Noma: My Perfect Storm

Crafted with exquisite care in the vein of its subject, though it occasionally feels overly precious (criticism that might be leveled at the restaurant itself by its detractors).

Deschamps’ camera captures the emotional roller coaster Redzepi rode during that tumultuous time and shows his conflicted relationship with fame. He dismisses its importance but also clearly craves it. The end result is a revealing portrait of an artist wholly dedicated to his art.

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

Deschamps never ventures below the surface of Redzepi's wildly successful experiment, and while the pictures are pretty, no one judges food on appearance alone.

Too much of Noma is composed of gorgeous pillow shots, which grow static and fussy, appearing to exist almost apart from the subject matter.

I’ve never seen a restaurant documentary that seemed less interested in showing the joy of food.

It has all the flaws of the recent Bradley Cooper vehicle Burnt, only without the sex and the charm.