The addition of sound to motion pictures was one of those breakthroughs that put a lot of actors out of work if their voices weren't up to snuff (they joined the ranks of the obsolete, as would, later, typewriter repairmen, full-service gas station attendants, and Betamax aficionados). "Singin' in the Rain" marks the moment, albeit without requiring us to apply much thought to it.

The setup is familiar to anyone who hasn't spent the past several decades in a cultural coma: Silent film stars Don (Michael Gruber) and Lina (Austene Van) are on top of their game until the sound revolution begins, when Lina's unspeakably abrasive voice presents something of a hindrance. In steps Kathy (Christina Saffran Ashford), with whom Don is smitten, and who provides voice for Lina until the star's ego takes hold and requires deflating.

As a film, "Singin' in the Rain" is surely remembered more for the charismatic performances of Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds than for its featherweight plot. And here, in this musical for the stage, the action sags considerably in the 90-minute first act. We're asked to invest in Don and Kathy's sparks, as well as Lina's silly, unrequited crush on Don, but the dramatic interludes between songs feel untethered and indistinct.

We do get the production number "Beautiful Girls," big and glitzy, and before we head out for the break we have Gruber tackling Kelly's goosebump-inducing title song. Gruber is a major hoofer with old-school charisma (if only Don afforded him opportunity for the rakishness he brings to other roles) and a sweet-toned voice. In the mists, he tackles the sequence with the sort of joy and precision that reminds us of the exuberance the traditional musical can be relied upon to provide.

The second act amounts to mop-up, though "The Broadway Ballet" makes the return worthwhile. James A. Rocco and Jayme McDaniel direct and choreograph, and while this long segment is hardly radically inventive, it evokes sophistication in movement and imagery that palpably elevates the proceedings. And it doesn't hurt that a nineteen-piece band tackles the score, lending a welcome oomph to ears that have grown distressingly accustomed to weedier sounds from smaller combos.

This production, while never pulling the sort of surprise that makes one rethink one's approach to the material, plays to the strengths of a sterling cast (Michael Brindisi would steal a scene as the director of the disastrous talkie, if Van weren't so self-possessed in her character's obliviousness). We leave grappling with no great challenges, but a few sparkling memories nonetheless.