Saturday night was Franco Zeffirelli Night at the Metropolitan Opera. The company honored the great director, born in 1923, with a ceremony at the end of Act 2. Act 2 of what? Puccini’s “La Bohème,” in, of course, the Zeffirelli production.

Mr. Zeffirelli has fashioned 11 productions for the Metropolitan Opera. So you might say that many a night has been Franco Zeffirelli Night there. Audiences tend to love him, while critics tend to scorn him. You know the rap against him: that he is “traditional,” “conservative,” “literal,” and “over-grand.” In my view, his productions fit the operas they serve — and “serve” is the word. He is not serving himself, or some ideological need. He is serving the operas.

Some of his shows are more effective than others. Of whom is this not true? But when Mr. Zeffirelli scores — as he does in “La Bohème,” incidentally — he scores definitively.

He is grand, yes. But so is grand opera — and so is the Metropolitan Opera House. But the times, they are a-changing. And Mr. Zeffirelli

is seen by many as a dinosaur. If that is so, then we can say that evolution sometimes goes awry — that evolution is a fool. There should always be a place for Mr. Zeffirelli and his kind. In the opera house, as elsewhere, let a hundred flowers bloom — as long as those flowers are worthy.

One of Mr. Zeffirelli’s most wonderful acts, in any production, is Act 2 of “La Bohème.” It is pulsing with Latin Quarter life. So it was especially fitting that his ceremony should have taken place after this act. The Met has installed plaques in the wings, in honor of the director. And onstage with him were several veteran singers he has worked with: including Leona Mitchell, Rosalind Elias, and Justino Diaz.

Mr. Zeffirelli declared himself speechless, and he was: He said he was overcome with “emotion and commotion.” The audience applauded him loud and long. And that applause was filled, I believe, with gratitude.

How about the performance of “Bohème” on this Saturday night? In the title role was Angela Gheorghiu, the Romanian soprano. How they love to hate her! And who does the hating? Certain critics, chat room typists, and other snipers. She is a target, for reasons some of us find bewildering. She is also a great singer — as will be universally recognized when she is safely retired or dead. Then one and all will say what a privilege it was to have heard her.

She was superb as Mimì. From her first notes, sung from behind a closed door, she was distinctive and alluring. She sang with extraordinary precision, subtlety, control, nuance, and, above all, musicality. She is a natural, having gifts that are simply unearned — they are, indeed, gifts. She put a number of colors in her voice, all to a purpose. And her soft singing, as usual, was exemplary.

Her voice may be a bit small for this grand house, and you sometimes have to lean in. But her voice penetrates, carries; and she is worth leaning in for. Seldom has a Mimì been so winning — so Mimì-like.

Rodolfo was Ramón Vargas, the Mexican tenor. He sang in his marked Spanish accent, and did some sliding around, vocally. He would benefit from some cleaner singing. But, in the main, he was both lyrical and manful. Some of his higher notes were troublesome: They were weak and thin, instead of soaring and full. But Mr. Vargas got Rodolfo’s job done.

The beautiful Spanish soprano Ainhoa Arteta was Musetta. In Act 2, she was the hoot Musetta should be. She was rather like Ado Annie in “Oklahoma!” And she sang with marvelous flair. She was at times guilty of stridency, and her low notes were muted. But those are merecavils. You should have heard the high B she gave us toward the end of “Quando me’n vo” — boffo. Rodolfo’s Bohemian buddies formed a likable group. They were into the spirit of the opera. Ludovic Tézier, as Marcello, sang richly and sensibly. Oren Gradus was adequate as Colline. In his brief, well-loved aria, “Vecchia zimarra,” he was a little heavy and hooded — but he got his points across. And Quinn Kelsey had a wonderful Met debut as Schaunard. This American baritone not only sings accurately, he sings with real flavor.

And speaking of flavor: Paul Plishka, the veteran bass, sang two roles in this show — Benoit and Alcindoro. In the first, he was delightfully vulgar. And in the second, he was delightfully hapless and befuddled. A pro, Paul Plishka.

Not to be forgotten is the conductor — who is maybe the most important factor of all in a “Bohème.” Ours was Nicola Luisotti, and he seemed happy to be there: happy to be conducting “La Bohème,” and happy to be leading this cast and orchestra. That is an invaluable quality: appreciation. Mr. Luisotti took obvious pleasure in this score. He conducted with style, exuberance, and sensitivity. There was some exaggeration — in fermatas, for example — but that was forgivable. And from his baton came youthfulness, even as there is youthfulness in the show.

Mr. Luisotti is the type to applaud singers after they have finished their arias. And conductorial support, of various kinds, makes a difference in a performance.

A final word about Franco Zeffirelli. Someone mentioned the other day that there are writers who write for other writers, and writers who write for readers. Similarly, there may be directors who direct for other directors — and other arts-world insiders — and directors who direct for audience members. Mr. Zeffirelli is in the latter camp. And, best of all, he directs for composers, librettists, and operas.