One irony of the meta-narratives around these shows is that they tend to focus on the makeovers they’ve given to their women. The New York Post reported that the new “Pretty Woman” was reimagined to make Vivian Ward “stronger and more independent,” edits that “have taken on more urgency in the wake of Harvey Weinstein and the #MeToo movement.” In Playbill, the “Tootsie” version of Julie — the Michael Dorsey-slash-Dorothy Michaels love interest — is hailed as a thoroughly “2019 woman,” one who is “independent, strong and outspoken.”

Empowering the female lead may be a celebratory hook for selling a show, particularly given that women buy the bulk of Broadway tickets. But on closer inspection, it is rarely the women that require revision. The streetwalking Vivian Ward, stage-dominating Lilli Vanessi and hardscrabble Eliza Doolittle are not lacking in grit. An additional injection of strength risks turning them into bland, uncomplicated superwomen.

No, the real problem with these stories is the men. They are terrible, and yet they have the audacity to believe they can teach these women lessons, and to come out on the other side looking like plausible romantic leads. A modern production’s success rests on how it tames its man.

When “My Fair Lady” opened on Broadway in 1956, Rex Harrison inflated Henry Higgins with such self-satisfied pomposity that he loomed frighteningly over everyone. He was old, and he was mean. In the revival, Harry Hadden-Paton has instead reduced Higgins to an aloof but harmless man-boy. When he utters his infamous final line — “Eliza, where the devil are my slippers?” — he looks so pitiful that you can’t help but feel sorry for the both of them. Henry has helped Eliza grow, but he can’t help himself.

So this time, she leaves. In fact, she marches up and out of the theater itself. This risks disappointing sentimental fans, but it realigns the story with Shaw’s original intention, and it produces an altogether new sensation: a kind of mourning for the classic romantic ending that we now recognize was always a sexist farce. We wish it didn’t have to be this way, but since Higgins won’t change, Eliza must.

“Pretty Woman” seeks to soften Edward Lewis, too, but instead it sands his edges down until he is a mere nub of a man. Edward is already the flimsiest Pygmalion in the pantheon: He throws money at everything, so even his lady-construction project is outsourced to shopkeeps and hotel staff. This allows Edward to avoid the grosser implications of the Pygmalion character; you rarely have to watch him lord over his woman.