Over the past roughly 15 years, Jeremy Jordan has become a Broadway star by appearing in a succession of mostly amiable but banal original musicals, among them adaptations of “Bonnie and Clyde” and, just last season, “The Great Gatsby.” While he has brought a lovely voice and a charming presence to each of them, he’s had little opportunity to reveal much beyond that — until now.

The show that heralds Mr. Jordan’s arrival as a leading man of real substance, “Floyd Collins,” is not a new musical: It was first produced at Philadelphia in 1994, then off-Broadway two years later. But the Lincoln Center Theater production now starring the actor, helmed by the show’s original director and its librettist, Tina Landau, marks the Broadway premiere of this cult favorite, and it couldn’t be in better hands.

Ms. Landau, whose many other noted credits range from “SpongeBob SquarePants: The Musical” to the current Idina Menzel vehicle “Redwood,” conceived “Collins” with Adam Guettel — now a similarly established composer/lyricist, whose musicals include “The Light in the Piazza” and “Days of Wine and Roses” — after reading an article about its title figure, a real-life explorer who found himself trapped inside a Kentucky cave in the winter of 1925.

Although Collins’s location was soon discovered, a series of efforts to rescue him proved — spoiler alert — futile; his ordeal did, though, draw an array of engineers, geologists, and other explorers to Sand Cave, as the area was known. Inevitably, the press and tourists descended on the site, and a perverse carnival atmosphere took over, with enterprising folks hawking snacks and souvenirs as Collins succumbed to starvation and the elements.

In this magnificent staging, Ms. Landau and her collaborators chillingly underline these darker expressions of ambition and voyeurism, which since “Collins” was first staged have fed developments from reality TV to social media. The stark, vast set by a prolific design collective called dots has the feel of an eerie frontier, positioning Floyd as an inheritor to the pioneering spirit that had long fueled American aspiration while accommodating more fanciful scenes, among them stunning dream sequences. 

Mr. Guettel’s score, which features additional lyrics by Ms. Landau, includes some of the prettiest and grittiest tunes he has written, and orchestrator Bruce Coughlin and music director Ted Sperling — a veteran of LCT productions, among them director Bartlett Sher’s exquisite revivals of musicals composed by Richard Rodgers, Mr. Guettel’s grandfather — emphasize their haunting folk nuances without sacrificing theatricality. 

The same can be said for the performers, who sing beautifully and with an unfussy purposefulness that’s both refreshing and especially well-suited to this material. Lizzy McAlpine, a singer/songwriter making her Broadway debut as Floyd’s sister, Nellie, is a standout; her achingly pure voice may strike one as more bluegrass than Broadway, but her delivery proves as dramatically potent as it is texturally authentic.

A long-admired musical theater stalwart, Marc Kudisch, sings robustly and is predictably compelling as Floyd’s tormented father, Lee; Jason Gotay and Taylor Trensch are similarly moving as, respectively, Floyd’s brother, Homer, and one Skeets Miller, a cub reporter (also based on a real person, as are Floyd’s relatives) who becomes professionally and emotionally attached to Floyd’s plight. Clyde Voce, Wade McCollum, and Cole Vaughan lend welcome comic relief as locals ensnared in the chaos.

The revelation here, though, is Mr. Jordan’s performance. All youthful, folksy vigor at first, the actor — who spends much of his time on stage seated, simulating the condition faced by Collins, whose leg was pinned under a rock — wrenchingly evokes both Floyd’s physical deterioration and an almost defiant spiritual endurance. His battle finally ends with one of Mr. Guettel’s most beloved songs, “How Glory Goes,” in which Floyd tries to imagine what heaven might hold in store for him.

“Faith is hoping for something, believing what you can’t see,” our hero notes before singing. “Floyd Collins” reminds us that this is something that poses risks as well as rewards, and if your eyes are still dry by the time Mr. Jordan finishes the number, you’re made of tougher stuff than I am.