published on Letterboxd:
I'm not a Téchiné fan anyway, but his traits become all the more jarring in this historical context. His tendency to refuse a center to his films, which occasionaly seem to divert their main focus to follow other characters, feels bizarre and shapeless here (no reason is given to me as to why we should care about the Brontë brother). Not to mention his usual economy in introducing narrative events, whereby he suggests them at the end of a given scene only to immediately follow them in the next one in a much later stage. Then again, I guess that's better than announcing Anne's death the way it's done here: a scene where Huppert complains about a sharp pain at the 40-minute mark which's only then refferred back again after 30 minutes or so, and then she just dies - so jarring that I have to respect that smash cut to her dead in her bed. Lots of bad outdated choices altogether as well: my favorite one is a scene where Charlotte is so sad about missing her loved one that she writes her letter without even looking at the paper, her hand moving as she looks vacantly straight ahead, barely blinking, and reciting the words feeling every heartache in them (Pisier is so gorgeous, though, you want to respect her for being so committed to that kind of hokeyness). And yes, it's boring as fuck.