The Metropolitan Opera opened on Monday night, and opened powerfully. The opera was “Otello,” Verdi’s – and Shakespeare’s – crusher of a drama. Music director James Levine was in the pit, delivering his all.

This is an important season for Mr. Levine. First, he takes over a major symphonic podium, the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Second, his health has been the subject of much speculation. Even some of his own players – Met players – have been sniping, anonymously, that his physical condition is a problem. And, indeed, in the last few seasons, Mr. Levine has had many sluggish nights, whatever their cause.

There was not a trace of sluggishness on Monday night, only engagement and strength. Right from the downbeat, Mr. Levine conducted like a house afire. Verdi’s opening had tightness, precision, suspense, and thrust. As Act I continued, one was reminded that Mr. Levine prizes Toscanini, and has called the old maestro’s “Otello” the greatest opera recording ever made. In this first act, everything was on pinpoint, or baton point. Even relatively insignificant phrases from the orchestra had life, enhancing or advancing the drama.

Placido Domingo is the Met’s most famous recent Otello – and one of the most celebrated Otellos of all time – but he was not there on Monday night, instead giving way to Ben Heppner, the rugged Canadian. In his initial notes, Mr. Heppner was heroic and steady, and he stayed that way for most of the evening.

Virtually stealing the show was the Iago, Carlo Guelfi, an Italian baritone who has also sung Rigoletto and Scarpia in this house. He displayed a handsome and pliant voice, with bold vibrato – but not an excess – and a particularly lovely upper register. He could do with that voice what he wished, interpretively. In his drinking music, he played with the notes as much as sang them.

And he was equally strong from a theatrical point of view. He entered the skin of this singularly bad man, Iago. Mr. Guelfi’s Iago enjoyed planting his poison, and did so with awful confidence.

The great love duet that ends Act I did not begin favorably, with the Met cello atypically off pitch. But there were few such orchestral flaws, all evening long. Our Desdemona was Barbara Frittoli, the Italian soprano who makes something of a specialty of this role. She customarily brings beauty and dignity, as she did on this occasion. Her voice can be pillowy, and her diction not the clearest – but she was fine in the duet. So was Mr. Heppner, despite some poor intonation and some straining on high notes.

Most unfortunate about the duet was that it was rendered, by one and all, rather line by line, at the expense of a musical flow. And I can’t tell you how the orchestra handled its ending: The audience applauded over it. You could say that it wasn’t the audience’s fault, as the stage director (or someone) has the curtain drawn as the orchestra plays. But still…

Act II belonged to Mr. Guelfi, with Iago’s interior monologue chillingly expressed. Mr. Levine did his share of chilling as well. As Iago destroyed Otello’s mind, one was uncomfortable in one’s seat. This is an almost unbearable opera (from an almost unbearable play). And that unbearableness begins somewhere in the middle of Act II. From there, it is all horrible denouement.

The stirring duet between Otello and Iago (“Si, pel ciel”)? It was adequate, but could have used more swagger. And Mr. Heppner’s low notes – which are needed in this music – were faint.

Moving to Act III, Mr. Levine shaped the confrontation between Otello and Desdemona superbly. And both Mr. Heppner and Ms. Frittoli began singing with added freedom. The soprano showed some surprising power, her plaints strong and cutting as well as beautiful and liquid.

Notable in all this was the singing of Garrett Sorenson, the evening’s Cassio: It was lyrical, accurate, and ardent. One could hardly have asked for more. It will be nice to hear him in larger roles.

Act III, as you recall, ends with Iago’s venomous sarcasm, his gloating in an evil triumph. Mr. Guelfi and Mr. Levine made these qualities all too vivid.

The final act is dominated by Desdemona’s “Willow Song” and Ave Maria, and here Ms. Frittoli shone. She was technically secure and musically poignant (which is too weak a word for this surpassing music). Her approach was fairly simple, as befits this pure character. The entire scene – for all its purity – breathed doom.

A couple of orchestral details: At the beginning of the Ave Maria, Mr. Levine’s bunch was unbelievably ethereal, angelically textured. And the conductor’s transition at the end (for Otello is about to step in)? Sickening. And I mean that, of course, as a compliment.

The concluding pages had their effect, despite the cacophony of cell phones in the audience.

Regular Metgoers will recognize the production, that of Elijah Moshinsky from 1994.The stage director is Sharon Thomas. There are many interesting things to look at, among them the unison swaying and staggering of the chorus in the drinking scene. And before that, by the way, during the storm, the chorus had been singing for dear life, under Mr. Levine’s blazing baton.

But hang on, I’ve left out some of the evening’s most touching singing. The Met, remember, begins each season with the playing of the national anthem. (Never was this more meaningful than at the start of the 2001-02 season.) On the climactic word “free,” some sopranos in the back of the house left the F to go up to the B flat. Thrilling.

As was the “Otello” that followed.