Can a sensation be just as singular as it was the last time?

The question arises, and is very nearly answered in the affirmative, in the crisp, energetic, mostly marvelous revival of “A Chorus Line,” the lightning-in-a-bottle 1975 dance musical that pulled back the curtain on the struggles of Broadway gypsies and shot director-choreographer Michael Bennett, who died in 1987, into the highest echelons of Broadway royalty.

But a loyal coterie of “A Chorus Line” veterans have joined forces to create that rare breed of revival: a wholly faithful remounting that feels surprisingly new, one that pairs the superlative training of today’s performers with the virtuosic, all-encompassing showmanship of a musical theater legend. Even when the material shows its age or when an occasional performance missteps, Bennett’s sure-footed instincts shine through with crystalline precision.

A synopsis is probably not needed, as the plot is both simple and well-known, but just in case: Zach (Michael Berresse) is casting a new musical on a Broadway stage. But he’s not looking for stars or second bananas or ingenues. This audition is all about the chorus, the eight dancers whose job it will be to “frame” the star.

A group of aspiring dancers is cut early on, and the rest of the evening is devoted to winnowing down the 17 remaining auditioners.This is done through the standard sets of dance combinations but also through a borderline sadistic series of interrogations by Zach that turn the audition into a group therapy session, laying bare the gypsies’ fears, origins, anxieties, and ambitions.

Among those under scrutiny: Morales (Natalie Cortez), a Puerto Rican woman whose unexamined, hit-your-marks approach was challenged in drama school; Paul (Jason Tam), an eager-to-please young man with a rough past; Sheila (Deidre Goodwin), whose flirtatious hauteur barely masks her terror of reaching the end of her viability as a “chorus cutie” (she’s pushing 30); and Val (Jessica Lee Goldyn), a former plain Jane who bought herself a body after receiving the immortal critique “Dance: Ten, Looks: Three.” Also joining the audition is Zach’s ex-lover Cassie (Charlotte d’Amboise), who, after a fruitless bid for mainstream success and has returned to beg for a job on “the line.”

Director Bob Avian (the original co-choreographer in 1975) follows Bennett’s lead, plunging the audience into the backstage environment immediately. Marvin Hamlisch’s score sounds just how a dancer would hear it, all downbeats and percussive, subdivide-able combinations, which are matched perfectly by Edward Kleban’s alternately bratty and brave lyrics. Mr. Avian and Baayork Lee, a 1975 cast member who has replicated Bennett’s electrifying choreography, wisely confine the auditioners’ flubs to a realistic level. Several dancers have blind spots and weaknesses, sure, but this company never lets you forget the level of talent on Broadway — and, by extension, just how tough those eight spots will always be to land.

In addition to the dancing excellence required from each and every character (including Mr. Berresse, whose commendably remorseless take on Zach leads by splendid example), the ensemble displays acting and singing chops that are well above average. Not perfect — a few too many actors resort to the fidgety-hands school of conveying nervousness — but more than strong enough to keep the tension intact.

The cast includes a few vocal ringers: Tony Yazbeck brings a plush tenor to the (considerably) more melodious half of the husband-wife duet “Sing!,” and Mara Davi belts her way impressively through several passages, including the saddest of the three “At the Ballet” solo passages. Acting honors, meanwhile, go to Mr. Tam, who turns Paul’s central monologue of shame and self-loathing into a gentle masterpiece, and Ms. Goodwin, whose Sheila masks any stabbing doubts with a tart, richly amusing defiance. Ms. Cortez’s more timid approach to the fiery role of Morales, meanwhile, pays off, thanks to her intelligent acting and clear-as-a-bell vocals.

The only underwhelming portrayal, sadly, comes from Ms. d’Amboise. Cassie’s anxiety is no less intense than that of the gypsies surrounding her, her terror of outliving her usefulness as a dancer no less palpable. And Ms. d’Amboise would probably make a superb Sheila. But Cassie needs to go further than that.

While Ms. d’Amboise’s singing and acting make her eminently appropriate as a dancer gutting out a career — she herself has done it for more than 20 years — she lacks that indefinable star quality that would make her, as Zach repeatedly points out, no longer comfortable in the chorus. The raw sequence that culminates with “The Music and the Mirror” ignites only when Cassie’s monologue and vocals have ended, allowing Ms. d’Amboise to translate her frustration and passion into stage-traversing leaps. It’s sensational when it arrives, but it’s not enough.

In terms of the original James Kirkwod-Nicholas Dante script as well as the choreography, this version of “A Chorus Line” has made no effort to fix what wasn’t broke. Neither the wholesale improvements Val describes nor the prospects of entering a 42nd Street movie theater are quite so shocking anymore.

More crucially, “A Chorus Line” remains set in an era in which the idea of being gay carried a very different set of risks.An early monologue about a young boy mistaking his first wet dream for gonorrhea remains amusing, but that this is the only sexually transmitted disease of concern in more than two hours of discussion among Broadway dancers shows just how much time has passed since 1975. (Bennett, Dante, and several members of the company all died of AIDS-related illnesses in the 1980s.)

Kleban always hated the ballad “What I Did For Love” on the grounds that it did nothing to further the plot, a position that remains hard to refute, no matter how plaintive Mr. Hamlisch’s melody. And the protracted lead-up to the song, “What Do you Do When You Can’t Dance Anymore?” marks the one time where the script slips out of specificity and into clichés. But the rest of the show holds up as a gritty and glorious tribute to the unsung heroes who sing and dance their hearts out eight times a week, usually in complete anonymity.

This anonymity comprises the central irony of “A Chorus Line.”Only those able to locate — and, more to the point, display for public consumption — their most intimate selves earn the right to dress, sound, and move exactly like everyone else. “Every head, arm, body angle, exactly the same,”Zach explains as he teaches the finale.”You must blend.”

These multiple sensations achieve a singularity that both unifies and erases them. It’s a sobering idea that condemns the magic factory of Broadway even as it celebrates its delirious highs. Bennett may well have had several such epiphanies up his sleeve. We’ll never know. But the reappearance of this one, even with a missed opportunity here and there, warrants a tipped top hat from any lover of musical theater.

Open run (236 W. 45th St., between Broadway and Eighth Avenue, 212-239-6200).