Laura Pavles and George Psomas Photo by Russ Rowland

Fixing Frankie begins in 2016 when the 50-year-old title character (George Psomas, who is disarmingly winning), desperate and depressed, returns to the confessional booth for the first time in 32 years. The sympathetic priest (Ryan Alvarado) urges Frankie to be gentler on himself, reminding him that "making peace with the past can be like prayer."

Flashback to 1971 when Frankie is five years old (played by Greyson Chapman, who is utterly charming and proves to be an immensely gifted performer), and his world centers around Matchbox cars, G.I. Joe (with Kung Fu Grip, naturally), and Barbie, while the Partridge Family's "Come On, Get Happy" rules the airwaves. Frankie's parents (Andrea Bianchi and Steven Scionti, nicely and believably paired) are loving and indulgent even if they do not completely understand their son's burgeoning fascination with women's clothing. After all, this is a child who proclaims that Bea Arthur as Maude "is a fashion rebel!"

As Frankie reaches puberty, he discovers alternatives to his conservative suburban upbringing thanks to the swinging tenants, Eduardo and Patti (Alvarado and Felicia Finley, both effortlessly flamboyant), living in the family's upstairs apartment. Yet he also must contend with his scolding, doom-projecting conscience as manifested by Sister Agatha (Finley), the stern nun who has taken up residence in his head.

Frankie's best friend Margaret (Laura Pavles, who is adorably quirky and poignant) helps the sexually conflicted teenager cope with bullying in his high school years of the early 1980s, and the two eventually become college roommates in New York City. While still closeted to his family, Frankie navigates the gay club scene and the treacherous AIDS decades, but he flounders professionally having pursued a writing career that carries less gay stigma than fashion design. He falls in love with Lucas (Austin Colburn, who does a fine job in a variety of roles), whom he met at the old Limelight, but the relationship is destined for failure because of Frankie's internal turmoil.

The show moves quickly through the 1970s to the 2010s, and co-directors Joe Langworth and Michael Blatt as well as the designers keep things moving at an appropriate clip. Josh Iacovelli's scenic design consists of a house frame with movable side walls that neatly establish the various locales, while Andy Evan Cohen's projections and Aiden Bezark's lighting provide smooth and clear transitions. Elizabeth Ektefaei's costumes playfully give a sense of the time, place, and couture that defined, for good or ill (mostly and thankfully for the ill), the eras.

For a show that is about unpacking memories, the co-directors ingeniously place wooden crates around the stage. The actors artfully move the boxes and nonchalantly pull out an assortment of props and set decorations that are crucial to each scene.

The songs by Marzullo (music) and Langworth (lyrics) are often quite tuneful, and there are several appealing ones. "77 from A to Z" joyfully captures the cultural high points (such as the musical Annie) in a rap song that also riffs on (without infringing upon copyright) the launch of the "I Love NY" campaign and its infectious earworm. "We All Love Who We Love" and "Another Day" are moving anthems that effectively encapsulate the show's message about acceptance and forgiveness.

The press materials claim that the songs emulate the musical styles of their historical settings. However, despite listening closely for distinctions, I found few noticeable differences in the music itself. Only occasional lyric references or pop beats hinted at the cultural context. Future productions might achieve a more explicit pastiche by reorchestrating for a larger band, though the current four-person group performs commendably. (Sun Hee Kil's sound design also balances the musicians and vocalists nicely.)

Langworth's book suffers a similar problem. There are evocative references to iconic figures and events from the 1970s through the mid-2010s, and I alternately laughed at allusions to pop cultural mentions like "Dyn-o-mite," and "That uncompromisin', enterprisin', anything but tranquilizin', Right on Maude," and I was moved by reminders of AIDS and the Twin Towers. But as often happens in the rushing cascade of events, the full impact is difficult to measure.

Ultimately, the writers may have been too ambitious in trying to accommodate the expansiveness of the material. In addition to weaving a capacious cultural historical tapestry, there are also several strands in the bildungsroman that require finesse in intertwining. Frankie's relationships with his parents, best friend, lover, religious faith, New York City, and his deferred professional aspirations are all introduced, but there is not enough time to dive deeply into each one. The musical's plaintiveness does not resonate.

There is much to enjoy in Fixing Frankie, but the alacrity in which the musical moves through Frankie's trajectory gives the impression of flipping through someone else's scrapbook. The songs and scenes do not linger long enough in each era to fully absorb the time, place, or the people in the photos.