Ken Jaworowski

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.