"Leap of Faith," With Raúl Esparza at St. James Theater Say amen, somebody. Or, better yet, just whimper the word. We've finally come to the end of a hard-run overcrowded spring on Broadway. And here, to sound the final trumpet, is one last musical, a show that appropriately expresses how many a dedicated theatergoer must be feeling right now: plumb tuckered out. Praise the Lord, and pass the amphetamines. "Leap of Faith," which opened on Thursday night at the St. James Theater, uses the religious revival meeting as both its subject and its form. Yet reviving (or revivifying or inspiriting) is hardly the right adjective for it. Starring Raúl Esparza and based on the 1992 movie of the same title, "Leap of Faith" is this season's black hole of musical comedy, sucking the energy out of anyone who gets near it. That includes its unfortunate cast. It's not that the ensemble members, directed by Christopher Ashley and choreographed by Sergio Trujillo, don't work up a sweat, clappin" their hands and slappin" their thighs and raisin" their voices. But you can feel that the force isn't with them. As its title promises, "Leap of Faith" has a fair amount of leaping. The faith part is another matter. Featuring songs by Alan Menken (music) and Glenn Slater (lyrics), with a book by Janus Cercone and Warren Leight, "Leap of Faith" tells the redemptive story of Jonas Nightingale (Mr. Esparza), a con-man evangelist who is forced to re-examine his wicked ways. Well, maybe it's a redemptive story; it's typical of the show's bad faith that it hedges its bets. Jonas (who was portrayed by Steve Martin in the film) is a figure with a long and nobly ignoble ancestry in the theater, the irresistible charlatan. He's a type whose very existence depends on his ability to charm a crowd, to whip up emotions, to make us suspend disbelief. He is, in other words, showbiz incarnate. Celebrated variations on this scam artist have been deployed for purposes sentimental (the title characters of "The Music Man" and "The Rainmaker"), cynical (the grandstanding lawyer Billy Flynn in "Chicago") and somewhere in between (the leading louts of "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels"). But wherever their hearts lie, these great pretenders can usually be relied on to raise the adrenaline in a room. If they're really well portrayed, especially on the stage, they operate on several levels at once, as deceivers (that is, actors) playing deceivers who get caught up in their own deceptions. Such performances leave us dizzy, giddy and feeling darn lucky that we've been had. Mr. Esparza would seem to be a natural for such a part. His onstage energy quotient is usually off the charts. He was terrific as the forked-lightning-tongued studio executive in the 2008 revival of David Mamet's "Speed-the-Plow" and, in a more introspective mode, as the commitment-fearing urbanite in John Doyle's 2006 production of "Company." Artfully mix traits from each and, in theory, you'd come up with Jonas Nightingale, a self-questioning seller of hope. Yet here Mr. Esparza seems to keep a chilly distance from his character, and you realize the degree to which self-consciousness has always been a part of his performances. In "Faith" doubt emanates from his every pore, from his contemptuously curled mouth to his fast robotic line readings. This is not, to put it mildly, the right frame of mind for selling religion from a revival tent (designed by Robin Wagner). The people that Jonas - aided by his manager and kid sister, Sam (Kendra Kassebaum) - is trying to dupe are the citizens of Sweetwater, Kan., a cornfed place crippled by drought and unemployment. Though the townsfolk don't have much money, Jonas is convinced that he and his choir, the Angels of Mercy (led by Ida Mae Sturdevant, played by Kecia Lewis-Evans) can induce them to pour what little they have into his collection plates. One hitch, though. There's a skeptic in Sweetwater, a beautiful woman who has gone for too long without love. Shades of Marian the librarian! But Marla McGowan (Jessica Phillips, who looks and acts as if she has just been dry-cleaned) is no book tender but the town sheriff, who has the power to put Jonas in jail. She also has a 13-year-old son, brave little Jake (Talon Ackerman), who has lost the use of his legs in the car accident that conveniently took the life of Marla's husband. Jake believes in miracles, and Jake believes in Jonas. Say, you ain't buying this guff, are you? Well, maybe you would if anyone onstage seemed to. I still shed a tear or two whenever the 1962 film of "The Music Man," starring Robert Preston, shows up on television. But "Faith" recycles its clichés without a shred of true conviction. Its jokes, its romantic scenes, its dance numbers, its interchangeable songs by Mr. Menken (also represented on Broadway this season by the hyper-peppy "Newsies the Musical") all feel as if they had been pasted into place the night before. An example of what passes for wit in Mr. Slater's lyrics: "Honey, even Helen Keller could see through you."