Ken Jaworowski

While scenes of the lake and land are magnificent, there are repulsive sights and stories, too. Whether inspiring or upsetting, all feel authentic.

This potent film gives equal weight to complex emotions as well as bare facts. In the same way, it’s not just the story of a man’s death, but also a study of the aftermath.

As lovely as the movie is to look at (and the final scene is exceptionally wonderful), it’s too oblique to concentrate its energies and sharpen its focus.

Sad, tender and quietly moving, The Departure never says more than it needs to, much like its subject, a Buddhist priest who counsels those contemplating suicide.

Alexandria Bombach’s direction and editing are exceptional; she captures images that are both subtle and formidable. Her film is, first and foremost, a profile of Murad and her mission. Yet it’s also a comment on the media and on government aid.

Using newsreels, voice-overs and re-enactments, Roberta Grossman, the documentary’s director, paints a comprehensive portrait of the times and of the risks taken by Ringelblum and his group. The staged scenes are well acted, while readings from diaries and letters are heartbreaking.

The filmmakers supply terrifying footage: At civilian rallies, we see nightstick beatings and bloody riots. During military battles, bullets whiz by and explosions shake the cameras. Nerve-racking scenes follow Ukraine’s extraordinarily bold volunteer soldiers.

While eavesdropping on these academics, you may be captivated by their exchanges while frustrated by their stasis while curious about their lives. Indeed, there are several ways to look at these scenes. But all you really have to do is listen.

For those terrified of heights, Mountain will be a nonstop nightmare. Yet big scares are a small price for the awe-inspiring footage you’ll see. As for what you’ll hear, that takes a little explaining.

Connor Jessup wonderfully inhabits the teenage Oscar, who observes others while trying to find himself.

Peter Bratt, the director, uses an immense amount of historical footage and interviews, arranged with clarity.

The truth turns into a tangled mess in A River Below, a bold and urgent documentary whose seemingly straightforward story quickly runs awry.

For sure, this funny and tender film prompts cheerful smiles, but sometimes they turn melancholy.

The energy here is controlled, the mood reflective. These character-driven songs are populated by the washed-up and the run-down — an aging actor, a hitchhiker — and the shared themes are remembrance and regret.

To be sure, nothing in this film is easy to hear. But that doesn’t mean that it shouldn’t be said, and learned from.

Most extraordinary are interviews with the women who came forward to provide evidence in court. Their integrity and tenacity, and their loyalty to one another, is enough to bring you to tears.

Even when its plot starts to sag, Walking Out remains beautiful to watch.

Part psychology seminar and sociology course, “Germans & Jews” finds its sharpest insights as it examines the stress of communication, when both sides are so hyper-aware of the past that it hinders what’s said in the present.

16 Shots remains valuable as a record of past events that hold sway over the present.

The Age of Shadows might tempt another filmmaker to dwell on issues or delve deeper into its characters’ hearts. Yet, for this director, exposition can’t hold a candle to elegantly staged shootouts. And who can blame him. He knows his strengths.

The humor is dry and the acting deadpan in Women Who Kill, a comedy that plays it droll and is all the funnier for it.

While the scenes shown from “Bulletproof,” the western they complete, are haphazard, that’s of little concern. If you want to see real courage, it’s not in that movie anyway. It’s in this documentary.

It’s an artful and lyrical assembly.

There’s a lot to laugh at, and to learn from, in Tickling Giants, a documentary that starts off by telling the story of one man and ends up speaking volumes about satire, freedom of expression and political pressure.

You’ll have to wade through several topics to get to the heart of Legion of Brothers, but once you’re there, some intense stories make the effort worthwhile.

Every “Oh wow” in Human Nature is matched by an “Oh no” somewhere down the line. Together, these two competing emotions — excitement and unease — make for one pretty fascinating documentary.

Michael Bonfiglio, the film’s director, provides a concise overview of the issues.

You don’t wait for what comes next in People’s Republic of Desire as much as you watch and wonder why any of it is happening. That sensation arises often in this canny documentary about a baffling topic.

There are several strong stories in The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson, a documentary that, in trying to tell them all, takes on too much.

Silicon Cowboys prizes the human drama behind business events, much as in “The Social Network” or “Steve Jobs.” Those films, too, pretended that technology was the star. But they knew that people were the real story.

It’s a fond and forgiving tribute to the man, filled with music that moves beyond happy and sad, and toward something like brilliance.

The blues seep into every scene of Satan & Adam, a gritty yet lovely documentary. And even after the songs stop, the music’s bittersweet emotions linger.

It’s appealing to adults and accessible to younger viewers. And it delivers an environmental message that is strong and serious while remaining encouraging and optimistic. That’s important to hear. The rest is just amazing to watch.

While there may be no completely dispassionate way to discuss its topic — the Armenian genocide — the film’s balance of emotion and composure helps make its stories even stronger.

