The life of most rock-'n'-roll nightclubs is short. Few survive, even fewer thrive and become places of real import. In his new documentary "The Chameleon Club," filmmaker Allen Clements, who first got to know the 27-year-old club as a performer on its stage just a few years ago, tries to find out why Lancaster's famed concert venue has been among the lucky few.

Through interviews, newspaper clippings, fliers and well-sourced archival footage and animation, Clements covers the venue's entire history in less than an hour, a length that undoubtedly leaves many favorite stories untold, but makes for a well-paced story that doesn't get bogged down in minutia.

Interviews new and old with club founder and former owner Rich Ruoff form the bedrock of the film, laying out his vision of a true music-lovers spot that continues with current owners Nick and Holly Skiadas.

Performers and employees past and present fill in the many details. Former manager Gary Miller provides vibrant, colorful counterpoint — like when he remembers an early performance by Marilyn Manson that saw the club under threat by both the police and animal-rights activists. Just "do your show" he told the singer.

Throughout the film, the viewer is bombarded with an impressive list of acts that have played the Chameleon, including the once-famous (Ramones, Joan Jett, Gregg Allman, Edgar Winter), the soon-to-be famous (My Morning Jacket, Hold Steady, Modest Mouse, Weezer, Hootie and the Blowfish) and the cult legends (David Allan Coe, Chubby Carrier, Brave Combo, Queen Bee and the Blue Hornets). To give a complete list would fill this review.

But as Clements and his subjects demonstrate, the Chameleon's most important role might be that of incubator for a homegrown scene that is as diverse as the city itself and constantly offering up new talent — from blues and college folk-rock in the 1980s to the metalcore, indie rock and Americana sounds of the last half decade.

This kind of scene almost doesn't belong in a city like Lancaster, local promoter Jeremy Weiss says at one point. But the Chameleon has benefited from hard work, dedication and a centralized proximity to several major cities on the East Coast.

As the film rolled at the sold-out Jan. 13 premiere at the Ware Center on North Prince Street, pictures of old friends with bad haircuts (or with hair where there now is none) elicited hoots and ribbing. Images of friends gone or missing in action earned appreciative cheers.

A segment on Live featuring an interview with former member and Lancaster resident Chad Taylor was curiously met with only polite applause. Mayor Rick Gray got way more love, and even before the film began, a visibly moved Ruoff got a standing ovation.

Knowing the audience for such a film might in the end be quite small, Clements has still been able to make a piece that succeeds in pointing out the source of the club's success: the original vision of Ruoff and those who have come after him, as well as the Chameleon's loyal audience, which has begun to reach into a third generation of music fans in an increasingly decentralized and noisy music industry.

Clements' perspective as a musician gives the film its sense of authority. His status as an outsider who arrived to the party after it had already been raving for 20 years gives the film its sense of awed excitement.

For folks who have been coming to the club since its days on North Christian Street, Clements' film is an ecstatic high five — or a fist bump — depending on how you roll. For those new to the story, like Clements himself, it pays tribute to the sense of community that rock 'n' roll can build.

For more information about the documentary "The Chameleon Club," visit postagevfx.com.