The filmmaker is his or her own god.

Some people know how best to utilize that ability, such as Paul Thomas Anderson with “Boogie Nights” and “Magnolia.” Then there are some who are reckless and aimless with their powers, like Michael Bay with “Armageddon” and Pearl Harbor.”

God forbid somebody should be that stupid on a mainstream basis. Fortunately, Mark Moskowitz’s “The Stones of Summer” is a documentary destined for obscurity.

This solid documentary follows Moskowitz’s adventures in search of one Dow Mossman, author of an unsung book of sorts called “The Stones of Summer.” It follows about two years time (from what I guess) in just over two hours as he begins his search for the writer on the Internet, looking for anyone who might know about the book, the author himself, or anyone involved. He goes so far as to track down the designer of the book’s cover in hopes of finding any connection to Mossman.

When Moskowitz travels to a university to look up some old transcripts and finds out where an instructor of Mossman lives, his search finally bears fruits, over a year later from the start. The inevitable meeting of legend and admirer comes in the last quarter of the film, and a properly reserved finale finishes the film including a rather poignant moment with Moskowitz’s son.

I’ll say this much right now, I hate documentaries. Because when watching these “video journals,” I feel like I’m watching CBS’ “48 Hours” and following along to something that’s supposed to be important enough for my attention. Moskowitz and his cause rank with me joining the Peace Corps: it would be nice, but I’m just not interested.

He spends the whole time championing some book from his younger years that he loved, as if him being a husband, father, and assumedly the head breadwinner (making campaign videos for political candidates), wasn’t enough fulfillment for him. And his father is rather ill with diabetes. In assuming this is supposed to be real life, I couldn’t help but think, “Shouldn’t you be spending more time with him, or raising your kids properly before they shoot up a school or something?”

But aside from thoughts as to what this film’s god should be doing with his own life, the film itself runs a tight ship. As far as dedication to the book’s inert value and his fairly noble cause to track down the author, Moskowitz has expressed his thoughts and feelings thoroughly well and made good edits so as not to be any more boring than he, as a person, already is. Added to the fact that he appears to be just as jaded and sheltered as the other literary fanatics in the film, sums up the central thought that this is a perfectly competent movie. Real-life literary fanatics will eat it up and say, “Yum!”

Aside from my personal thoughts as to what else the film’s god should be doing with his time, it did drive me nuts to realize 50 minutes went by before he did any true research. It made me want to beat my head onto this ridiculous “Stone Reader,” who looks like a lanky and malnutritioned version of Dr. Phil, with a disability to smile evenly that reminded me of Sylvester Stallone. At least when Stallone does bad onscreen, I can laugh at it.

For a literary fanatic (and a supposedly learned grown man with kids), it’s pretty pathetic that Moskowitz is still a single-key pecker (like an amateur typist). There are moments in the film where you get the feeling that he thinks anyone who hasn’t read the book, let alone heard of it, is a complete moron and below him and selected members of some assumedly educated society of lit freaks.

Happily for me and other film fans, we can rest easy knowing that this film, just like the featured book in the film, will float off into anonymity in this world of media. That’s one thing Moskowitz probably hasn’t learned: to each his own.