Harvey Fierstein, that demure, dulcet-voiced ingenue, has returned to Broadway. When we last saw him, he was draped in a paisley housedress the size and subtlety of Atlantic City. His Edna Turnblad always felt a bit like a novelty act – that voice, that wig – but it suited “Hairspray,” hardly the most delicate musical in town.

Now he’s essaying Tevye, the dialectical milkman at the heart of “Fiddler on the Roof.” Mr. Fierstein brings to the role some obvious limitations; well, just one. He is not much of a singer. His voice – which, at its best, makes him sound really, really hoarse – limits what he can express in song. The good news is that Mr. Fierstein, handed his most demanding role in years, shows what a gifted actor he is. He has broadened the emotional palette of this year-old revival. It’s not a triumph, exactly, but by any measure it’s a success.

When David Leveaux’s revival opened at the Minskoff 11 months ago, it was faulted for stripping Jerry Bock, Sheldon Harnick, and Joseph Stein’s show of some essential Jewishness. The blandness could be detected everywhere, from the scenery (which opted for abstraction over a more rooted depiction of Anatevka) to the leading man, Alfred Molina. He was smooth, polished, amiable – but believable as a Russian-Jewish milkman only when held to the low standards of the Broadway musical.

At the time, I wrote that “Fiddler” still had a lot to recommend it because the material is so rich. The songs – “Sunrise, Sunset,” “If I Were a Rich Man,” “Tradition” – are worth hearing, regardless of who’s performing them. The show always walks a line between being a folk tale and a splashy Broadway entertainment. With his coarse voice and dramatic chops, Mr. Fierstein puts the emphasis back on the folk tale. Somewhere during the second act he even makes you stop noticing the voice. “Well,” you find yourself thinking, “that must be how people sound in a Russian shtetl.”

Charisma will do that for an actor, and Mr. Fierstein has loads. He finds new seriousness in Tevye: When he looks to the heavens after the pogrom, you see the anger and disbelief in his eyes. It’s also a more deeply felt show, as Mr. Fierstein’s Tevye shows a warm paternal affection for his daughters. Needless to say, he has found more of the role’s comedy. Mr. Fierstein is a master of the slow burn and the delayed take, essential equipment for this badgered milkman; he knows when to make three moves and when to make two (and when not to make any).

It’s true that Mr. Fierstein gets a little broad now and then (maybe an odd complaint to make about a role originated by Zero Mostel). But if he lets his Harvey-ness flare now and then, consider his audience. From the picnickers down my row, to the woman who seemed to be unwrapping her birthday gifts across the aisle, Mr. Fierstein and his castmates are trying to please an audience even more exacting and high-handed than the drama critics: the out-of-towners.

Other cast replacements prove helpful as well. As Golde, Tevye’s bullying wife, Andrea Martin is sharp and very funny. Patrick Heusinger doesn’t have much to do as Fyedka, the goy who falls for Tevye’s daughter Chava, but he makes the most of it: He has a weirdly compelling, almost Walkenish understatement. As Chava, the talented Tricia Paoluccio is part of what has now become the emotional climax of the show.

When Chava asks Tevye to bless her wedding, he refuses, and angrily drags his cart offstage. “No!” he bellows. As the townspeople march across the stage, reprising “Tradition,” she yells after her father. Both Mr. Fierstein and Ms. Paoluccio appear devastated. The clash isn’t pretty. It looks ugly – it looks real. To see a moment with such emotional power in a big Broadway musical reminds us that very fine actors can transcend even their own limitations, even at the Minskoff.

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