The early Rolling Stones — young, shrewd and full of ambition, with Brian Jones on guitar — are on display in this hourlong documentary filmed during the band’s tour of Ireland in 1965. Long a legendary, unseen artifact among Stones fans and cinephiles (though not quite as legendary as a 1972 Robert Frank documentary, whose title I can’t even mention here), “The Rolling Stones: Charlie Is My Darling — Ireland 1965,” is an essential addition to a canon that includes Jean-Luc Godard’s “One Plus One,” Albert and David Maysles’s “Gimme Shelter” and Martin Scorsese’s “Shine a Light.”

The film was originally shot in lovely, grainy black and white by Peter Whitehead and has been digitally restored for a new version by the director Mick Gochanour and the producer Robin Klein. It is both a postcard from an earlier phase of celebrity culture and a glorious mixtape of raucous and memorable songs. Some of them are covers, performed onstage and off, including a couple of Beatles tunes hummed and strummed by Keith Richards and Mick Jagger in a hotel room.

Every British band labored in the shadow of the Beatles, and the Stones, with the guidance of their manager (and former Beatle adviser) Andrew Loog Oldham, were still figuring out how to be the opposite of the four lads from Liverpool.

Their answer was to be naughtier, more aggressive, more theatrically sexual. Their love songs came with a snarl of misogyny; their musical attack emphasized erotic heat over the romantic swooning of the rhythm-and-blues tradition; and Jagger’s performance style was an inimitable (though often imitated) macho burlesque. In “Charlie Is My Darling” he prances, struts and teases, experimenting with what would become his signature mannerisms.

How young he looks — at times like a cheeky schoolboy, at others like an earnest graduate student, as he ruminates on the meaning of his still new fame. Richards’s youthful appearance will be even more shocking to those who are unaccustomed to seeing him with unlined features and unblemished teeth. Charlie Watts, with his turtleneck sweaters and his impassive, Easter Island face, looks most like the monumental Stone he would eventually become.

And then there is Jones, pretty, thoughtful and soft-spoken, seeming to carry with him the premonition of his rapid dissolution and premature death, which at the time of filming was less than five years away. It is hard to watch “Charlie Is My Darling” without experiencing many such intimations of the future. When well-dressed, clean-cut Dublin fans rush the stage, knocking down equipment and scrapping with police officers, it is hard not to see an omen of the lethal mayhem of Altamont in 1969.

Mostly, though, what you see is the intensity of rock ’n’ roll at a time when it still felt risky and thrilling and time was on their side.