The sagging shelves of jazz documentaries, which number in the hundreds, include a great many that are more musical, historical, biographical, educational, political, philosophical, theological, and emotional than Jean Bach’s unstoppable 1994 hour,”A Great Day in Harlem” – but none that is more entertaining. This film is so steeped in personalities, faces, generosity, and humor that, despite countless inside references guaranteed to warm every jazz lover’s cockles, it also captivates otherwise indifferent civilians. Just as a zoology degree is unnecessary to empathize with the migratory habits of birds, penguins, and shifty CEOs, an appreciation for the differences between tenor saxophonists Coleman Hawkins and Lester Young (one of “Great Day’s” several fleeting subtexts) is not a requisite for catching the contagious awe in which they are held.

A veteran radio producer and hostess of jazz-themed parties, Jean Bach had no filmmaking experience when, at an age advanced by the standards of AARP, she got the idea to interview on camera everyone associated with the most celebrated of jazz photographs: the 1958 gathering, on the stairs and stoop of a 125th Street brownstone, of nearly five dozen musicians, all but two (the unknown Bill Crump and the section man Scoville Brown) renowned in jazz. Few of the musicians were specifically summoned for the shot, which was conceived by the art director of Esquire, Art Kane, whose career in photography it inaugurated. Instead, a general invitation was issued for a 10 a.m. shoot. No one knew for certain who or how many would show up. In the event, 58 did, though one, Willie the Lion Smith, wandered off right before the shutter was snapped.

As the musicians, who represented a great deal of jazz history, congregated at the appointed place at, for them, an early hour (one commented that he didn’t know there were two 10 o’clocks in the same day), Kane stood across the street with his camera strap around his neck, figuring a way to pose them. Some of the work was done for him by the process bassist-photographer Milt Hinton describes as water finding its own level: Musicians unself-consciously grouped themselves by instrument – drummers shmoozing in one place, trumpeters or pianists in another.

The picture that Esquire published, with everyone facing front except Roy Eldridge, whom Dizzy Gillespie (tongue distended) made laugh at the fatal moment, and Mary Lou Williams and Marian McPartland, conversing, became – increasingly, as one participant after another died – a religious totem, a symbolic, flat, sunlit mural marking a time when jazz’s past and present could be contained in a wide-angle snapshot. The very serendipity of the project integrated legendary innovators with journeymen: soloists and singers, leaders and sidemen, section men and studio players. Other gatherings of equal note (Jimmy Carter’s 1978 White House jazz festival, for one) have taken place, but produced no portrait of comparable power; the many outright imitations of Kane’s grouping almost always project unintentional parody.

Ms. Bach began interviewing survivors in 1989, and her talking heads advance the narrative in standard ways while giving the film its humor and heart,because she favors the characteristic over the informational. Much of the running time is taken up with short biographical appreciations, but again, these function less as potted history lessons than as mutual appreciations. The words “idol” and “idolize” are heard constantly as musicians pore over the photograph and reminisce about the magnitude of colleagues. Imagine 58 writers brought together and talking about how wonderful they all are – the very idea is laughable (PEN tried that once in New York, and you still hear about unresolved hard feelings). But all Ms. Bach, often heard but never seen, has to do is mention Hawkins or Young or Mary Lou Williams or Red Allen or Thelonious Monk or Rex Stewart or (the preternaturally beautiful) Maxine Sullivan to elicit sighs of admiration, anecdotes, and unadorned wonder.

When “A Great Day in Harlem” first appeared, those of us who had grown up with the Kane photograph were astonished within the opening seconds, as the black-and-white image morphed into color movement. Milt Hinton had not only showed up with his still camera, but also with a silent movie camera. What’s more, Willie the Lion Smith’s teenage protege, pianist Mike Lipskin, brought his own camera and, standing near Kane, snapped away. In addition, Kane had kept rejected shots, and by a cosmic coincidence, CBS in 1957 broadcast “The Sound of Jazz,” America’s finest hour of televised jazz, using many of the musicians gathered in Harlem.

The cutting between the various shots and footage brings the great day to life in a way that is spookily intimate – in this respect, especially, the editing by Susan Peehl is unfailingly impressive. Indeed, the documentary, directed by Matthew Seig (though, on the DVD box, he is credited only as coproducer and co-writer), glides at a witting tempo. Anyone who has served as a talking head has had to endure filmmakers who stop rolling because the rumble of a truck is barely audible on the street below. Not here: This film breathes with less finicky naturalness – someone walks behind an interview subject, the sound briefly fades, an offcamera question serves as a transition. So what?

When I first reviewed “A Great Day in Harlem,” in 1994, my one complaint concerned its length. In the age of Peter Jackson, the old show biz adage,”always leave them wanting more,” may seem quaint, but in this instance I felt bereft, wanting to hear about every musician in the photograph, not just a few. The new double-disc DVD goes a long way in answering the call, though it unaccountably omits “The Spitball Story,” the prize-winning 20-minute addendum edited from the original interview footage. (A few minutes are included in the Gillespie section on the second disc, but the film short, which was included on previous video releases of “A Great Day in Harlem,” is sorely missed.) Other absences are equally hard to figure: the lack of credits on the new featurettes (presumably Mr. Seig and Ms. Peehl are responsible); the lack of optional English subtitles (infrequent subtitles are included at the filmmakers’ discretion); and, above all, identification of the musical pieces heard in the original film. Still, nearly four hours of new material has been added, combining old and new footage, making this an irresistible package.

A 43-minute film on the making of “Great Day” amounts to a sequel, edited with comic aplomb, as Ms. Bach and team recount their travails in finding money and musicians, and dealing with bad memories, long digressions, and physical ailments (we learn more than we need to about Art Blakey’s loss of hearing). An interview with pianist Bill Charlap and drummer Kenny Washington, who weren’t alive when the photograph was taken but function as representatives of the next generation, is enlivened by several good stories, including Mr. Washington’s dead-on mimicking of Jo Jones. Shorter features deal with Art Kane, who took his life at the height of the film’s initial success (apparently the consequence of a hospital’s misdiagnosis), and the surprising number of imitations of the original photograph, all stimulated by the film.

The best addition is on the second disc: 58 brief though often discursive verbal snapshots of each of the people in the photograph. Most of them range from two to five minutes, and you can access them in two ways: by using arrow keys to light up an individual in the photograph, or (more quickly) through an alphabetical listing.These small bits are very much in the style of the film – look to jazz encyclopedias if you want the facts – and focus on expressions of admiration, illustrative anecdotes, and idiosyncratic asides. Oddly, Bill Crump is misidentified, though we now know that he was a Buffalo-based saxophonist, who in later years worked in West Coast bar bands, including that of Nellie Lutcher. Some of the best portraits concern the Lion, Young, Gillespie, Eldridge, Blakey, Gerry Mulligan, Max Kaminsky, and, best of all, Sonny Rollins, who sits for a relatively extended interview.

One word of warning: If you are not already an ardent jazz lover, “A Great Day in Harlem” could prove expensive. I don’t see how you can watch and listen to these people without wanting to buy a lot of records.