By Leonard Jacobs

Lovers of old shtick will be diverted but frustrated by The Glorious Ones, the new musical at Lincoln Center Theater. It takes sentimental aim at commedia dell’arte, the antecedent of knockabout comedy, but feeds us forkfuls of mistiness when what’s required is red comic meat. Ideally this tuner should have been mad and manic, insouciant and insane, a romp making us shriek, cackle and hoot before we think and feel.

Based on Francine Prose’s same-name novel, The Glorious Ones has a troublesome hero in Flaminio Scala (Marc Kudisch), a historical figure who’s a curiosity in theater history. An actor-driven art form that arose in Italy in the 15th century and flourished for 300 years, commedia is predicated on lazzi—polished comic bits designed to initiate laughter—and improvisations based on sets of scenarios and stock characters whose relationships are known to the audience. Most common are young lovers who wish to marry but who are blocked by family elders, requiring servants to solve the problem. What we know of lazzi and scenarios is partly due to Scala committing them to paper in 1611.

With book and lyrics by Lynn Ahrens and music by Stephen Flaherty—the team that wrote the scores to Ragtime and Seussical—the historical lecturing is wisely kept to a minimum. What The Glorious Ones lacks, though, is sufficient rationale for why Scala’s story, at least as imagined by the authors, needs to be told. The indomitable Kudisch plays Scala with relish, but the character is more Miles Gloriosus—the self-centered commedia type based on a character written by the Roman playwright Plautus—than a glorious actor-manager whose adventures are inherently musical. I’d have thought comedy and improvisation were kissing cousins to musical theatre, but given Ahrens’ meandering text and Flaherty’s bland music, it might be more sensible to put that instinct to rest.

On the bright side, I did smile a lot because everyone works so hard to please. Indeed, because much of The Glorious Ones concerns how Scala creates his band of merrymakers, there are frequent, welcome opportunities for actors to strut their stuff. Scala discovers Columbina (Natalie Venetia Belcon)—the busty, dishy bawd who’s his mistress and romantic lead—in a brothel. Belcon, who originated the role of Gary Coleman in Avenue Q, makes hilarious hay with her sassy role. Her big song, “My Body Wasn’t Why,” is perhaps the most inventive element of the score.

Other plot tendrils stop at cute. Scala finds Armanda (the great Julyana Soelistyo), a diminutive sprite, washing the steps of a church and drafts her to play a dog, among other archetypes. (The musical’s framing device involves Armanda storing up bits of Scala’s discarded costumes for safekeeping.) Walking down the street, Scala notices Francesco (Jeremy Webb) doing low-comedy tricks and acrobatics; he’s soon on board as a comic servant. Perennial commedia figures such as Pantalone (David Patrick Kelly) and Dottore (John Kassir) appear, their back-stories less fully explored.

Scala never dreams anyone would star in his troupe but him. But fate has other things in mind. When Francesco elopes with Isabella (Erin Davie), a young woman who has written a play, the die is cast: The move from improvisation to scripted theater is going full speed ahead, which is more than Scala can bear. The “performance” of Isabella’s play ends the show, yet Scala’s suicide is neither tragic nor comic—it’s a final cry from a man with a big ego. A look at the genealogy of comedy needed clearer roots and fruits.

Through Jan. 6. Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater, 150 W. 65th St. (betw. Columbus & Amsterdam Aves.), 212-239-6200; $70-$75.