Wicked Music and lyrics by Stephen Schwartz; book by Winnie Holzman Based on the novel by Gregory Maguire; Directed by Joe Mantello; At the Kennedy Center to Aug. 21 The Glass Menagerie By Tennessee Williams Directed by Derek Goldman; Co-produced by Georgetown University; At Arena Stage to July 3 Can a mainstay overcome its iconic Broadway portrayal? Sorta.

The hottest ticket this summer is a show that deals with Big Questions—timelessly debatable topics like the problem of evil, absolute truth, and Rousseau’s theory of innate goodness. You know, Philosophy 101 kinda stuff.

The play? It’s a musical, actually. It’s called Wicked. Throw a bunch of glitter on just about anything, add catchy showtunes, and people will pay money to see a show about it.

But that’s being cynical. Wicked is much more than a pretty opium dream of a backstory to The Wizard of Oz. There’s substantive dramatic tension—and some serious inquiry—going on underneath Elphaba’s black hat and Glinda’s blond curls. The touring production that’s set up shop at the Kennedy Center can’t be pronounced “perfect,” but it’s not too many taps of a wand away.

The 2003 Broadway cast of Wicked starred professional cute blond Kristin Chenoweth as Glinda and her Tony-winning foil, Idina Menzel, as Elphaba. Because the actresses have reunited on Glee, where both compete for the attentions of fellow former Broadway crooner Matthew Morrison, their voices may be a little fresher in some theatergoers’ minds than the last time Wicked came through Washington. And that’s a problem. From the moment she floats in on a hydraulic bubble, Amanda Jane Cooper makes you suspect Chenoweth would be less annoying as she flirts and giggles her way through the cliques of Shiz University. At the very least, Chenoweth would hit the high notes without quavering.

But you never miss Menzel. Dee Roscioli owns the role of Elphaba, the green-skinned outcast majoring in sorcery. Her smooth but expressive mezzo glides easily up to higher ranges, and despite playing the part on Broadway and in Chicago for two years, she sounds fresh and unerringly convincing. When she sings “I’m Not That Girl”—which has replaced Les Miserables’ “On My Own” as this generation’s Broadway ballad of unrequited love—there’s no question Elphaba’s plight is more complicated than the average theatrical love triangle.

As spelled out in the opening song-and-dance sequence, Elphaba will become the Wicked Witch of the West by show’s end. Following some shenanigans at Shiz, a trip to see the Wizard ends with some spells gone wrong. (Flying monkeys, anyone?) Elphaba hops on a broom and goes on the lam, leaving her more popular friend Glinda behind to keep up appearances in Oz and marry Fiyero, captain of the guards. Rumors that Elphaba is a fugitive “wicked” witch are circulated by the Wizard’s press secretary. Cue inside-the-Beltway sniggers. “The truth is not fact or reason,” the Wizard observes. “The truth is just what everyone agrees on.”

But back to Fiyero for a minute. It’s a shame that Colin Hanlon, the charming actor who sings the would-be showstopper “Dancing Through Life,” can’t really sing and really can’t dance. On press night, successive big numbers showed that the tech crew and musicians should attempt a few tweaks. The 20-piece orchestra is pumped through massive speakers in the Opera House, resulting in homogenized accompaniment that sounds less than live. There’s little variance in dynamics, and that detracts from hits like “One Short Day” and “Gravity.”

Stephen Schwartz’s songs succeed not only because they’re catchy, but because they both reveal characters’ thoughts and propel the plot forward. In Glinda and Elphaba’s closing duet—just before a girl named Dorothy bursts in with a bucket—the two witches ask: “Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better? But because I knew you, I have been changed for good.”

This idea that “good” does not necessarily equal “better” is a heady line by musical theater standards. The narrative wraps up more neatly onstage than in Gregory Maguire’s novel, but even in an fantasy world of glitter and green tulle, that very human problem of moral ambiguity sparkles though.

The Glass Menagerie By Tennessee Williams Directed by Derek Goldman; Co-produced by Georgetown University; At Arena Stage to July 3

The specter of recent Tony winners may linger over shows like Wicked, but actors in classics are just as likely to face ghosts in the mind of a beholder. I am probably not the only theatergoer in this town whose first Tom in The Glass Menagerie was Robert Sean Leonard. I was 18, and my father dropped me off at Baltimore’s Centerstage on a December Saturday. I went because I loved Swing Kids, Dead Poets Society, and Branagh’s Much Ado; I came away loving Tennessee Williams’ play.

I’ve since watched at least two other quartets play the Wingfield family and the gentleman caller. I’ve seen a disabled actress and a college roommate who was obsessed with Riven play Laura. Both performances were affecting. Maybe it’s because of my memory, but it’s also because of interesting acting that, sitting in Arena Stage’s Kogod Cradle, I was most drawn to Sarah Marshall’s Amanda Wingfield and Michael Mitchell’s Jim O’Connor.

Marshall, an area veteran at Arena and Woolly Mammoth, anchors this cast that is otherwise recent Georgetown University alumni. Derek Goldman directs a production that’s a worthwhile collaboration between the theater and the university, both for its artistic merits and as another example of Arena Stage sharing its new space with area arts organizations.

In many Menageries, Amanda is portrayed as domineering and delusional, resting on her mountain laurels after a privileged Southern upbringing. Not here. She still talks of cotillions even though she’s now living in a shabby Depression-era apartment with her two grown children, but Marshall has chosen to play Amanda as perfectly lucid. She’s a nervous biddy who makes poor choices because she’s incredibly insecure. When she sells a magazine subscription over the telephone, she tears up in disbelief, and she’s clearly more embarrassed that her husband left her than by his profession: She married a “long distance” telephone man rather than the son of a plantation owner.

This Amanda is much easier to empathize with and seems sincerely interested in happiness for her daughter Laura (a lovely Rachel Caywood) than herself. When Tom (Clark Young, more a wanderer than a writer) invites a pal over to dinner, we get another character revelation, though one not quite as well embodied.

That’s OK. Mitchell is young. He’s more believable as a recent Georgetown graduate from suburban New York than he is as a middle-American Irish-Catholic. Yet his swingin’ prep-school persona works, given that he was Laura’s high school crush. When kisses her, then admits he’s engaged after pulling away, rejection is what pushes her from inferiority toward insanity. Tom soon follows Jim out the door, putting on his Merchant Marine coat and leaving his sister in the dark. “Blow out your candles, Laura, and so goodbye,” is the closing line, but only until another revealing Menagerie comes along.