Daniel M. Gold

Fever doesn’t come to a neat ending and ultimately feels unsatisfying. Before then, though, it’s an intriguing and intelligent update of a true crime still chilling more than 90 years later.

The Time Is ... Now is a well-meaning if congenitally flawed bit of uplift about how to endure catastrophe and violence in a world that has no shortage of either.

Mr. Gotardo uses long, slowly unfolding shots and extended close-ups to aid our familiarity with each set of characters — almost by osmosis, we grasp their domestic dynamics, the rhythm of their routines.

The director, Robert Lusitana, who ran for Larsen himself, has assembled a touching celebration of a coach and mentor.

Directed breathlessly by John Erick Dowdle (“As Above/So Below”), the movie is filled with jittery shots from hand-held cameras, and hurtles along at a pace that is especially helpful in racing past the holes in the paper-thin plot.

The movie is choppy and rushed — a bumper-car ride that somehow fits the rough-and-tumble era it recalls.

Other People tries to lighten its heavy load with mixed results.

A small, gentle riff on the eternal tug of war between small towns and big dreams.

Applying ghoulish special effects and atmospheric slow pacing, the film also maintains a dark palette of blacks, browns and ash grays, the better to serve as a backdrop when the blood starts spattering.

Less a documentary than a glittering souvenir, but it’s still a record of a legend.

While 14 Blades grinds on perhaps a half-hour too long, its ambitions and energies show that for a fresh take on the western, go east.

Mr. Records (the child actor in “Where the Wild Things Are”) is nimble and unsentimental in playing a character who is playing at normal, supported by a solid cast in a well-filmed indie that doesn’t let its low budget get in the way of some true chills.

The movie covers almost three decades choppily. But Mr. Camarago and Mr. Miguel convey the stubborn commitment that made the brothers so revered by the tribes.

None of the concoctions left me salivating (a basic, I’d think, for any food porn), and the exercise seems silly if not decadent. But foodies with a refined palate might differ — de gustibus, after all — and other viewers can appreciate the manic creativity that drives Mr. Redzepi and his crew.

The Wildlike landscapes are exhilarating, but when the film works, it’s because of the interiors.

As entertainment, this is vintage potboiler fare. But the movie is also revealing as fantasy, an artifact of 21st-century China’s youth culture transfixed by its rising fortunes and Western ways.

Mi America is not just about a murder case but about how residents of divided communities share a history and deal with one another, sometimes hopefully, always warily.

This tribute is overlong and too reverent, conveying little sense of Xiao Hong the person and even less of her talent.

The wooden dialogue gives Liam Neeson little to do beyond bite on his corncob pipe and berate subordinates who dare question him. Still, in perhaps the only instance when this is a compliment, he’s no Olivier.

Hollidaysburg is a pleasant if unremarkable coming-of-age film.

This slow-paced, cut-to-the-bone drama ought to be gripping, especially as the jungle and its beasts make their presence felt. But curiously, Ardor lacks tension, maybe because the actors are playing archetypes: Little is said, and there are few surprises.

This low-budget film is often static and awkward... Smaller scenes, though, like those when Guinevere interacts with her tough-minded lawyer of a sister or an old classmate from high school, have a realness to them.

Refreshingly free of jingoism, that detachment unfortunately winds up working against the movie, which doesn’t engage emotionally.

The film, like its subject, frustrates in its inability to focus; there is no deep inquiry into what makes Anderson tick. It’s like skimming a stone across a lake.

A chronicle of obsession ought to provide some insights.

Directed by Matthew Hausle and Steven C. Barber, “Never Surrender” frustrates with its lack of focus.

Free to Run prefers nothing more than an easy jog down memory lane.

By the end, the accelerating plot twists and turns — love, obsession, family obligations, personal honor — become tangled and knotted; a few threads are simply ignored or discarded.