Cadillac Records is a difficult, frustrating biopic that attempts to chronicle the rise and fall of the legendary Chess Records, a label responsible for some of the more groundbreaking music of the 20th century. While ambitious source material ultimately overwhelmed the final product, a more uninformed viewer may still appreciate it.

Label co-founder Leonard Chess, unevenly played by Adrian Brody, is the backbone of the film, and director Darnell Martin constructs a tale of success, greed, and redemption, using as subjects the various blues and r&b legends that graced the Chess label in the 1940s and 1950s.

Muddy Waters, played by the reliably excellent Jeffrey Wright, sings how he “Can’t be Satisfied,” and how he is a “Mannish Boy;” Chuck Berry, played by an electric Mos Def, sings of “Maybellene” and “Johnny B. Goode;” and finally, Etta James, portrayed by Beyonce Knowles, belts out “At Last.” Also nudging in for a spot are the blues artists Little Walter, Willie Dixon, and Howlin’ Wolf, the latter played by Eamonn Walker of HBO’s Oz.

Obviously, Cadillac Records boasts an exceedingly large amount of personalities for a 108-minute film. While this quality attempts to portray Chess’ superlative legacy, it ultimately becomes the film’s Achilles’ heel.

Chess Records assembled a ridiculously talented crew of musicians and personalities during their heyday, and while earth-shattering music was produced, the label was not without its controversies and eccentricities.

Howlin’ Wolf, for example, was illiterate, and as such was forced to memorize all of his songs prior to any attempted recordings. It was not uncommon for Wolf to lose his train of thought mid-song and sabotage the entire recording, sheepishly looking at his band mates and stating, “I forgot it.”

Amidst the large cast of Cadillac Records, though, details such as this are entirely lost and Wolf is demoted to a borderline irrelevant supporting character, which is a further discredit to an actor as powerful and magnetic as Walker.

The same goes for Willie Dixon, a Chess bassist whose contributions to popular music are incalculable. A natural musician, Dixon’s bass lines for musicians such as Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf established the standard rock n roll-era bass line. Practically every rock bass part has his fingerprints all over it.

Dixon was also the single most important composer in the history of modern blues, penning such classics as “Spoonful,” “Hoochie Coochie Man” and “You Need Love.”

In fact, Led Zeppelin shamelessly plagiarized a number of Dixon’s tracks, including “You Need Love,” “You Shook Me,” and “Bring it On Home,” producing a $1 million lawsuit from Dixon (I should note, countless other rock artists have legally covered Dixon’s material).

In Cadillac Records, though, Dixon is reduced to nothing more than the film’s narrator, with his songwriting credentials mentioned in passing in the film’s closing seconds.

Even Muddy Waters, who serves as the central musician of the film, has imperative details overlooked, most notably his 1960 performance at the Newport Jazz Festival. An unprecedented showcase for his electric Chicago blues sound, Water’s Newport performance catapulted the music to an international audience and served as an inspiration for a couple white kids in London named John Mayall and Eric Clapton; furthermore, Waters’ performance at Newport is credited as a major factor in the formation of British Blues, a highly electric, psychedelic incarnation of the music that would dictate the direction of rock n roll from the mid-60s onward. Waters famously stated, “The blues had a baby and they named it rock n roll,” and that premise was rarely more accurate than in describing his towering influence regarding British rock.

While there are other problems with the film, most glaringly an uneven (and wholly fictitious) romance between Chess and James that attempts to add dramatic weight to the obligatory tragic angle seen in all biopics, the film still showcases some dynamite music. That fact cannot be ignored. As a blues connoisseur, I expected this film to fall below my expectations; indeed, each artist presented in Cadillac Records deserves a two-hour film exclusively featuring their own lives (Note: no such films exist, though I will be the first person in line to see them).

However, the blues is a lost art form, the purest and most American brand of musical expression we’ve ever experienced. As time drifts by, it seems the raw honesty of the blues becomes lost on a new generation of free-market junkies, a swarm of kids to whom the blues washes over like water over a stone.

If a film can introduce a new generation of listeners to the power of this music, well, I’ll recommend it on that basis. If you have no previous knowledge of Chess Records or blues music, then I urge you to see this film and become acquainted. If you have a background, though, and understand the music and its players, then you are likely to experience frustrations similar to mine.