Lambert & Stamp, about the two enterprising Brits who managed The Who, may sound like just another music biz recap of "My Generation." But it's considerably more than that. The debut documentary by James D. Cooper probes the unlikely symbiosis between Kit Lambert, the Oxford-educated son of a classical composer, and Chris Stamp, the East Londoner son of a tug-boat captain, and how this odd couple launched one of rock's foundational bands.

Skillfully set between the historic footage and current interviews lies a wry dramatic conceit: a reverse buddy formula. In this case, our two picaros devise a wild scheme to become movie directors by managing a band they'd then film, but end up mired in the music world and in disharmony with one another. Driven by Stamp's talking-head comments and Lambert's archival takes, Lambert & Stamp is about as close as the duo got to making their own flick. (Stamp died in 2012, and Lambert, in 1981.)

Fate and a love of Nouvelle Vague cinema brought them together in the early '60s, where the artsy lads were working as assistant directors at London's Shepperton Studios. Cooper follows them into the bowels of the mod youth scene as caught in atmospheric black-and-white vérité. We watch with relish as they infiltrate the nightclub where boy band High Numbers is playing and where the origin myth we've come for takes wing. They're four "complicated" guys, Stamp recently recalls of the musicians he and Lambert took on and ushered to global fame as The Who.

One of the most endearing anecdotes Lambert & Stamp tells involves some of the early challenges the image-makers faced. Remembering how unfavorably the band members compared to the handsome Beatles, Roger Daltrey's wife Heather says of Pete Townshend: "The other guy with the nose...it's just not going to work."

Yet The Who's legendary songwriter, composer and guitarist gets a last laugh. Cooper grants Townshend's on-camera testimonies almost equal time with Stamp's, and together with Roger Daltrey, the three then-surviving souls lead the way back through their nearly 10-year collaboration. Rounding out the roster of interviewees are writer Richard Barnes and Stamp's brother Terence.

Cooper makes a pursuasive case of Lambert's pivotal role, not only as a strategic producer and marketer, but also as a creative force. He introduced Townshend to his father's classical records -- in case we'd wondered how The Who came to riff on Purcell -- and guided him in the art of songwriting. In other ways too. The man Townshend calls "a frustrated composer" apparently had more to do with crafting Tommy than is popularly known. The rock opera that catapulted The Who to world supernova status is identified as a turning point not only the group's material fortunes, but in its personal interrelationships as well. Resentments long festered over credits and ownership. For Stamp, Lambert deserved greater acknowledgment for his contribution to the Tommy screenplay, whereas Townshend believed the grandiose manager's Hollywood demarches overstepped intellectual property boundaries.

Accompanying Lambert & Stamp's unfolding chapters are musical samplings to acquaint -- and reaquaint -- viewers with the band's work. And what work that was!

It's not just that the film is flecked with Who favorites and you-are-there archival gems. Cinematographer-turned-director Cooper clearly had a nimble vision of how to move from one shot to the next, and what kind of rise each juxtaposition would get from his audience. Had he kept up the pace throughout, the audience could be expected to  beg for an encore. As is, the last stretch of its two hours starts to feel a bit talk-heavy and repetitive. What we really call out for is more of the band's rocking music. Still, Lambert & Stamp earns its place as a music doc to recommend.