While four of Leos Janácek’s five great operas were written in the same period, one — “Her Stepdaughter” — was composed much earlier. Known today outside of Prague as “Jenufa,” it was given its season premiere at the Metropolitan Opera House on Monday evening.

The story is brutal. Jenufa loves Steva and is secretly carrying his child. Laca, his stepbrother, loves Jenufa and slashes her face. Now ugly, Jenufa is rejected by Steva. Jenufa’s stepmother, the Kostelnicka — the term means wife of the sexton — pretends to send her to Vienna but keeps her hidden at home until after the birth of her son. Steva is let in on the secret and rejects her again. The Kostelnicka then drugs Jenufa and drowns the baby under the ice, later telling Jenufa that little Stevie died while she was delirious with fever. Sometime later, when the baby’s body is discovered while Laca and Jenufa are at their wedding feast, the crowd accuses Jenufa and threatens to stone her. The Kostelnicka, however, admits her wrongdoing, and Laca and Jenufa look forward to their future together. Lord Harewood, with delicious British understatement, writes that “this is not just a conventional happy ending.”

Sadly, what should have been a gripping drama on Monday was marred by a weak effort. The Sisyphean waterwheel, whose sound is introduced in the very first measures by the xylophone, was nowhere to be found. Ignoring this emblem speaks volumes about the lack of understanding by this particular production team. A key element of the symbolism was simply not there.

There was also no sense that the brutal attack left our Jenufa scarred or undesirable. Karita Mattila looked every bit the beautiful ingénue from first scene to last. A key element of the plot was simply not there.

And considering the amount of talent available to the Met, the peasants in Act I proved disappointing, not even attempting to negotiate the odzemek dance so vital to this opera’s Moravian heritage. A key element of the atmosphere was simply not there.

If nothing else, conductor Jirí Belohlávek proved it takes more than simply being Czech to put over this music. All of the vocalism was acceptable, but none was extraordinary. Met fans have come to expect quite a lot from Ms. Mattila since her stunning portrayal in “Fidelio,” but did not receive her best this night. She seemed to be going through the motions, rather than the emotions. Although she was a model of pitch control and squeezed this difficult language into a smooth singing line, she often acted more like Amina than Jenufa.

The rest of the cast was not much more than adequate. Barbara Dever was impressive as the Grandmother and Raymond Very was an accurate but undistinguished Steva. Jorma Silvasti was the most invested as Laca and hit all of the ridiculously high notes asked of him. James Courtney was commanding in his lower register as the foreman, and Alyson Cambridge was silken voiced and committed to achieving a well-drawn character portrait in the small but vital role of Karolka, Steva’s new girlfriend. But overall this was hardly an ideal ensemble.

There was, however, one notable exception. When New Yorkers last experienced the ageless Anja Silja on the stage it was also in Janacek, the superb staging of “The Makropoulos Case” at Brooklyn Academy of Music in 2001. That night she was charismatic: Everything revolved around her. This night she was by far the best of the lot, moving from bitch to witch with expressionistic necromancy. This was a fine performance, although it sometimes suffered from bouts of inaudibility. But I know there is more that such a great artist could have done. It almost seemed as if she held back to blend into this otherwise lukewarm reading.

Oh, one more point. Perhaps people who paid $295 a ticket should wonder how much Frank Philipp Schloessmann was compensated for placing a big rock stage center and calling it set design.

Until February 17 (Lincoln Center, 212-721-6500).