"Metallica: Some Kind of Monster" isn't the usual rockumentary about guitar-slinging swashbucklers who ricochet from a pyro-stacked stage to a groupie-stocked limo.

Instead, the 40ish James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich and Kirk Hammett grapple with addiction, aging issues and ego clashes that erupt in the wake of bassist Jason Newsted's abrupt departure.

The band's ensuing implosion and reconstruction is captured by producerdirectors Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky, whose involvement began after they were granted use of Metallica's music in the 1996 documentary "Paradise Lost." They signed on to chronicle the making of the band's "St. Anger" album only to wind up witnessing the emotional breakdown of history's biggest metal act.

"The typical rock film puts these people on a pedestal and glorifies rock 'n' roll," Berlinger says. "Our film is about the human wreckage that results from the incompleteness people feel when they are treated as icons. It demystifies the mythology of rock stars, and of this band in particular. If Metallica fans reject this movie, we're in trouble. We're stripping their heroes, the toughest of the tough guys, the guys who sing about Armageddon."

"The beauty of this kind of filmmaking is it's blind faith on both sides," Sinofsky says. "We're jumping out of the plane, and we don't know if the parachutes will open. We just hope for a soft landing.

In Adam Dubin's 1992 Metallica documentary, the band was "drinking and drugging and having sex with anyone who was willing," he says. "If you put 100 bands on a list, Metallica would be the last one you'd expect to go through the emotional process (in "Monster"). But they've always been trailblazers, so on some level it's no surprise that they'd be the first to allow this to be captured for fans."

On the first day of shooting, the pair walked into a session led by "performance enhancement coach" Phil Towle, hired for $40,000 a month to reduce turmoil. To their delight, the presence of cameras tended to stimulate rather than stifle candor.

"I knew we had to give it our all," drummer Ulrich says. "The camera can be a truth instigator. It can rat you out. When this band started (in 1981), we made a choice to take the path of accessibility. We wanted to stay grounded and connected to our fans. So this movie is the next step. And if you're going to open the curtain, you've got to open it all the way."

As resentments surface in "Monster," guitarist Hetfield suddenly departs for alcoholism rehab, returning months later with an inflexible timetable that ignites hostilities.

"I was taking it real slow," Hetfield says. "I didn't want to slip and have my family go away for good. My family was tired of playing second fiddle. It was difficult for everyone to understand the new priorities. ellipsis I needed to get healthy and that meant unplugging from some secure and safe things in my life, like being `The Singer in Metallica.' It was tough for those guys."

At one point, Ulrich rages against Hetfield's rules as a violation of rock liberation.

"That purging went on for three hours," Sinofsky recalls. "That was Lars projectile-vomiting 20 years of anger, anxiety and all the things he felt were wrong with James, himself and the group. It was amazing. We were exhausted just listening. And we cut it down to just six minutes."

In three years, the directors shot 1,600 hours of footage, more than all their previous separate and joint projects combined.

"Not once were we told to shut the camera off," Berlinger says. "Lars said, `Anything that moves the story along is fair game.' He just didn't want cheap shots. And even James, who was ready to shut the film down when he came back after rehab, gave us total control after he saw some footage. He said, `I've been worried this whole year that it would be everyone talking negative about me, criticizing me. I see where you're going. Just be truthful and go deeper.' That's the only thing he said to us for two years."

The band didn't see another frame until a screening last September. Anticipating ordered deletions, the directors prepared a 3 1/2-hour cut and were met with total silence at the film's end, until Ulrich said, "Boy, you guys are good at this."

Each musician was handed a cassette and asked to submit notes within a week.

"James pushed the tape back," Berlinger says, "He told us, `It's a little painful to watch, so I'm not going to watch it again. You did exactly what I asked.' Lars watched it over and over. If he weren't a rock guy, he'd be a film guy. Sean Penn is his best friend. He had some ideas, but there was not one vanity note and not one request to take anything out."

Ulrich was relieved. "I'd seen a couple vignettes that were awkward to watch, but put into a dramatic sequence, it all made sense," he says, noting that "his "reaction was not anyone's chief concern.

Hetfield cringed at some scenes but decided "it was a great mirror and a good test for a control freak. "I thought, `Am I really like that?' I wanted to be the best-looking guy. Kirk didn't want to be seen as indecisive. Phil didn't want to look like the guest who didn't go away. But those things have to be in the movie.

"I learned how childish I can be. I noticed how I was still using the survival skills I used as a kid: negativity, slamming doors, instant opinions and judgment. All that was very unappealing to me. I'm amazed that people stayed in my life during that time and afterward."

Afterward has been a no-brainer, says Berlinger. "At the end of the film, I was blown away by how much these guys allowed themselves to grow," he says.

Berlinger and Sinofsky also underwent a substantial emotional overhaul during the making of "Monster." How so?