For the past couple of years, Broadway’s prevailing winds have been blowing us towards a faux-pop wasteland, with small reason to think any return possible. Once you’ve been to “Brooklyn,” is there any going back? “Little Women” marks a slight, welcome change of direction. The show, which opened last night at the Virginia, isn’t overblown or cynical. Its creators have clear affection for the material, and chose their cast on the basis of talent. It’s also unassuming, if a musical attempting to translate one of America’s most beloved books to the stage can be called unassuming. Sure, it’s sentimental – but it’s a Broadway musical designed for the whole family, so what do you expect? It’s a passably diverting example of the genre, if you’re into that sort of thing.

Of course, for many around Broadway, the fact that “Little Women” turns out to be a modest success isn’t the big question. “Did she pull it off?” the Broadway fan wants to know, wringing his Playbill. “Was she just a flash in the pan?”

The answers are yes and no, respectively (I am happy to report). Sutton Foster plays Jo March, the tomboy/litterateur around whom the March family revolves. It is her first role since she rose from little-regarded understudy to Tony-winning sensation in “Thoroughly Modern Millie” a few seasons back. The two roles have a lot in common: They’re both lanky brunettes who move to New York in search of fame, fall in love, and get meaningful haircuts.

As in “Millie,” Ms. Foster shows she can sing, dance, and be funny. Very funny, actually: She has an anarchic comic streak that begs for material edgier than a Louisa May Alcott story. More than once, Ms. Foster props up a flagging scene by drawing a timely laugh. With a lesser leading lady, the show wouldn’t hold together nearly as well.

It’s not all punch lines and pratfalls. Ms. Foster has to show a softer side here than in the glittery “Millie.” There are plenty of touching displays of sisterly affection among headstrong Jo, romantic Meg, sweet Beth, and spunky Amy. Ms. Foster seemed to do pretty well in these scenes, from what I could see between my fingers. (Allergic to corn? You’ve been warned.) More impressive are the moments where Jo loses her cool, or otherwise acts like a grown-up. Ms. Foster has dramatic presence, and whenever Broadway sees its next “Guys and Dolls,” it won’t look far for its Sarah Brown.

The adaptation proves faithful to the spirit of Alcott’s book, if not to its structure. At least this is what I am told by my friend, who declares herself an authority on “Little Women” in its hardback and many film incarnations, even the ones starring Winona Ryder. Librettist Allan Knee, composer Jason Howland, and lyricist Mindi Dickstein begin the story with Jo in New York, trying to sell one of her lurid stories. As she reads it to Professor Bhaer (John Hickok), the company enacts the story around her. The story then flashes back a few years, to 1863, when Jo was still home in Concord with her sisters. A clever, effective way to begin. Even though there are some rushed spots and dull stretches later in the evening, the adaptation holds together. Considering Alcott’s book runs 500 pages, and the show only 160 minutes, some strains may be forgiven.

The model for the new American musical this isn’t, though of course that was not the intention. Mr. Howland’s music sounds very much of its moment, not really pop, not exactly old-fashioned Broadway. Ms. Dickstein’s lyrics also bear the stamp of their time. Like many recent musicals – “Wicked,” in particular – “Little Women” seizes on the theme of self-fulfillment. Jo’s big act one finale, “Astonishing,” runs along the lines of:

Here I go and there’s no turning back.
My great adventure has begun.
I may be small but I’ve got giant plans
To shine as brightly as the sun.

A rhyme here or there will jar, as in “Concord/conquered.” The show’s best number is one of its simplest: “Here Alone,” which the girls’ mother sings as she writes a letter to her far-off husband. As performed by Maureen Mc-Govern, the song pulls a neat double duty: It gives emotional depth to her character, and to the rest of the show. Her other song, a big second-act pep talk called “Days of Plenty,” also wows the crowd. It leaves the audience cheering her exit, and the dramaturgs tearing out their hair. Pretty singing, sure, but the song kills the show’s momentum.

Ms. McGovern gives a lovely, understated performance, so you can’t fault the impulse for throwing another number her way. In fact, all the March family actresses shine. Director Susan H. Schulman deserves credit for drawing nuanced, distinct performances out of Jenny Powers, Megan McGinnis, and Amy McAlexander as Meg, Beth, and Amy, respectively. As Meg’s beloved Mr. Brooke, Jim Weitzer is also fine.

Ms. Schulman keeps the action flowing, and the focus where it ought to be. She achieves this somewhat in spite of the physical production. Derek McLane’s set features a solid, utilitarian wooden staircase at either edge of the stage, a series of delicate panels that slide in from the sides and above, and painted drops at the rear of the stage: a mix that never quite coheres. The grand dimensions of the Virginia seem to distort material that would suit a more intimate space. (Was Jo’s attic really the size of a high school gym?) Actresses as engaging as Ms. Foster and her castmates can overcome problems graver than these.

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