If Baltimore had a patron saint, it would be John Waters. The king (or maybe queen) of offbeat inner city kitsch has made his affection for his perpetually plagued hometown more than apparent, filming his entire oeuvre — from 1964’s “Hag in a Black Leather Jacket” to 2004’s “A Dirty Shame” — within the city limits. Mr. Waters has been involved in the Broadway adaptation and subsequent cinematic remake of his 1988 musical send-up “Hairspray,” but most of the filming of Adam Shankman’s version, out today, was done in Toronto. And it shows.

The insouciant musical boasts a willing cast and an inherited crush on Baltimore, but Mr. Waters’s bubble-gum camp has always been stuck to a dirty Baltimore street, and try as it might, this film cannot suitably sully its shiny veneer.

Mr. Waters’s 1988 satire of teeny-bop films brought Hollywood’s castoffs and never-weres to the big screen. With a cast that included Sony Bono, Debbie Harry, and the indomitable transvestite Divine, “Hairspray” was Mr. Waters’s first film to temper his outcast sensibility with a mainstream rating.

In a cockroach embroidered dress and ratted hair, the film shot newcomer Ricki Lake to her future as a weight-embattled talk show host. Ms. Lake originated the role of Tracy Turnblad, a bashful, husky teenager in 1962 Baltimore who dreams of dancing before the cameras on the local Corny Collins Show, a twist-ing, amateur take-off of American Bandstand. Tracy gets her wish, and along the way becomes a trailblazer for integration and civil rights.

In Mr. Shankman’s version, pleasantly plump newcomer Nikki Blonsky takes the lead. Ms. Blonsky has an unrelenting cheer and a winning smile to match the wattage of the remake, but she lacks some of the awkward vulnerability that made Ms. Lake so endearing.

From the opening, “Hairspray” proves proud of its heritage. In the first few scenes, as Ms. Blonsky belts out “Good Morning Baltimore” and Mr. Waters makes a cameo as the friendly neighborhood flasher, Mr. Shankman makes clear that his film will not try to hide its roots.

But try as it might, the film never fully grasps Mr. Waters’s belovedly decrepit sensibility. Two years on Broadway have widened the score, thinned the cast, and narrowed the depth of Mr. Waters’s original. Marc Shaiman’s pop score has replaced the backdrop of Mr. Waters’s favorite soul music, and the subtle lessons taught throughout have been dimmed and glossed over to make room for more shiny musical numbers.

Mr. Waters has carved out an idiosyncratic career in film with a doughty skill for creating quirky, moving vignettes that inspire laughter while moving the plot along. But only a duet between Zac Efron, as the hunky Link Larkin, and an animated portrait of Ms. Blonsky begins to grasp that cheeky sensibility. As for sentimentality, Mr. Waters taught his lead character some important lessons in the original “Hairspray,” whereas Ms. Blonsky’s Tracy appears as a fully sprung ringleader for progressive 1960s causes.

She may proudly sleep through history class, but her Tracy doesn’t need Pia Zadora’s beatnik to tell her she won’t overcome segregation with such uncool hair. She just instinctively knows it’s time to ditch the beehive in time for the big final number.

It may be petty to expect such devotion to the original when this version has plenty to offer fans of musicals and John Travolta in drag, but then, one can’t remake a John Waters movie and expect to win on style. Michelle Pfeiffer’s exquisite Velma Von Tussle almost makes up for Queen Latifah’s drab portrayal of radio queen Motormouth Maybelle. Amanda Bynes and Brittany Snow skate by on their looks, while Mr. Efron, fresh from Disney’s “High School Musical,” is so charmed of look and thin of character that it’s often hard to believe he’s not one of the bad guys.

Christopher Walken may be underutilized as Tracy’s dad Wilbur (played in the original by the inimitable Jerry Stiller), but he is more than willing to pull his weight when called upon. In all, the new cast is nothing if not enthusiastic, and Mr. Travolta especially looks ecstatic to wear a size 20 and a bouffant.

Mr. Travolta plays Edna Turnblad as a timid housewife too ashamed of her physique to step outdoors. His rendition is a marked shift from the tour-deforce of Divine (though he looks no less terrifying in drag than the stubbly Glen Milstead), but this demure Edna does eventually hit her stride.

As does the film as a whole. There are plenty of moments of levity, musical success, and humor, even if the squeaky clean cast looks out of place tackling some of the film’s themes. But this betrays the problem with remaking a film like “Hairspray.”

In the 1980s, Mr. Waters had trouble acquiring funding and attracting talent. As this high-wattage remake demonstrates, Hollywood’s top earners now line up for spots in his films (even when they’re not his, exactly). That could be because the peculiar, campy Waters magic has an aesthetic connection to recent musical blockbusters such as “Chicago” and “The Producers.” But it’s hard to manage Waters’s shock value when social satire is safer than ever before. It’s not that Mr. Shankman’s film doesn’t understand John Waters’s Baltimore. It may be that it just no longer exists.