One Day Photo by Bob Degus

For all the attempts that Sottile and his choreographer and codirector, Ray Leeper, have made to tell the high school story of today in an accurate and unvarnished way, they've forgotten that their subjects are flesh-and-blood humans who need to be treated as such. And, in a musical, you're not left with much of value once you get away from the natural highs and lows that might make a person sing.

This is not to say that Sottile's intentions weren't good. In fusing a handful of songs from his 1999 musical Inappropriate with tales based on "true journal entries of teenagers" (as the program puts it), he's clearly wanted to dig in and do well by those who are often disenfranchised or misrepresented by the arts that most want to capture their energy, promise, and hormone-fueled hope and despair. Every moment of One Day is structured with that firmly in mind.

But rather than an incisive exploration of a period of crisis for people who haven't yet developed the tools to deal with it, we get a portrait that's painted so broadly that the characters are allowed to have neither distinct personalities nor names. We meet a golden boy gone bad, a girl too desperate to be thin, a young man who's taunted endlessly about his sexuality, a rape survivor, a well-meaning guy who can't control his violent impulses, and a pair who struggle to find romance in each other after finding themselves empty, but they're never allowed to be unique or specific enough to move beyond their colorless, archetypal inceptions.

Without rigid details of who the kids are, what they dream, and how they perceive the world around them, they simply can't become genuine. The diaries on which these events were based were undoubtedly filled with pain, but probably also joy, complaints about parents, teachers, boyfriends and girlfriends, and everyday annoyances, elements that have no place in the disembodied high school band room where the anonymous school's "Tribe" meets to air their innermost anxieties. (Ellen Rousseau's set is more of a sterile warehouse nightclub than any kind of a classroom, but it suffices; Jason Lyons's lights are perhaps a bit busy, but rock-concert fashionable; Shane Ballard's costumes are just right.)

It's not clear, though, why the proceedings are overseen by a DJ (Nyseli Vega), who herself doesn't participate in the soul-airing; nor does it particularly matter, as the framing device is forgotten essentially as soon as it's introduced. It gives the two-hour evening a vague concept, and a way for projection designer Andrew Lazarow to let us see the words of the journal entries and try to set the emotional scene. Additional words and speeches aimed at unlocking the students' states of mind do the same.

But because the words are lifeless—"I wasn't supposed to be born and yet here I stand," says one; "I walk around pretending to be someone I'm not," moans another—the kids are all too flat and fake for us to learn from or root for. And because they rarely interact with each other, they can't create the impression that there are any real relationships—to say nothing of a real high school environment—at play here.

Vega's zesty personality and keen knack for slam poetry, which she dispenses during her few moments in the spotlight, make her a standout among the cast. The other performers are all talented singers and dancers as well, though only Ben Shuman and Charlotte Mary Wen find sweetness (as the tentative couple), and Aaron Scheff (as the victimizer) and Brenna Bloom (as the victim) a clarifying intensity. Everyone else is too hamstrung by the book—or, rather, the lack thereof.

Sottile's greatest achievement here is the score. Its rock-pop strains (Keith Harrison is the canny musical director) evoke both the hard edges and tender yearnings of people this age, and pinpoints their difficulties with a sensitivity the book doesn't. Shuman and Wen reveal the most heart, with a trio of songs that chart their first experiments with love, but even when coping with less-original ideas—the golden boy's silent rage against his demanding parents, the gay boy's fighting to keep his inner light on—feelings are never far from the fore.

Well, with two exceptions. The jaggedly upbeat "Tips & Tricks on How to Puke Your Guts Out" (unfortunately, that's its billed title), and "All I Want," a sexually searching song set in the imaginary Spain of online chat rooms, are disasters that grind the almost-action to a halt, and register more as an adult's attempts to be funny without knowing what makes other generations laugh.

If these stand out because of their comparative quality, thematically, they're right at home in the muddled One Day. Most of what you get is faux-inspirational attitudinizing that says a lot without actually saying anything, as in the title song: "We come from all walks of life / In search of a better tomorrow / Our prayer is forgiveness / Our hope, truth / Our desire, courage / And our quest... / Love."

As Bloom sings at the beginning of that number, "One day my story will be told." Let's hope so—it couldn't possibly be less interesting than the anonymous stories that fill the musical now.

One Day
Through March 1
3LD Art & Technology Center, 80 Greenwich Street
Tickets online and current Performance Schedule: www.onedaythemusical.com