When Rags opened on Broadway in 1986, it appeared to have everything going for it. The premise — a turn-of-the-century immigration tale of a young Jewish woman and her son who find that New York is as daunting as the old country they fled — touches on themes with proven resonance in the musical theater. There was a pedigreed creative team: composer Charles Strouse, lyricist Stephen Schwartz and author Joseph Stein. And the show boasted the Broadway debut of tiny, charismatic opera diva Teresa Stratas in the principal role of Rebecca.

But reviews were mixed, praising the star while criticizing the sprawling and diffuse show. Stratas’ Broadway debut would also be her farewell. Rags — one of the last musicals of the grand old school — closed after a handful of performances. (It really was the end of an epoch. Shortly after, the Mark Hellinger Theatre, home to both Rags and the original My Fair Lady, was converted into a church.)

Rags has survived, though, and it’s better than its first reviews suggested. True, it’s not a great musical. The show too obviously draws from better predecessors, including Fiddler on the Roof, Cabaret and Funny Girl. Stein (who also wrote the Fiddler book) has overpopulated the piece with stereotypes, and indulges in blatant emotional button-pushing. And Strouse’s lovely score, full of mournful Klezmer-tinged melodies, doesn’t achieve its potential because it’s often undercut by Schwartz’s puerile lyrics.

Still, the show is effective. Despite obvious manipulation, a few scenes pack a wallop; some of the songs are terrific. And the really good news here is that Walnut Street’s production is the best thing they’ve done in years: it honors the theater, the production team and cast and Rags itself.

Bruce Lumpkin’s direction may not generate sparks, but it is fluent, clear storytelling and creates a sense of ambiance. Betsi Morrison (Rebecca) hasn’t Stratas’ febrile intensity, but she’s a likeable actress and a fine singer. Apart from some inconsistent accents (which ramble across Europe in linguistic continental drift), the cast is universally strong. Mary Kate McGrath particularly shines, and there is fine work from Michael Gruber, Bruce Winant, Connie Nelson and others. (If not many of the supporting characters seem indelibly etched, blame Stein’s book, which gives too many people too little to do.)

This Rags will reward audiences with a taste for large-scale, sentimental musical theater; it would also be an excellent show for the family.