Riehl gears his documentary more toward avid fans than casual viewers, though he nods to the human side of story.

Often uncomfortable and all the better for it, A Crooked Somebody doesn’t mind watching its characters squirm a little. That’s tough for them but good for us in this highly enjoyable thriller.

The surgery scenes in The Bleeding Edge are squirm-in-your-seat uncomfortable. But it’s the interviews — watching patients recount agonies they’ve suffered from poorly researched and regulated medical devices — that are hardest to sit through.

Jon Kean, the director, chose the material wisely and doesn’t shy from severe images. He and his team also have good ears for anecdotes.

The directors let their subjects speak without overtly passing judgment.

Because of its shortcomings, (T)error serves as evidence of a broken system rather than an indictment of it. Yet such evidence is worrisome and points to a threat to civil rights.

If you couldn’t name two Native American musicians at the beginning of the documentary, you’ll remember at least a half-dozen after the end. And it’s a good bet you’ll be searching for their albums, too.

Over-narrated and self-serious, this documentary allows its good intentions to pave the way to a tepid tale.

While more information on the animals and their ecosystems is needed, the stakes described here are immense, as is the sorrow over majestic creatures massacred only so that their tusks can be made into baubles.

A documentary that is as rewarding as this artist’s work.

This is a film unafraid to look at [Burden's] acts, but timid when approaching his ideas.

Amid the fight, there’s a sense of hope as we watch one tough kid turning into one tough man. With luck, that will lead to a sequel.

The barbarity described in Finding Oscar is stomach-turning, but moments of courage still shine through in this unsettling yet vital documentary.

Summer in the Forest is an extraordinarily tender documentary that asks what it means to be human. Here, even the most gentle scenes raise mighty questions.

An engaging account of Peep’s life and the alt-music scene.

If you can look past the low-grade production values — and to do that you’ll need two awfully forgiving eyes — Reinventing Rosalee delivers a few rewards, thanks to its vibrant subject and her noteworthy life.

I must have breathed while watching Cash Only. But it sure felt as if I didn’t. This brutal and severe film has that effect.

To be sure, this loosely structured story needs a stronger outline; you’ll often wish for clarifying details on the group’s programming and its unfamiliar instruments. But then the music will play, and you’ll think this film wants for nothing.

The filmmakers rarely delve into the spiritual aspects of the story, but that’s O.K. You don’t have to believe in Padma and Urgain’s religion to believe in them.

The makers of A Brave Heart: The Lizzie Velasquez Story leave a few too many questions unanswered, but their subject’s immense optimism steamrolls through the documentary’s shortcomings. Indeed, there seems to be little this woman can’t vanquish.

The art is the star and Ms. Axelrod features plenty of it. She also outlines a knowing path through Mr. Cattelan’s career, leaving just enough room to have you wondering if the artist is more of a con man than a genius.

As its energetic early scenes give way to a sluggish second half, you start to sense how much better this good-enough movie might have been.

While this worthy film sidesteps clichés — there are no horrid flashbacks or emotional speeches — its spareness occasionally feels planned rather than spontaneous. After a powerful first half, later scenes offer diminishing returns.

The trouble with the movie — and it’s significant — is that Mr. Saleh is so keen to survey Egypt’s dysfunction that his pacing wanes. It’s possible to admire each scene and still see this film, in its entirety, as in need of some serious sharpening.

Indeed, few satisfying answers arise here. But there’s bravery in asking the questions, and this film knows something about courage.

The obvious problem with its subject-says-all approach is the lack of outside voices and perspective. This is a broad summation of the man, not a critical look at his policies.

If there aren’t many big laughs here, there are enough smiles to make the time pass pleasantly enough.

Try as it might, sadness still can’t get the best of The Rest I Make Up, a lyrical and lovingly made documentary about the playwright María Irene Fornés, which recalls her career and follows her over several bittersweet years as Alzheimer’s steals her memories.

As with a dream, you can parse what you’ve watched for meaning or just savor what you’ve seen. For this compassionate film, either way works fine.

While these men aren’t accountable for the actions of their fathers, they are obligated to recognize the truth of what happened. To see one of them deny that truth is difficult to watch, and just as hard to look away from.

By making you feel deeply for his sister and her children, Valdez has fashioned his film to make the lapses less glaring.

Even knowing the secret of A Gay Girl in Damascus doesn’t make this documentary any less tense. That’s a testament to Sophie Deraspe, a director who understands how to let a plot unfold.

It’s an amusing tale for young audiences, ending with the expected messages about friendship and courage. But there are delights for adults as well, particularly in the first half, with sendups of various comic book series (some aimed at DC’s own arch-nemesis, Marvel) and an extra-large supply of spoofs on other movies.

If all of Song of Lahore were as exciting as its ending, you’d need an hour afterward to catch your breath. It’s not, yet despite a lackluster start, this documentary redeems itself by the finale.

