A PROBLEMATIC BESS: even in the small Majestic, Elizabeth Graham had a hard time projecting; her loud notes wobbled, her high notes frayed.

In 1935, George and Ira Gershwin rehearsed their new opera, Porgy and Bess, at the Majestic (now Cutler Majestic) Theatre before its premiere at the Colonial. The Majestic is where a touring production of Porgy and Bess is in residence this weekend. It’s been traveling around the globe since 1992; the current leg includes Burlington, Schenectady, and Woonsocket. It’s good that people living away from the central urban venues can see a major American classic.

Whether a bunch of white guys could convey what life was really like in the poor South will probably be debated as long as people can still hum Gershwin’s memorable blend of opera, gospel, jazz, folk music, art song, and pure Broadway. Those musical numbers — the heavenly "Summertime," the searing "My Man’s Gone Now," the exuberant "I Got Plenty of Nuttin,’ " the insinuating, cynical "It Ain’t Necessarily So," the large-scale operatic duet "Bess, You Is My Woman Now," the quasi-spiritual "It Take a Long Pull," the chilling "Buzzard Song," almost a Schubert song — are among the treasures of 20th-century American music. The choral numbers for the citizens of Charleston’s Catfish Row rank with the choruses of Mussorgsky’s Boris Godunov. In many ways the community is the real hero; the love story, the growing bond between the dissolute drug addict Bess and the innocent cripple Porgy, is just the tip of an iceberg.

The ensemble is certainly the hero of this production. With the brassy Nell Carter–like, pipe-smoking, beturbaned Maria of Stephanie Beadle and the full-voiced Strawberry Woman of Alteouise DeVaughn, the crowd scenes are the most satisfying sections. Good solo voices are in shorter supply. Kathye Gary, as Clara, opened the first-night performance with a surprisingly feeble "Summertime"; the final high note was as far from the right pitch as Tremont Street is from Catfish Row.

Elizabeth Graham, who staged director Will Roberson’s conception, gives us a Bess whose singing and acting are both problematic. Even in the small Majestic, she had a hard time projecting Tuesday; her loud notes wobbled, her high notes frayed. Bess is a complex character — a woman with a need for affection who hooks up with the worst possible men, the brutal Crown (convincingly played by muscle-man Stephen Finch), and the sleazy drug pusher Sportin’ Life (tenor Ronn K. Smith, who with red hat, red shirt, red pocket handkerchief, red shoes, and slithery movement is a seductively Mephistophelean showstopper). But her affection for the cripple who offers her a home must also be convincing. Graham’s Bess is out of a silent movie — overstated facial expressions and body language. Much of the other acting seems similarly externalized and crude.

Mark Anthony Hall, who sang Porgy Tuesday, has a solid, warm baritone that gave way to sandpaper about halfway through. He’s extremely earnest — sympathetic but not moving. Creating an individual character isn’t one his strengths; I never even quite believed that his Porgy was disabled. Anne Fridal, the suddenly widowed Serena, had the best voice in the opening-night cast (most of the principal roles are double-cast), but her performance seemed affected; "My Man’s Gone Now" looked more "acted" than felt. In smaller roles, Thomas Elliott (Jake), Leon Browne (Honey Man), and Derec Allen (Crabman) were better. But many of the voices sounded thin even over the small orchestra. The subtitles would have helped if they hadn’t been tiny and blurry.

Conductor Zoltan Papp kept things moving, with few cuts. But one of them is a serious omission: Porgy’s mysterious "Buzzard Song," his most profound musical utterance, in which he chooses love over superstition. In view of Porgy’s length, it’s customary these days to split the work in two rather than preserve Gershwin’s three-act structure. But this undermines Gershwin’s musical design. He intended each act to end with a large communal chorus. Nowadays, the intermission follows Crown’s rape of Bess. Gershwin’s emphasis on community becomes an emphasis on the melodramatic and the sensational.

James Fouchard’s staircases and façades crowd the stage, but in a good way; it’s like looking at a miniature of the original 1935 production. Except for Bess’s flaming red velvet dress, Candace Donnelly’s costumes seem just right. Economy can often inspire imagination. But this Porgy and Bess also economizes on great singing, superb acting, and thoughtful stage direction. It’s a worthy look at Gershwin’s most ambitious work that doesn’t suggest Porgy’s true majesty.