SUN SCORE

***1/2

The Funk Brothers are among the most successful musicians of all time. They've played together on more hits than the Beatles, Rolling Stones and Elvis Presley combined. And practically no one knows who they are.

Standing in the Shadows of Motown is an attempt to change that, to give a group of musicians now in the twilight of their lives - the guys who invented and wove together the sound of such rock and roll classics as "I Heard It Through the Grapevine," "For Once in My Life," "My Girl" and "Dancing in the Streets" - a taste of the spotlight they've so long deserved. It's a documentary about acknowledging genius, about just desserts, about artistic muses that refuse to give up. It's about great camaraderie and great music.

And it's about time.

For years, music lovers have tried to figure out the Motown sound, to explain away the seductive groove that came out of those Detroit recording studios during the 1960s and early 1970s. How could so many hits, courtesy of so many different singers - Marvin Gaye, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, Diana Ross and the Supremes, Mary Wells, the Temptations - come out of one place?

Was it just some kind of amazing karma that brought all this talent together? Or could it have been the guys playing behind these great singers? The voices may have changed from song to song, but not the guys playing the instruments. Their names never appeared on any record label, but perhaps more than anyone, they were responsible for the Motown sound.

There was drummer Uriel Jones, whose beat proved the prototype for all the funk bands that would follow in Motown's footsteps; keyboardist Earl Van Dyke, whose pounding rhythms on such songs as "Ain't too Proud to Beg" threatened to jump right out of your speakers; guitarist Joe Messina, whose jazz licks provided the hook for scores of hit singles; and bass player James Jamerson, whose one-fingered plucking style became the standard everyone struggled to follow.

Standing in the Shadows of Motown catches up with the surviving Funk Brothers - 13 musicians played with the group between Motown's founding in 1958 and 1972, when the studio moved to Los Angeles - and takes them back to the scenes of their legendary triumphs, including the original Motown studios in Detroit and some of the area nightclubs in which they'd jam through the night. There are no on-camera interviews, and precious little narration. Instead, there are the former bandmates themselves, kidding with each other and remembering all the fun they had being music pioneers - even if few of them realized, at the time, how influential they were.

Most memorably, the film takes a group of them back to Motown's Studio A, fondly remembered as The Snakepit. This is the place where most of those huge hits were recorded, and the Funk Brothers have a blast telling war stories, recalling the good and not-so-good vibes that spurred them on to an astonishing level of creativity.

Many of them haven't set foot in the studio for nearly 30 years, and being back seems to prove almost intimidating for some. It's an extraordinary moment, both personal and mythic; the effect would be similar to journeying with Paul McCartney to the Cavern Club, where the Beatles got their start, or with Chuck Berry back to the Chess studio where he recorded "Johnny B. Goode."

Surprisingly, there's little bitterness shown by the Funk Brothers, who certainly have cause to feel slighted. But these guys were apparently too busy having fun to start nursing grudges, and if the ensuing years have proven hard on some, they refuse to pin blame. Even Motown founder Berry Gordy, who up and yanked the label to the West Coast with little notice, is spoken of only positively. That could be because the filmmakers didn't want to upset Gordy, who effectively could have vetoed the film by prohibiting use of the label's music. But the musicians' high regard for their former mentor seems genuine.

To his credit, director Paul Justman is largely content to let the musicians tell their own stories. Unfortunately, it's when he tries to embellish them that his documentary stumbles.

Using actors to re-create scenes the musicians are talking about - jamming, partying, recording - adds nothing to the mix; the Funk Brothers are wonderful storytellers in their own rights. In perhaps the film's most poignant passage, several talk about the fate of Jamerson, who lapsed into obscurity after Motown moved to L.A. and took to drinking heavily. Shortly before his death in 1983, he attended Motown's 25th anniversary celebration as a paying customer, using a ticket he'd gotten from a scalper.

It would be great if we could watch the faces of his former bandmates as they tell the story; instead, we get to watch an actor sitting in a crowded balcony.

Justman fares somewhat better in his decision to have popular singers cover some of the greatest Motown hits. Filmed during a series of Funk Brothers reunion concerts held in Detroit in 2000, the results are a mixed bag. Ben Harper drains the life out of "Ain't Too Proud to Beg," and Bootsy Collins doesn't know what to do with "Do You Love Me." But Meshell Ndegeocello adds intriguing reggae flavorings to "You've Really Got a Hold On Me," and Joan Osborne couldn't possibly do any better by "(Love Is Like a) Heat Wave" and (especially) "What Becomes of the Brokenhearted."

Regrettably, by the time this film was made, several more of the Funk Brothers already had passed away; another one, keyboard player Johnny Griffith, died Nov. 10, just days after playing at a New York concert celebrating the film's premiere.

But Standing in the Shadows of Motown ends with a celebration, as the surviving Brothers take to the stage for a final jam session. As they are introduced, each brings with him a picture of a deceased bandmate and places it carefully onstage, giving the entire group one last chance to play together.

Standing in the Shadows of Motown

Directed by Paul Justman

Released by Artisan Entertainment

Rated PG (language, thematic elements)

Time 108 minutes