I knew going into the new musical version of one of my favorite films, Amélie, that I was going to struggle with the adaptation. Could it work? Was it necessary? Would I miss the sweeping cinematography and beautiful original score by ‎Yann Tiersen and be able to accept a new score with lyrics? These questions are mostly about the nature of theater and film, how they've often inspired each other over the last century, and how some stories move easily from one medium to the other, and others don't. In the case of Amélie, I will say that it does work, and the charming elements of the modest tale of shy Amélie Poulin entranced by a young man with an obsessive pursuit to whom she can't summon the courage to speak, as well as her efforts to improve the lives of the people around her translate perfectly well to the stage in the new world premiere musical at Berkeley Rep. But I still miss Tiersen's music, and the broad comic direction and rich vision of Jean-Pierre Jeunet, and that's probably OK. The two things can co-exist, and I'll try to judge the musical on its own merits, with this film that I love merely its base text.

Director Pam McKinnon has done an admirable, at times stunning job translating certain essential moments from Jeunet's film for the stage, relying often on the actors themselves — as she does in a particularly clever moment in which Amélie is shown engaging in one of her favorite activities, skipping stones in the Canal Saint-Martin, which is done without any stones, or water. Hint: it involves glittery pom-poms.

McKinnon has also cast the show with an eccentric ensemble befitting of the original, and the ensemble musical numbers are the highlights throughout.

The book by Craig Lucas (Prelude to a Kiss, A Light In the Piazza) preserves about 75 percent of the elements of the script without needing to be verbatim, in particular the characters Amélie works alongside at the Cafe des Deux Moulins and their various quirks — OK I promised I wouldn't do this, but the play does feel like it loses a bit here to the film in not being able to makes each of these characters jump to life, in all their simple idiosyncrasies, as efficiently, and to anyone who didn't know the story already the group of them would likely blend together as a nameless bunch.

There is Suzanne, played ably by Maria-Christina Oliveras, memorable for the limp she acquired in a trapeze accident; Gina, played by the full voiced and talented Carla Duren, known for her tableside back rubs; Georgette, the cashier, played by the spunky Alyse Alan Louis, identified by her constant sneezes and hypochondria; the jealous Joseph, played with bravado by Paul Whitty; and the unpublished poet Hipoloto, played by Randy Blair, who occasionally gets a good line. They are all great performers with excellent voices, but none get memorable enough moments or songs to feel like they're as important to the piece as their movie versions were.

Likewise you have the mean fruit and vegetable seller Collignon (Tony Sheldon, in a double casting also playing the fragile painter neighbor Dufayel) whose meanness to his employee Lucien is of little consequence now that the sub-plot in which Amelie enacts comic revenge on him has been nixed.

In the place of these things you have an often pretty new score by Daniel Messé, with several songs that stand out in the first half, in particular the opening number, and the song that unites the ensemble in the cafe with the refrain "I'm waiting for something more/ I'm waiting for something worth waiting for." And the adaptation takes us in a few new directions — the highlight being Amelie's dream sequence during the funeral of Princess Diana, featuring a special tribute to Amélie herself by Elton John.

In the lead role, actress Samantha Barks shines throughout, her voice lovely as it tells Amélie's story and tackles so much of this new music. (Young Savvy Crawford, who plays the childhood Amélie, does extremely well holding her own in several early numbers as well.) And in the role of her beloved, Nino, Adam Chanler-Berat is equally talented, and brings the house down with his second-half solo number, "Thin Air" — which you can tell is the composer's hopeful choice for breakout audition favorite in the score.

The set and costumes by multiply Tony-nominated designer David Zinn are marvelous in their color and ingenuity, with what appears to be a stack of monochromatically painted cabinets and furniture transforming, moment by moment, into the various streets, shops, and train stations of Paris that figure into the story. He was also clearly inspired by the primary colors of Jeunet's film, which figure prominently in every tableaux. (I'm not sure, though, that the choice to pitch the entire stage up at one side by a couple of degrees does anything but put the viewer ill-at-ease.)

Were there more memorable numbers, and more surprising moments of stagecraft like the stone-skipping off the bridge, I would probably have been more swept up and forgiving than I was — especially because the journey toward Amélie's first passionate kiss, and first boyfriend, is hard not to love. Instead I was left making too many comparisons, and admiring each instance of stage translation instead of being wowed by it. It may be, though, that as this show evolves over the next few weeks — its run has been extended already to October 11 — or years if it moves on elsewhere, that the above complaints are just the kinks that will give way to an enduring an successful work. Many of the pieces are there, they're just not quite all there.

Amelie, A New Musical plays through October 11, and you can find tickets here. Note that ticket buyers who are under the age of 30 get half off, but you will have to show proof of age at the box office.