One of Verdi’s best operas is now playing at the Met: “La Forza del Destino,” a stew of arias, duets, choruses, and drama that makes a near-perfect operatic feast. If you don’t like “Forza,” you don’t like Verdi. And you probably don’t like the Italian repertoire. I won’t go so far as to say you don’t like life.

There are many important actors in this opera: the soprano (Leonora), the tenor (Don Alvaro), the baritone (Don Carlo); the mezzo (Preziosilla), the bass (Padre Guardiano), a second bass, or baritone, or bass-baritone (Fra Melitone). Verdi cast his net wide in this one, as he was wont to do. But no one is more important than the conductor, and the Met’s is Gianandrea Noseda.

An Italian, Mr. Noseda is chief of the BBC Philharmonic in Manchester, in addition to mounting many other podiums. On Monday night, he did some good things, and some lamentable things.

The overture was not among the good. This is one of Verdi’s finest overtures, often used in concert – but in the opera house, it is, indeed, an opera overture. Mr. Noseda treated it as a concert piece in this sense: After it was over, he had the orchestra stand, and did lots of hand-shaking and bowing. This would have been in questionable taste even if the overture had gone well.

First, its beginning was too brisk,and very unthreatening. The overture to “La Forza del Destino”-“The Force of Destiny” – must not be unthreatening. In Mr. Noseda’s hands, this music was zippy, more like Rossini than like Verdi. And he indulged in pregnant pauses between sections of the overture – altogether drawing too much attention to himself.

In his favor, he had energy, and that energy would be maintained all night long. Mr. Noseda did not suffer from lethargy, at all.

But he did suffer from some sloppiness, presiding over a breakdown every now and then. Act III, Scene 1, was a mess. And Mr. Noseda continued to draw attention to himself – as at the beginning of Act II, where he caused the music, and himself, to flutter around ridiculously. Later, he manufactured several ritards in the (great) tenor-baritone duet “Solenne in quest’ora.” Ritards are okay; manufacturing is not.

I will say again, however, that Mr. Noseda kept this opera moving. And after Leonora died at the hands of her brother, Don Carlo, the conductor imposed exactly the right, terrible pulse.

As for individual members of the orchestra, I will mention only one. At times,Verdi seems to be writing almost a clarinet concerto – and the Met’s clarinetist rose to the occasion. (I must say, too, that the concertmaster handled his solo part sweetly, beautifully, touchingly.)

Were there singers in this opera? There were indeed, starting with the Leonora, Deborah Voigt. Miss Voigt did not have a good night, fighting the flats, and often losing. Her flatness was particularly noticeable on sustained notes at the end of pieces. Moreover, the voice did not have its accustomed beauty, to go with its accustomed power. A tremulousness wants to steal in.

But this is a great singer, and she did some excellent, Voigt-like singing. Some of that singing occurred in Leonora’s big aria, “Pace, pace.” She begins this aria at about 11:40. (You know how Broadway has – or had – an “11 o’clock number”? Verdi has an 11:40 number.) At the end of “Pace, pace,” Miss Voigt gave us a decent high note, although it was not as big as you might have expected from this singer.

Her Alvaro – her tenor – was Salvatore Licitra, whom the opera world has tried to make a star since he substituted for Luciano Pavarotti in a Met “Tosca.” Despite officialdom’s best efforts, Mr. Licitra simply refuses to sing like a star, much of the time. He is robust, yes – and Alvaro needs to be ro bust – but he is often short on elegance. On Monday night, Mr. Licitra’s singing tended to be rough, clumsy. It was always earnest, however – Mr. Licitra has that quality, and it is valuable.

In the aria “Oh tu che in seno agli angeli,” some of Mr. Licitra’s high notes were painful. In fact, his singing, as a rule, was better when it was in the middle of the range, and mezzo-forte. But there were moments when Mr. Licitra justified his world-bestriding career: I think in particular of the duet “Le minaccie, i fieri accenti” – that’s a good time to shine.

Playing the heavy as Don Carlo was the American baritone Mark Delavan, rugged, as usual, and occasionally gleaming. He had a particularly good tavern scene, in Act I. Thereafter, he succumbed to some hoarseness, but he always got the job done. Gratifyingly, he showed some real Italianate blood and guts.

When Juan Pons appeared – while others were having problems – I thought, “Finally: Someone who can sing!” The veteran Spanish baritone handled the part of Fra Melitone well, summoning his considerable operatic savvy. Unfortunately, his intonation utterly deserted him, in Act III. Though far from the notes, he soldiered on.

When the Padre Guardiano appeared – shortly after Melitone – some people in the audience whispered, loudly, “It’s Ramey.” It sure was. It was the storied American basso Samuel Ramey, and he sang this wonderful role with great dignity, authority, and – dare I say holiness? We critics like to talk about his vibrato these days: How many trucks can you drive through it? But that’s not the point: Mr. Ramey manages his vocal wobbles ably, and his sheer gravitas cannot be beat.

Seldom has Padre Guardiano been so loving, so wise, so admirable.

Preziosilla was the Hungarian mezzo Ildiko Komlosi, who sometimes sounded swallowed, but who brought a nice Gypsy spice. (I should note that Preziosilla is, indeed, a Gypsy.) Portraying the Marquis, Leonora’s father, was the American bass John Cheek, whose voice was covered – nearly smothered – but who sang in a warm, paternal manner. (The Marquis turns not so paternal, unfortunately.)

Like others of Verdi’s operas – you think of “Nabucco” – “La Forza del Destino” is heavily choral, and the Met’s chorus was mainly on the money. Whether as pilgrims, partiers, or the poor – or soldiers or monks – these singers performed with conviction and skill.

The Met’s production is that from 1996, wrought by Giancarlo del Monaco. Laurie Feldman is the stage director. This production is blessedly free of funny business, allowing you to see “La Forza del Destino” essentially as it ought to be. If you want “Forza” unrecognizable, go to Europe, or at least to another, screwier American house.

Finally, do you recall that Bea Arthur, the old-time singer-actress, had a one-woman Broadway show a few years ago? At the end of it, she said, “No, I’m not going to sing ‘I’m Still Here.'”

In that same spirit, I say: No, I’m not going to address Debbie Voigt’s weight.

“La Forza del Destino” will be performed again February 24 & 28, and March 4, 7, 11, 14, 18 & 23 at the Metropolitan Opera House (Lincoln Center, 212-362-6000).