If a brilliant work of art never makes it to an audience, what is the value of the art? We live in a narrowly focused world of instant mass-consumption, where art is seemingly valued not by quality but by popularity, not by longevity but immediacy. And while it has always been this way to some degree, Raymond De Felitta’s new documentary “‘Tis Autumn: The Search for Jackie Paris,” which opens today at Cinema Village, unearths a true story of temporary fame and prolonged obscurity that puts these issues of art, value, and mass media into stark relief.

At its center is a man who almost no one will recognize. His name was Jackie Paris, and when he released a handful of records in the 1950s and ’60s, the singing world instantly embraced his crisp and effervescent voice. Trade publications ranked him among the top 10 singers in the world for six years in a row; critics paired him with the likes of Frank Sinatra, and singers as prominent as Ella Fitzgerald trumpeted him as their favorite male vocalist. Many in the industry deem Paris’s 1947 rendition of the song “Skylark” to be the definitive version.

Mr. De Felitta, however, knew nothing of the man when he first heard Paris on the radio, as a vocalist on Charles Mingus’s “Paris in Blue” recording. Obsessed with learning more about the man with the golden vocal cords, the 43-year-old filmmaker sought out jazz buffs who did know the name, but they were ultimately unable help Mr. De Felitta track down any more of Paris’s music. The director’s search for CDs and records turned up only a single Japanese re-issue of a Paris record that was misfiled by a record store under “Oscar Peterson.” Turning to jazz guides, he was initially saddened to learn that Paris had died in 1977. But he was outright shocked one day in 2004 when he stumbled across a gig announcement in a magazine for a show in Manhattan. The headliner? Jackie Paris. Shortly after he introduced himself that evening to the ailing singer, Mr. De Felitta’s passing interest as a fan stirred up his passion as a filmmaker: How could such a prominent artist fall so far off the map and become so unknown that one of the definitive jazz texts had, for decades, assumed he was dead?

As he gradually discovered a subculture of devout Jackie Paris fans, Mr. De Felitta became captivated by the accolades he heard, and listened closely for a possible reason for Paris’s descent into obscurity. In the film, some fans recall the way Paris would sell out major New York City clubs, and then somehow never return. Some theorize he did something to offend the management, so Mr. De Felitta wonders if it might have been Paris’s temper that cost him a chance at glory.

As Mr. De Felitta jumps backward and forward in time, exhuming old newspaper clippings and interviewing jazz historians, we get a sense of the profound respect felt for the artist by those who never managed to see him live or track down an out-of-print recording. It is here that Mr. De Felitta considers another possibility: that Paris was simply unprepared for the rapidly evolving landscape of the music world.

As it turns out, in the same week that Tony Bennett recorded “I Left My Heart in San Francisco,” Paris recorded his last record. In the arcs of these two careers, one can see a possible disparity. Paris, who died in 2004, remained committed to singing only the kind of music he wanted to sing, in only the venues he wanted to play, with only the people he trusted. Rumors have it that he refused to allow the Mafia to manage his career. He didn’t care about the glitz or glamour, about making friends, about aggressively touring Asia or Europe — where he experienced something of a resurgence of interest late in life.

Near the end of “‘Tis Autumn,” after the documentary has cleared the way for so many impressive and infectious tunes, Mr. De Felitta returns to this question of fame, obscurity, and artistic value. Subtly, but firmly, he challenges Paris to concede his regrets: If he had known that doing things his own way would send him falling through the cracks, would he have done anything differently? As pure philosophy, it’s a question that goes beyond the career of a singer, the world of jazz, and the corporatization of the art world. Through all this, Mr. De Felitta breaks through to a point of disovery: What is more important: our inner peace, or our outer glory? And what if the two are one and the same?

ssnyder@nysun.com