Two timely themes lie relatively unexplored at the center of “Terror’s Advocate,” an exhausting, overwrought documentary about the life and times of the French lawyer Jacques Vergès: the provocative notion of terrorist as freedom fighter, and the perils of a nation losing hold of the moral high ground. But the deeper director Barbet Schroeder digs into this historical gold mine, reliving the hours and minutes (and sometimes, it appears, seconds) of infamous and not-quite-so-famous terrorist attacks, arrests, and escapes, the more “Terror’s Advocate” is stripped of its poignancy and relevance.

On display here are the journalistic perils of poor editing and loose structure; by putting everything in, and by refusing to provide narration to tie the chunks together, viewers with less than an expert understanding of Western Europe’s history of modern terrorism will be left reeling.

Clearly, Mr. Schroeder is aware of this, and turns to an array of secondary sources to compensate for a primary source, the so-called “advocate,” who is less than forthcoming. Long known for his charisma, sensationalism, secrecy, and a public defender’s mentality that any imprisoned person is innocent until proven guilty, Mr. Vergès has made a career out of representing bombers, kidnappers, rebels, and the ilk. If most lawyers spend their time chasing ambulances, he chases the marching of soldiers’ boots and the sounds of car bombs.

Partially in his own words, but far more often in the words of those who knew, once followed, or have studied Mr. Vergès, we are given a front-row view of the people responsible for some of the last century’s most shocking attacks in Europe. We return to the Battle of Algiers, the horrific murder of Israeli athletes at the 1972 Munich Olympics, and the failed 1975 assault on a meeting of OPEC. We relive the events not only through archival footage and the accounts of historians, but through the firsthand memories of Mr. Vergès, who met face-to-face with the perpetrators and who, more often than not, found a loophole through which to squeeze their defense. His arguments and courtroom antics secured countless pardons for those sentenced to death, and his legal cunning won lesser or more lenient sentences for many mass murderers.

Outside the courtroom, Mr. Vergès’s life crossed paths with some of the century’s most notable characters. Though he is perhaps most famous for defending the Nazi Klaus Barbie, he met Pol Pot when both attended the Sorbonne, and he not only represented but married Djamila Bouhired, the celebrated heroine of the Algerian resistance. He also became one of the world’s best known missing persons when he vanished for nearly a decade between 1970 and 1978. He refuses to this day to reveal where he was. He is also the first to concede that the lawyer-client relationship is not always one of business, and that he would often act as a messenger, taking messages between prisoners when they were denied any visitors other than their lawyer.

He’s led a colorful life, that much is certain, but what “Terror’s Advocate” lacks is an examination of those shades and hues, a deeper understanding of how these colors came to be. As Mr. Vergès sits at his desk, slouched in his oversize chair and puffing on his cigar, we experience only a hint of the way he views the world, and the way he so often dismisses the atrocities committed by others as less significant than the torture and atrocities committed by France during the Algerian occupation. Resolute in his thinking and unapologetic for his career, he recounts fighting his way into interrogation rooms to stop clients from divulging information to the French army, or using the courtroom as a place to grandstand, denouncing France and the nation’s mired history of human rights abuses.

His fondness for these rebels, it seems, is partly based on genuine respect (he says he would have grabbed a gun and shot someone if Ms. Bouhired had been executed), but it is also steeped in a loathing for what he sees as France’s national hypocrisy. Born to a Vietnamese mother and to a father hailing from Reunion Island, Mr. Vergès grew up mocked and scorned, often decried as “chinaman” in the courtroom for his Vietnamese heritage. Despite having served in the ranks of the French military during World War II, it’s clear he identifies more with scorned, oppressed outsiders who struggle for independence with little more than political stunts, pipe bombs, and pistols. His defense in 1996 of Holocaust survivor Roger Garaudy is less explainable.

It’s not that “Terror’s Advocate” isn’t educational; the documentary’s problem is that, as laid out here, it’s increasingly unentertaining and unenlightening. Shifting from one historical episode to the next, Mr. Schroeder packs the film to the brim with historical context, lengthy asides that lead us away from the enigma that is Mr. Vergès. And every time the director cuts back to Mr. Vergès, it seems that he’s still smoking on the same cigar — his quotes apparently pulled from only a handful of interviews, in which he is less than frank.

Some of the most fascinating details are only briefly mentioned. Apparently, this man turned his back on activism for several years in order to be a common divorce lawyer. During the eight years he was “missing” — years the film fails to piece together — some theorize he was with Pol Pot in Cambodia (he casually dismisses the Khmer Rouge’s atrocities). One expert raises an intrigued eyebrow at the fact that Mr. Vergès repeatedly fell in love with the female rebels he represented.

These are compelling insights into the making of the man, so why are they only hinted at? If “Terror’s Advocate” has little more to offer on Jacques Vergès than a recreated timeline of events — the kind of thing that could be stitched together from Wikipedia and the History Channel — why is it more than 130 minutes long?

ssnyder@nysun.com