You sit up abruptly, sweat streaming down the side of your face. You crave brown crab claws with peanut paste, watermelon and muscovado sugar air.

I know that feeling. But unluckily, I never got to go to Spain's El Bulli, which is owned by Ferran Adrià (he started working there as a line cook in 1984). And now it’s closing.

You know El Bulli, it's that establishment where molecular gastronomy is on offer and where the superhuman abilities of its chef beckon fans from everywhere. El Bulli will be no more by month’s end and a documentary is being released, El Bulli: Cooking in Progress. Don’t expect a Food Channel documentary—those follow helpfully along a straightforward narrative and interviews with the protagonists help thicken the plot. They’re all-in-one packages and they’re usually very successful films.

This documentary is bare-bones in comparison, but you might still derive some pleasure from watching a group of young men belaboring over some seriously exotic-looking appetizers. Cooking In Progress is more the fly-on-the-wall approach: watch the studied intensity of a group of Adrià’s cooks being trained and the negotiations that ensue to establish the upcoming season’s menu (this documentary was shot a couple of years ago); nod, salivate and wonder.

Adrià’s legacy on what gastronomy can do to food is so unavoidable, missing this documentary would be a shame. But the lack of padding or subtext (testimonies; overall context) could make it unrewarding to some. Some research before watching (on cooking trends, Adrià, molecular foods) might be in order to get the most out of it.

Errol Morris' Tabloid (released on July 15), examines what is left, spiritually and mentally, of a once-respected, now-notorious figure, ruined by the unending scrutiny of trashy media. There is, however, one crucial difference. Mr. Death's title character, a builder of more “humane” electric chairs, essentially crucified himself when he became a rallying Holocaust denier; Morris never questions Fred Leuchter's guilt. In Tabloid, all of the subjects interviewed seem a little mad, yet they all possess hints of clarity and conviction; no one's quite smart or stupid enough to believe or disavow.

Captain America: The First Avenger is the summer’s final sweet indulgence in sentimentality, a 3-D tribute to 1940s retro-futurism and patriotic nostalgia. It shares imaginative space with Spielberg’s Raiders flicks and countless World War II movies. The tearjerking ending of this endearing truffle will almost make you stand and sing “We’ll Meet Again” without a hint of Kubrick’s irony.

Captain America ambles along in this glorified past, when America believed itself an Arsenal of Decency and the nation believed in better living through chemistry. American power is undeniably beneficial. Science advances with flying car optimism. Love is something delayed in the name of duty. It is as if revisionism never happened, warmly embracing the nation’s most idealistic values.

The bulk of the story centers on the epic battle for Hogwarts, in which all the characters we've grown to know and love fight to the death against Voldemort (Ralph Fiennes) and his band of evil Death Eaters. But hardly any time is devoted to any of the characters except Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) and his two friends Hermione (Emma Watson) and Ron (Rupert Grint). Even when several prominent characters are killed in battle, we get a quick glance at them but nothing more; it feels like director David Yates and screenwriter Steve Kloves were given a strict time limit to adhere to, and had to cut out most of the emotional heart of the story in order to meet it (indeed, Deathly Hallows: Part 2 is the shortest of the films, at two hours and five minutes). Having everything move along so quickly made it difficult even for seasoned fans like myself to really connect with the story, and made it impossible for newcomers to appreciate the relevance of each magical creature or mysterious incantation whipping by on screen.

An up-close journey into the strangely persisting violence encountered in our cities, The Interrupters--by producer-director Steve James (Hoop Dreams, Stevie) and author-turned-producer Alex Kotlowitz (There Are No Children Here). tells the stories of three violence Interrupters who try to protect their communities from the brutality they once were known for themselves. Shot over the course of a year the film captures a period in Chicago (where Cabrini Green is from) when the city became a national symbol for violence in America.

Kristin Scott-Thomas plays a journalist by the name of Julia Jarmond. During the writing of an article about the roundup she becomes consumed with the story of a young girl caught in the French police sweep. Sarah Starzynski (Mélusine Mayance) is arrested and was supposed to have been shipped off along with her family to Auschwitz and thousands of other French Jews. But something’s amiss. The girl and her brother do not appear on the concentration camp’s lists. Jarmond decides to investigate their fate.

The biggest fault with “Kingdom” is the writing. I’m not sure what went wrong during that process but something most definitely did. Certain scenes are thrown in which add a whole lot of nothing to the story: Pope, one of the brothers, orders Joshua (also known as J) to boost a Camaro and deliver it to him at 2 o’clock in the morning. No explanation is given why. A few hours later, two cops looking for the stolen car notice a Camaro parked in the middle of the road, with its doors open. As they search inside, three men appear out of nowhere and shoot them execution-style.

Horrible Bosses pretends to be a movie for all people who hate their bosses, but really it’s a film for all people who hate film. Directed by Seth Gordon and partly produced by Brett Ratner, it’s the a classic case of a movie that doesn’t seem that wretched, until you start to take it apart afterwards and realize how badly you wasted two hours. It has some funny moments, yes, but that barely hides the fact that it approaches a cultural disaster.

The year is 1993. Nine Cistercian monks live in the monastery of Tibhirine in the Atlas mountains of Algeria. The monks live in good intelligence with the Muslim villagers, farming, making honey, treating patients in their clinic, teaching children. Unfortunately, the precursor—and to us now familiar—signs of fundamental Islam are entering this peaceful community. Murders of foreign construction workers, kidnappings, enforcement of hijab and exactions set the scene. The monks, though clearly in danger, refuse to leave for a less threatening environment despite entreaties from local authorities. Xavier Beauvois’s film tells this true story that takes place over three years in “Of Men and Gods,” which received the Grand Prize of the Jury at the last Cannes Film Festival.

A funny thing happened on my way to pan Michael Bay’s midsummer mecha monster mash Transformers: Dark of the Moon. It turned out that I liked about half of it. Strangely that would not be the gargantuan 3-D final hour of demolished Chicago skyscrapers, impossible Special Forces stunts, flying glass, metal tentacles, and super-powerful interplanetary robots that could think of no better disguise than the cab of a truck. The evil Decepticons want to turn the human race into slaves, doomed to change out the 5W-30 every 3,000 miles for the rest of eternity. The Autobots with their Earthling allies fight to preserve the most essential human rights –like the right to have a girlfriend who’s 100 times out of your league.