Young viewers could certainly handle a few more harsh facts. Yet The Elephant Queen sets out, first and foremost, to use a narrative to build compassion. And here, a good story is as effective as a shout.

Mr. Fogel could be considered either daring or foolhardy for his initial plan. But his work with Dr. Rodchenkov is levelheaded, and his documentary illuminating.

The humble Mr. Norman is always ready with a laugh, and it’s tough not to smile yourself when he reaches for a pencil and starts drawing. When that happens, it’s redundant to say he’s special. Anyone can see it.

Ms. Meeropol is steadfast in providing both sides of the story. That’s admirable, yet it can come across as uninvolving.

The sense of danger is palpable, as is the sense of misery after the most dreadful scenes.

It’s a film that doggedly questions an exam that affects the futures of millions and feeds the fortunes of several big industries. Someone else — the schools — needs to supply some good answers.

A remarkably enjoyable, and sometimes very funny, documentary about a frightening topic.

This formidable film is sometimes zealous to a fault: The credits cite more than 200 sources of archival material, from The Washington Post to YouTube channels. It’s a lot to take in, as names and numbers zip by, yet missing some of its points may be healthy. To explore every moment is to risk overdosing on outrage.

A haunting first half can’t offset the absurd ending of I Think We’re Alone Now, a post-apocalyptic tale with a late plot twist that feels as if it comes out of left field. And right field. And center field, the stands and the dugout, too.

A documentary that’s remarkably engaging despite treating its rough-and-tumble hero with kid gloves.

It’s possible to fully, and vehemently, disagree with Mr. Wilson and Mr. Taaki yet still see their points. That can make The New Radical unsettling. It also makes it a film worth watching.

While it would have been easy for Mr. Sobel to unleash an angrier screed against the inequalities shown, some well-placed images tell us all we need to know about the haves and have-nots here.

There’s much to absorb throughout “The Spy Behind Home Plate,” and sometimes details speed by too fast or digressions go on a bit long. Still, Kempner’s passion for her remarkable subject is always evident.

Part scrappy, part sweet and wholly enjoyable, The Lost Arcade is a love letter to a vanished piece of New York, and a little wish for the future.

An Open Secret is affecting, particularly when the victims recount their experiences in voices that crack with emotion or pause with pain. Even if you do look away, hearing them speak is enough.

Heavy with emotion yet light on information, 500 Years has the curious effect of being both passionate and pale. You may find yourself championing its subjects even while feeling confounded by the omission of details by its filmmaker.

Maya Angelou: And Still I Rise covers so much ground that it’s usually easy to forgive the filmmakers for not digging deeper. This is a documentary interested in breadth rather than depth, and on those terms it succeeds.

The resulting emotions are complex, and Bloch, here directing her first feature, can be excused for allowing a few of the scenes to stray. But by the end of the documentary, she and many of her subjects posit that it’s possible to learn from history and to change, and to trust each other a little more.

This is a film too enamored of its subject to pry very deeply. And yet, it’s hard not to be enamored as well, as Pavarotti’s larger-than-life personality shines in almost every scene.

This film isn’t always pretty, but its message is necessary.

It’s a little amazing how a story so guilty of gross-out violence can retain a share of comic innocence.

Mr. Allen has made an engrossing and tense documentary, though his insider knowledge is sometimes a hindrance.

Trainin’s film spends a good deal of its running time surveying the emotions that affect everyone here, including the Tsuk children. Yet there’s quite a bit left unexplored; after the start, the director rarely returns to examine Amit’s past or seek insights into Amit’s inner self.

We spy on an artist who races around like a mad scientist, and who seems comically befuddled by technology. His passion is genuine, as is his sense of wonder.

Considering all that’s been written and said over the last year, there’s not much new to learn from 11/8/16. But the film remains engaging for its stories, and is likely to be more instructive in the future, when passions have cooled. Judging by most people here, that won’t be soon.

The film, directed by Mikkel Norgaard (who’s borrowed a thing or three from David Fincher) and first released in Denmark in 2013, often focuses on research rather than on gunplay, yet somehow it still feels filled with action. That’s a testament to its lead actors.

Lynskey and Schloss are well matched as mother and daughter, and Griffiths builds a relationship between them as this far-from-innocent teenager navigates her world. That rough journey is worth watching even when this film falls short.

Though the film is heavier on summaries than specifics, its messages are troubling nonetheless.

The Absent One finds Mr. Kaas as watchable as before, though a few well-intentioned attempts to lighten up his character — an orphaned cat is brought in, a speech about his motivations is given — are clumsily executed, and instead divert from his terse and magnetic personality.

Mr. Kraume captures the glances and motions that lay bare a character’s thoughts. He’s fond of the gruff and curmudgeonly Bauer, yet sentimentality is scarce while the double-crossings are surprising and the dry humor is welcome.